Not a CEO. Not an Alpha.
But a mate and father.
Epilogue
Nika
Five Months Later
I think I loved my belly because he did.
He mentioned building a shrine for it—which was one step too far even for me. He took photographs. Videoed every time the babies moved. The constant pillow stuffing was its own particular brand of suffocating love, and when I asked whether it would simply be easier to duct tape pillows directly onto my body, he’d genuinely considered it as a viable solution.
Weirdly enough I’d found an ally in Cuán.
His strange commentary about becoming an uncle-dad was infinitely preferable to Conrí spiralling out over the wrong type of cheese.
My CEO Alpha wolf having an existential crisis over dairy safety was only one item on an exhausting list of ridiculous precautions.
The revised employment handbook suddenly had a remote working policy slipped into section 5.1. The company had also developed an urgent and previously unmentioned concern for parents’work-life balance and other carer responsibilities.
“Knock knock,” Cuán said cheerfully, respectfully remaining behind the door.
Good. My spy was here.
“Come in. What do you think I’m going to be doing in my bedroom in this state?”
He was still spiritually repulsive to Bad Girl but we’d accepted him emotionally as kin.
He stuck his head through the door before entering.
“It’s short. He’s on his way home and he won’t be going back into work until waaaaay after the pups are born.”
My jaw fell open.
Shifter pregnancy was shorter than human—I knew that. But this was unacceptable. Weeks of him wandering the two-storey penthouse. Hovering. Pillow stuffing. Dairy surveillance.
Toss him off the terrace if it gets too much, Bad Girl said.
“I’ve also decided to work from home,” Cuán announced, with the gallantry of a man delivering wonderful news.“To support both of you. These are my future babies too.”
My head flopped back onto the pillows.
Cuán settled into the chair beside the bed and began to recount the many benefits of having a dedicated uncle-dad on the premises.
The duck egg ceiling was mocking me.
??????
“You,” I said, stabbing my finger vehemently toward him.“Keep away from my cheese.”
I cradled the bowl—cold crisp grapes and small cubes of smoked cheddar that Charles had prepared with full understanding of the current political climate in this penthouse.
I could see the suspicion forming before he took his first step toward the bed.
Fuck him.
I stuck the bowl under the covers.
