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“You’re biased,” I sigh. “Don’t you dare stop.”
My phone buzzes with a notification from the word game that’s my latest fixation. I pull it from my pocket and lean back.
As soon as I see what Aiden played, I call him. “Barfcicles isn’t a word.”
“Check the dictionary.”
“Urban dictionary is not a legitimate resource for Scrabble.”
“The game says you’re wrong. You’re only mad because you’re losing now.”
I roll my eyes. He’s right, but there’s no way I’m actually telling him that. “Well, I guess you won’t mind me playing this, then,” I say, finally getting rid of the Q that’sbeen plaguing me and celebrating when it brings my score above his.
“Qat isn’t a word.”
“Game says it is,” I parrot back, smiling when I hear Sebastian chuckle. “It’s a shrub, if you didn’t know.” Thank you, nature documentaries.
“How are you better at this than usual? Are you siphoning brain cells off my niblings?”
“You’re such a dork.”
He laughs. “Oh, hey, tell your husband he needs to be at the office tomorrow. We have the Williams bachelorette party, and it’s all hands on deck. Plus, he needs the exercise, since he’s been sleeping in with you all week.”
“He’ll be there,” I say. “I’ve got a meeting with the producer who optioned the film rights for the book series, so the timing works out well.”
AfterAdaptand its sequelEvolvewere sold at auction for six figures, I was busy with book tours and interviews. Then came audio, foreign rights, translations, the works. My next series is already in the works. I sent the final draft to my editor this morning.
“As long as you aren’t working too hard. I read that the third trimester is pretty brutal, and you’ve got two of them cooking in there.”
Any hope of Aiden beinglessprotective by now has been well and truly abandoned.
“As the oven in question, I think I’ll know if I’m working too hard,” I complain.
It’s then that the phone is plucked from my hands.
Sebastian says a quick goodbye to my brother before putting the phone out of my reach and returning to mymassage. He slowly works his way up my calves and thighs before leaning in to kiss my stomach, once on the left, then the right (next time he’ll switch sides because he wants them to feel equally loved).
If I hadn’t already fallen head over heels, this would be the moment.
Is it too late to marry him again?
We stay like that for a while, only getting up to pee (me), or to get food (Sebastian).
It’s halfway through a BBC episode about Africa when I realize he’s running his thumb over my ring finger. Since the swelling kicked in, I haven’t been able to wear my wedding band, and this isn’t the first time I’ve found him missing it. He’s not the only one.
“You’d make a good secretary bird,” he says.
I curl my hand over his, tracing the familiar grooves and calluses. “I’m trying to decide whether that’s a compliment.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? What would you rather be?”
“A crab, maybe. I’ve never seen a crab on their own. They’re always surrounded by others. I like that they always have friends nearby.”
He’s watching me, gaze intense. I could not love this man more than I already do, but every day he inspires me to find new ways.
“I think you’d be a mountain gorilla.”
“Is that so?”
