“I’ll get it.” Before they could protest, I scrambled off the end of the bed and trotted naked into the kitchen. Deciding to forgo the dessert plates, I just picked up the cake stand and some forks and napkins. Back in the bedroom, I planted myself on the foot of the bed. “Come on, you sleepyheads. Since when do bears turn down sweets?”
“Isabella, come on. You wore us out,” York whined. “But just in case, what kind of cake did you say it was?”
“A celebration cake.”
“Is that a flavor?” Cash asked.
Huffing in frustration, I snapped, “Just please look at it. If you don’t want to eat it, that’s fine, but I went to a lot of expense to get a custom cake in two hours.”
“Fine.” Cash sat up, pushing pillows behind him, and the others also forced themselves off their backs. “Why is it custom? Oh…”
“Is it true, omega?” York was on his knees, staring at the fluffy buttercream frosting with its message.
“Isabella, for real?” Lyon’s eyes were completely round.
“I thought the cake was more romantic than the stick I peed on.”
They were over the moon, ate every bite of the cake, then spent the rest of the night showing me how happy they were about our family expanding.
I always knew I wanted three bears in my life.
And, now, in my bed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Isabella
I remembered attending classes about pregnancy and motherhood during my teen years. Lots of them. They were all part of the making-me-the-perfect-omega plan my father had laid out for me.
In those classes, they talked about pregnancy like it was the worst thing ever, something you would have to endure to prove that you were worthy of the title of omega. They presented it as a time when your body hurt all over, you’d be moody as hell, and you’d spend more time in the bathroom puking than anywhere else. Despite that, it was to be our goal in life to have babies as often as possible.
We were supposed to persevere because our job was to produce those babies, and the less we complained, the better we were at that job. It was toxic as hell and, also, in my case, their description was not at all accurate.
I knew not all omegas had pregnancies like mine. Some did puke away the first trimester, have sciatic pain, or go from the highest high to the lowest low over a cup of spilled water. But I’d never felt better in my life. Aside from needing some extra naps during my first trimester, I had tons of energy and felt like I could conquer anything, which was good because there was a lot to be done before the baby came.
Now that my mates had their money back from Mark and I had my money, plus half the money from my father’s estate, I wasn’t playing around with getting the house the way I wanted it to be. My mates did the work, but I spared no expense on the supplies.
I had them add another bathroom with a huge tub we could all fit in. As much as I loved being pampered while I took abath, it was much better being pampered when we were all in there. I bought my dream oven and spent many weekends with Millie and her friends at the flea market finding treasures for the kitchen, including the world’s best potato masher. Everything was coming together beautifully.
There were no massive overhauls needed aside from my huge tub. I didn’t want to live in a mansion or someplace fancy. I wanted to live in our home, safe and warm, and in a space that looked like people lived there and not some expensive hotel. I also wanted it to be easy to clean and organize, and now we had finally reached that step.
The only thing left was the nursery. It was cleaned out, new flooring put in, and the walls freshly painted. A blank canvas.
Problem was, I didn’t know what to do with that canvas. A few half-formed ideas flitted in my head, but ideas a plan did not make, and there wasn’t a lot of time. I had maybe four weeks left before our little one came. I was the size of a house, an adorable house, if my mates were to be believed, but a house nonetheless.
“You’re in here again.” York came in with a cup of tea and held it out for me.
“Yeah, I am.” I took it, inhaling the honey goodness.
“Any closer to knowing what to do?”
“You can’t laugh at me.” One idea stood out above the others.
“Why would I laugh at you?”
“Because my idea is silly.”
“I bet it’s cute.”
