I turn pink again, shooting her a dirty look. I’m not ready to give a show to anyone after not dancing for over five years. “I don’t have a costume, so you’ll have to imagine.”
“But you do! There’s a pretty flowery one in the trunks at?—”
My gaze narrows at my primary. “Shut. Up.”
Talia bats her lashes. “Oh, please, can’t you blink it here?”
“I would love to see a minx-style show, just for us, wife.”
I let out a dinosaur screech of frustration. “Fine, fine!”
Stomping like a Clydesdale in the toe shoes, I head over to the corner of the room. I focus and apparate the Sugar Plum Fairy tutu from the production of the Nutcracker I was in so many years ago. Sighing, I flick my hand at the stereo on the wall, switching the music to match the costume.
My lips curve. If I’m going to make a show of it, I might as well wow the audience.
Glitter and flowers and sparkles everywhere, here I come.
The Bird Surprises The Artist
TAURUS
The four of us spent the night in the master after the wife’s performance.
I do mean perform if you’re wondering, because she not only danced like they trained her at the Bolshoi, but she filled the room with flowers and glitter and dancing beams of light. It was like a fairy dropped into our training room and did a little two-step for us.
Sometimes, she even amazes the fashionable trousers off of me.
There have been some good times and some less good times since the four of us started working towards this family thing. Little pinches here and there on all sides, but we’ve been able to work most of them out with minimal bloodshed.
Hell, no one’s needed a healing for a whole five days. It’s progress, I tell you.
What I noticed, though, is that one of us seems to be the anchor. There’s one of us who takes every day as it comes and accepts every single wave with as much grace as possible. He doesn’t ask for a sodding thing in return except to be with the peoplehe loves. Sampson might not be the flashiest of our quartet, but he’s the calm in the storm—sometimes even literally. He has his own doubts and issues; don’t mistake my words. But he drops everything and goes where he’s needed every time without question, even when it’s cutting into time he’s supposed to have to himself with me or the wife.
It makes me feel things I’m not familiar with.
I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do. When I awoke among the tangle of limbs and purrs this morning, I realized what my answer was. I want to do something for him. When he was tipsy the other night, he had this smile that was so sodding happy that it shone. I want to give him a reason to do that when he’s not halfway down the bottle.
I went to work, and I thought about it all day. It preyed on my mind every second that I was idle. I just about tore the arms off the mark because he interrupted my train of thought, and I lost my idea. It came back to me as I was finishing up the massive amount of paperwork that every single mission requires, which I loathe.
The wife doesn’t have to do any paperwork. She says that ‘Mickey’ says she’s exempt.
If I didn’t know the bugger was gay, I’d think he was making a play for my wife. He’s not, though; he’s fallen under the same spell the rest of us gits have. He’s doing the bloody paperwork for her when he gets home and then filing it.
Regardless, I finished up after a string of colorful, yet accurate adjectives about the lack of intel and messy planning by an operations monkey who is not as talented as my primary. Once I was free, I made some phone calls. Figured if I throw enoughcash around, I might get this done by the morning and he’ll be none the wiser until I unveil it.
Feeling bloody spectacular, I head home to see what my wife has in store tonight.
I love it when she tells me about her work. It makes me hungry.
After the wifeleft for Syria this morning, I popped back in to check on the progress. I figured if they weren’t done as promised, at least I’d have breakfast to look forward to. The bottom floor is silent, and I frown.
Not a good sign, that.
I walk to the farthest room at the end of our hallway. I planned for it to be a sunroom, but it works for this application. The ceiling is half glass, so there’s plenty of natural light. It has a patio that overlooks the bluffs to the ocean—he can work outside if he chooses. I hadn’t furnished it yet, so it was easy to order the fixtures and supplies to make it functional.
The only thing I’m waiting on is the small workspace with the oven and the heated equipment to be added off to the side. I can tell him about that, but it’ll take a little longer to get set up. Apparently, there’s lots of bloody shit to install to make it professional level and safe.
I can’t have my mate get blown up in a kiln fire, now can I?
