My dark-haired spawn does not seem to agree with me. He grins big and looks at her with unabashed delight, like she’s the single greatest human in his world.
At least on that I agree with the little guy.
Mia drops the side of her robe to uncover one of her beautiful breasts, but it’s not for me. I side-eye my son for stealing all of my attention, but he’s gazing up at her and paying no attention to me whatsoever. Mia chatters about some benefit she’s helping organize while he eats. I’m sure she doesn’t even think I’m listening as she prattles on, but I am. I can’t help tweaking things I would do differently in my head, but I don’t say so. It’s her thing, so she can do it her way. I don’t care about it, anyway. It only matters to me—and consequently gets my money thrown at it—because she does.
When he gets his fill, she burps him and then scoots over and steals the magazine out of my hand, replacing it with a baby.
“I was reading that,” I inform her.
“And now you’re playing with your son,” she replies, sliding a subscription form into the page I was on and closing it.
I shake my head and regard Tristan, nestled in the crook of my arm. “Your mom forgets she’s not the boss from time to time. Do you think I should set her straight?”
Mia smiles, lying on her tummy on the bed and propping herself up on her elbows to watch us. “Does Mommy get a vote?” she asks. “I vote yes, you should totally remind her how to behave.”
I shake my head at her. “Little minx.”
She winks at me, then she scoots forward on her tummy and sighs, curling up against my side and reaching over to hold Tristan’s hand. I wonder if my mother longed to be near me like this when I was a baby. Mia has been an entirely new experience. With Roman, I assumed she was extra loving to make up for Meg being kept from him for a few days, then just because he wasn’t biologically hers and she was overcompensating. Then Dom was born and she loved him so much, it worried me sometimes. Now Tristan is here, our son together, and she’s just as brimming with love as she was both sons before him.
I curl my arm around my adoring wife and tug her close. “I love you.”
She tilts her head back and beams up at me. “I love you, too. Thank you for taking me out tonight. I loved the ballet.”
“I’m glad you had a good time.”
She nods, rubbing Tristan’s tiny hand. “Did you miss Mommy and Daddy? Were you so mad at us for leaving you here to go out and have fun?”
“Or did you not care at all because you just slept the whole time, since that’s what newborns do?” I counter.
She pretends to listen, then nods solemnly. “He’s super mad at us.”
I can’t bite back a little smile. “You and your baby whispering.”
She continues to nod. “He told me if we give him a baby sister to love and protect, he’ll forgive us for going to see The Nutcracker.”
“You’re not even allowed to have sex for two more weeks,” I point out.
“I know that’s the rule, but I feel fine. I looked it up online and some people don’t wait the full six weeks. Some people have Wolverine-grade lady parts that heal faster. Given the level of our sexual activity, I’m thinking I have a super vagina and it’s used to a little abuse.”
“I understand, but I doubt my cock—as impressive as it is—causes quite as much damage as Tristan’s head, even in our most explosive rounds.”
She remains unconvinced. “I’m just saying. I’m game to try if you are.”
“We are not having 3 babies in 3 years.”
“Not with that attitude, we’re not,” she states.
I roll my eyes at my crazy wife. “This is madness. Ju is going to quit.”
“Then I want a baby for my birthday,” she decides. “If you won’t impregnate me for Christmas, you have until the end of March. If we have them all close together, they can all grow up together and be really close. Wouldn’t that be great? Built-in best friends. Even if they get a few rogue Morelli evil genes, none of them will ever be lonely.”
“Yes, because having Roman and Dom close together has worked out so well,” I tell her, dryly.
“Roman is just going through his terrible twos,” she states.
“After his onerous ones?”
Raising her eyebrows a touch haughtily, she says, “Well, the babies I gave birth to both have awesome dispositions. Maybe someone shouldn’t have been such a snob about my genes and Roman would be a happy camper.”
“He has too much of me in him,” I tell her, shaking my head. “And it’s too soon to know if Tristan will have your disposition or mine.”