She glances at Daisy, whose gaze falls to Poppy’s belly, then back to her face, eyebrows lifting hopefully.
“No,” Poppy says, issuing a small laugh. “But Wyatt is already acting like I am.” She looks back at me to explain, “We’re trying for a baby, and…” Her breath trickles out. “Not having much luck.”
“Oh,” I murmur, pressing a hand to my heart. What do you say to that? I can’t imagine wanting to be pregnant at this age, but then I don’t have my shit together like she seems to. A successful business, a huge house, and, I imagine, a wonderful husband.
My gaze moves to the massive ruby gleaming on her finger, and envy snakes through me. For the briefest moment I allow myself to imagine the same care and support Aidan has shown me over the past week, but for a lifetime. How it might feel to have that warmth and encouragement every day.
And as for the man himself…
Heat rolls through me as I remember the way he kissed me so hungrily, the low scrape of his voice as he leaned over his desk, cock in hand, eyes dark and desperate like he wanted so muchmore than what we were doing. Like he wanted something he couldn’t even admit to himself.
But his words afterward echo through my mind, and I sigh. I didn’t know he wanted to become a partner with Dad, but it makes sense, and explains a little more about his annoyance at losing out on the museum project. The problem is, he doesn’t know my father like I do. He doesn’t know how rarely Dad rewards people, regardless of how hard they work. That he could wait a lifetime for my father’s approval.
And then there’s what he said after that, about me being young, him needing to set boundaries. The words make irritation fizzle in my belly, like when he balked at learning I wasonlytwenty-six that first day in the office. Yes, I’m young, and yes, I have things to learn. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know myself. I want to make my own choices, mistakes and all, and I don’t need him to decide what’s best for me. That’s exactly what my father does.
Only… it’s not the same, is it? Dad’s control feels cold, about power, not protection. Aidan’s feels… different. Protective. Maybe even tender.
The wordDaddyflashes into my head again, and I think of the way heat flared in Aidan’s eyes when I confessed it’s not my father I associate with that word. He had to know I meant him, right? Because he looked as though he wouldn’t mind all that much if I called him that. He looked as though he might fuckingloveit.
There’s a sound at the door, and I push the thoughts away. None of it matters if he won’t let himself touch me. Even if hedidn’twant to be Dad’s partner, I’ll always be eighteen years younger than him.
I glance over to see a blond woman, around our age, let herself into the basement with a smile. A ripple of unease movesthrough me at the way this unexpected social gathering seems to be snowballing, but I force myself to keep smiling.
Daisy looks at me. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says quietly, “I invited my friend Violet, too.”
Violet. Another flower name. How strange.
Violet grins, hopping casually onto the stainless steel counter, kicking her feet in front of her. “Hey! Iris, right? Nice to meet you, finally.”
I blink.Finally? Daisy told Violet about me as well?
“Uh, you too,” I say, feeling a little blindsided, and Daisy giggles.
“Sorry, Iris. I wanted you to meet my friends, because I think they could help with your… situation.”
Heat crawls up my neck as the three women smile at me. “My situation?”
But before they can answer, footsteps on the stairs draw my eyes to the back of the basement. A man appears—tall, bearded, and covered in tattoos. Like,covered. They snake down his forearms and onto his knuckles, others peeking out his collar to wrap around his neck. I’d put him in his mid-forties, and he’s attractive, in a rough, leather-jacket-wearing, motorcycle-riding kind of way. For a second I wonder if he’s Poppy’s dad, until he speaks.
“Baby, dinner’s almost—” he stops short when he sees the four of us. “Oh. Didn’t realize you had company.” He smiles at Daisy and Violet, the kind of smile that lights up his face, softening his rough edges. “Hey, guys.” Then he directs that smile at me, stepping forward to extend his hand. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Wyatt, Poppy’s husband.”
Oh. Wow.
I shake his hand, stealing another glance at Poppy to reassess her with this new information. This guy is herhusband? With an age gap that large?
Then I realize I’m staring, and glance back to find Wyatt watching me with amusement.
Shit. Does he know what I was thinking?
But he simply smiles. “Why don’t I bring you ladies something to drink?”
Poppy brushes her hand across the tattoo on his forearm—some kind of flower. “Thanks, honey.”
Wyatt looks at Violet and Daisy. “White wine for you,” he says to Violet, “and red for you?” to Daisy. They both nod with a smile. These two obviously come here a lot. “And what can I get you, Iris?” he asks me kindly.
I pause, thinking of the gin and tonic I mentioned to Daisy. It’s been a crazy day, and a new social scene with people I don’t know is exactly when I’d like a drink to take the edge off, to at least make mefeellike I have some social skills, but I could never ask for that.
“Gin and tonic, right?” Daisy says with a smile, and my face heats.
