Page 157 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“I have money.”

“We know.”

“Artem gave me money.”

“We know that too.”

“Then why are you giving me this?”

Lincoln’s voice gentled. “Because you’re living here. Because you’re carrying our children. Because if you need paint, clothes, food, books, taxis, pillows, or something ridiculous at three in the morning, you shouldn’t have to consider whether asking makes you a burden.”

That was unfair.

I looked back at the card.

“What if I buy a horse?”

“We’ll discuss stabling,” Hudson said.

“A yacht?”

“Poor investment.”

“A small Welsh castle?”

Lincoln considered. “Heating costs.”

“You’re both alarmingly calm.”

“Mary,” Hudson said quietly, “it isn’t a test. Spend it. Don’t spend it. Put it in a drawer and glare at it if that feels better. We want you to have access.”

Access, not permission. Not an allowance. Access.

I picked up the card. “Fine,” I said. “But if I become insufferable, that’s on you.”

Lincoln smiled. “Love, you were never suffering from lack of confidence.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

Hudson kissed my temple.

For a while, there was only the soft machinery of domestic life. Lincoln cooking. Hudson reading emails at the island but looking up every few minutes as if making sure I hadn’t vanished. Me sitting with my feet on a stool, nibbling a piece of sourdough and telling them about Fritz’s mother, the cottage, Mr. Cheddar, and the turkey baster until Hudson and Lincoln leaned against the counter laughing.

“Maeve gave her what?” Hudson asked again, checking his older guy hearing was working.

“A turkey baster.”

Lincoln closed his eyes. “Of course she did.”

“Apparently she thought the men were gay because they wanted a baby but not the omega.”

Hudson looked pained. “That’s a significant assumption.”

“And inaccurate.”

“Clearly.”