Page 193 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“If either of you makes me cry now I have mascara on,” I said, “I’ll keep you waiting at the altar.”

Hudson’s mouth curved. “That would be cruel.”

“I’ve been training.”

Lincoln looked at my shoe. “Is that cake on the silk?”

“Your son is eating all the catering before the guests get to it.”

Rain beamed. “Just cake.”

Lincoln nodded. “Excellent initiative. Poor execution, son.”

Violet held up her bouquet. “Mine.”

“Yes, love,” Hudson said. “That’s yours.”

She looked suspicious. “No take.”

“No one will take it.”

Rain immediately reached for it.

Violet screamed.

Lincoln caught Rain under one arm before the bouquet could become a weapon. Hudson lifted Violet with the calm of a man who had learned that twin toddlers could smell weakness through walls.

I watched them for a second, my two beautiful, ridiculous alphas. One holding a furious daughter in tulle. One holding a son with cake crumbs on his chin. Both of them looked at me as if the girl who had once lied about her age in a Boston hotel bar was still the miracle of their lives.

She would never have believed this.

That girl had ordered Irish whiskey with a shaking hand and pretended she worked in New York. She thought nobody wanted her unless she was useful, quiet, obedient, or convenient. She had been wrong about almost everything.

Being wrong remained one of my greatest achievements.

“Mary,” Hudson said softly.

I blinked.

“You went somewhere.”

“Boston,” I admitted.

Lincoln’s expression gentled.

I reached for him first. He came at once, Rain still tucked under his arm like a parcel with legs. Hudson stepped in too, Violet between us, her small hand patting my necklace.

“I was thinking she would be pleased,” I said.

“Who?” Hudson asked.

“The girl in the bar.”

Lincoln kissed my forehead. “She’d be smug.”

“She wouldn’t. She was deeply dignified.”

“She came to our room with three dildos,” Hudson said.