Artem took Mac while Gregor pulled a small notebook from his back pocket.
I stared at him. "Tell me that's not a baby log."
"It is a schedule."
"For the baby."
"For the household."
"Gregor."
He glanced at Mac, who was now waving one fist in a dramatic manner "He prefers the left side after feeding. He startles at the grandfather clock. He sleeps better when Ivan hums—"
Ivan's head snapped up. "I do not hum."
Artem looked at him.
"I don't."
"You hummed yesterday. During the nappy change."
"I was providing low-level tactical vibration. At least I don't hum Taylor Swift.” He glared at Gregor.
Gregor grinned. "You hummed the theme from that cartoon Mary was watching. What was it? Ah yes, Peppa Pig."
"Gregor."
Mac released another bubble of spit and gazed at the ceiling as if deeply moved by the conversation.
"A discerning critic," I said.
Artem settled Mac against his chest. Ivan tucked the blanket around Mac's feet. Gregor brushed a gentle finger over his cheek. None of them discussed it. They just moved around a baby in a footed sleepsuit.
Annoying, really. I'd spent years believing warmth was a trap and softness was what predators used to lure youcloser. Difficult to maintain that position while watching three terrifying men debate the psychological significance of infant gas.
I looked at the nightstand. The stack of baby books I'd left scattered with notes about sleep regression and feeding schedules was now neatly arranged. And sticking out from the pages ofThe First Yearwere three neon-yellow sticky notes covered in Artem's sharp, precise handwriting.
I stared for a long moment while slick was running down my thighs and the three alphas pretended not to notice.
"I need a shower.”
An hour later, the kitchen smelled like a small electrical fire.
I walked in to find Ivan standing over the six-burner stove with a spatula and a massive smile on his face.
"Morning, malen'kaya." He flipped something that looked like a hockey puck onto a plate. "I made pancakes."
I looked at the plate, then at the pan. Then back at Ivan.
"They look sturdy."
"They're resilient." He slid the plate across the marble island. "A Petrov must start the day with a strong foundation."
I broke off a piece that looked marginally less burnt than the rest and put it in my mouth. It tasted like ash and too much vanilla and something I couldn't identify and I was too scared to ask.
"Delicious," I said.
"You hesitated."
