“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Eliza huffs, British accent stronger when she’s annoyed. “I came up here to make sure everything was okay and you two are about to fuck.”
“We’re not about to fuck,” I tell her.
“But we were,” Lucas counters and grins. “Like you can resist me.”
“Obviously not,” Eliza grumbles. “You were quite literally dying and you two had sex.”
“It was rather emotional, if that makes you feel better.” I let go of Lucas and slowly sit up.
“Gross. That makes it worse.” Eliza crosses her arms, looking like a pissed-off fairy princess. “Everyone is waiting downstairs. Should I tell them to turn on music and give you two thirty minutes?”
“We only need twenty.”
“I can get you off in less than that,” Lucas brags. “Though I don’t like rushing sex with you.”
“Ugh. Spare me.” Eliza ups her eye-rolling game by tossing her head back.
“You’re so right,” I tell Lucas. “You are lucky you didn’t have to deal with a thirteen-year-old Eliza.”
Eliza narrows her eyes. “I was an angel at that age.”
“I’m sure.” I smile and hold out a hand for Lucas to take and heft my pregnant ass off the bed. My feet hit the floor, and I realize I don’t know how old Eliza is—was—when she was turned. She was engaged to be married nearly three hundred years ago, and I know girls back then were married much younger than they are today.
“Like you were an easy child to raise,” she shoots back. “I’m sure your own daughter is going to give you twice the hell you gave your—” She cuts off, blue eyes widening. “Oh, fuck. I almost forgot how messed up your childhood was. I’m sorry,” she says sincerely.
“It’s okay, and it’s actually nice that you did forget. Tabatha should take it as a compliment.” I adjust my shirt, which got a little twisted from lying in bed. “And I didn’t give the Martins nearly as much hell as I should have.”
“It’s never too late.” Her full lips pull into a smile. “It seems like only yesterday you brought that scrappy orange cat into my bar telling me it was your brother.”
“You know this is the second time today I’ve regretted not getting him neutered.”
“Like I said, it’s never too late.”
“Hah, I’m starting to think it’s a—fuck.” Elena kicks me in the cervix, and I wince.
“What’s wrong?” Lucas takes me in his arms, ready to lay me back down in bed.
“Nothing, other than your baby kicking me from the inside. Those shots to the cervix hurt like a motherfucker.” I put my hands on my stomach. “Come on, baby. Move. Please.” I move Lucas’s hand to my lower abdomen. “Do you feel that? She’s slowly flipping around.”
The look on Lucas’s face says it all. “I cannot wait to hold her in my arms.”
And now I’m back to being annoyingly emotional.
“Is she still kicking?” Eliza asks almost hesitantly.
“She is. Come here,” I tell her.
Eliza speeds over and holds out her hand. I take it and put it on my stomach. A few seconds pass before Elena does another somersault.
“Oh! It’s like an alien is in there,” Eliza murmurs.
“She likes her sister,” Lucas says, turning his gaze to Eliza. We are so fucking far from a traditional family, but I love us.
“I’m starving. Please tell me there’s a big plate for me in the warming drawer.”
“I put two in there for you,” Eliza tells me.
“Good call. Thanks.”
She smiles. “I am quite thoughtful.”
We go down the back staircase, and I find everyone in the kitchen. They’re gathered around the island munching on snacks. Two empty wine bottles are in the sink, and I stare at them ruefully. Drinking wine has been my unhealthy coping mechanism for longer than I like to admit. Dulling the pain helped me get through my fucked-up past.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “Sorry, I just, uh, needed a moment.”
“It’s fine,” Abby replies. She has one hand on Penny, who’s sitting on the counter feeding Pandora mushed-up pieces of cheese. “The exhaustion of the first trimester comes back for the third. You’re almost there.”
“Why you want another kid is beyond me,” I say, and Abby laughs.
“That’s why I only had one.” Tabatha winks at me. “But then I was blessed with two amazing children.”
“Evander isn’t here, so you can admit she’s the favorite,” Naomi jokes, and I catch a glimpse of Abby looking down at the counter. The fact that I didn’t consider the Martins my family—even before I found out I wasn’t blood related to them—is still a source of guilt for her. She was only a kid when I was left for dead. There’s nothing she could have done. Even if she told her teachers at the fancy private school all the Martin children attended, or any other trusted adult for that matter, William would have concocted a believable lie that would have garnered him sympathy.