“All right, inside we go.”
The threat used to be much easier when I could get myself up without fear of tipping forward on my face. But I somehow manage to make it all the way to my feet without my enormous belly taking me down and shattering what little respect I still hold with the tiny terror glowering at me with a bold challenge.
“Telling Daddy,” she threatens and follows it by spinning on her naked little feet and bolting in the direction of the house.
I am far less speedy, but I amble after her. One hand bracing my lower back.
Unlike Ella, this pregnancy is taking a million and one years. But having gone through it all at a rapid speed, I’m familiar with all the aches and pains. There are a few new side effects like running to the bathroom every ten minutes and eating like I’m preparing for an eating contest. The process has beeninteresting. A little daunting, but manageable with two men prepared to tackle anything.
“Daddy!” Ella shrieks at the top of her lungs from the front foyer.
“Young lady, there is no need to raise your voice.” As put together and tidy as ever, Mrs. Pym appears from down the corridor, worn hands twisted in a dish towel. “Now, what do we do after we’ve been outside?”
Both tiny hands jerk up to show the older woman the filth and dirt caked on tiny fingers.
“Wash hands.”
Mrs. Pym nods and reaches for Ella’s hand. Together, the two wander off in the direction of the restrooms, leaving me alone in the doorway.
“I heard my name being bellowed.” Marcus emerges from his office and I hurry to him.
His hands go to my belly before sliding around my waist and pulling me in the rest of the way as far as I’m able.
“Your daughter refuses to wear a hat outside.”
An eyebrow lifts. “So much like her mother.”
I make a face and gently swat at his shoulder. “I was never this bossy when I was her age.”
“I disagree.” He plants a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You are exactly the same.”
It’s hard to focus when he smells like sunlight and warm leather. It’s hard to think about anything when I want him all the time.
“Mrs. Pym can watch her for a few minutes.” I start on the small, white buttons of his dress shirt. “We can—”
“Daddy!” Hands clean, Ella scampers out of Mrs. Pym’s grasp and darts straight for Marcus’s legs.
I’m released and he bends to scoop her up into his arms.
“There’s my little turnip. Giving your mother a hard time?”
“No,” she says with the sweetest innocence. “Mommy is mean.”
It’s hard not to protest and argue with a toddler, but I somehow manage to refrain.
“You need to wear your hat when you go outside,” Marcus tells her, tapping the tip of her pert nose already red and peeling from the sun. “Understand?”
Without hesitation, Ella nods. “Yes.”
Of coursehegets a yes.
“Good girl. Now, I think it’s lunch time. You’ll eat everything Mrs. Pym gives you, right?”
Again, an obedient bob of her head. “Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses her cheek and sets her down. The child hurries to take the housekeeper’s hand and together, they head in the direction of the kitchens.
Marcus turns to me, smirk mischievous. “Now, where were we?”
