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32
Ciana
Lickinga smear of strawberry jam off my thumb, I found another name I liked in the huge book of baby names that had arrived the day before when I’d casually mentioned I was struggling with what to name the girls. It was a pretty name, one that had caught my attention as I’d skimmed the page, but as I tried it out, I realized it wasn’t the name I wanted for one of my daughters.
“Ugh,” I huffed in frustration, tossing the book aside just as the bedroom door opened.
Bain walked in carrying a tray loaded with food and drinks and a few other items. Seeing me sitting up in bed, the lunch tray he’d brought to me earlier still beside me but now empty, he smiled. “You enjoyed the toast?”
“It was delicious. Thank you.” I licked my lips, trying to get every last trace of the strawberry jam from earlier as I could. The last few weeks, I’d been on a strawberry kick. Fresh strawberries, strawberry cake, strawberry Pop-Tarts, strawberry ice cream. If it had freaking strawberries, then I wanted to eat it. I even dreamed of the damned things when I slept.
“I brought you a dish of fresh strawberries with whipped cream,” he tempted as he crossed the room and set the new tray at the foot of the bed. Picking up the one that had held my toast and strawberry milk, he placed it on the floor by the door before coming back to climb into bed beside me.
The past few weeks, he’d spent more time in this room, and in bed with me, than anywhere else in the house. If I was awake, he wasn’t far from me, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, it was hard to hide that I liked having all of his time and attention. I told myself I was just making the best of the situation. Now that Ryan hated me, and I’d let him think I’d picked this life over the rest of my family, Bain and the babies were all I had.
Lifting the dish of berries, he picked up a fork and fed me one covered in the fresh whipped cream the cook made for me every morning. Moaning, I leaned back against the pillows, my taste buds in heaven as I licked a dollop of cream off the corner of my mouth.
“Fuck,” he groaned, taking a pillow from behind him to cover his lap. “Have mercy on me, mo chroí. Those noises you make are enough to break a man.”
I hid my smirk by picking up the thick book of baby names once again. “Help me pick names for the girls.”
“I told you I will be happy with whatever you decide,” he said, feeding me another berry.
I shot him a glare. “I’m asking you to help me name our children, Bain O’Farrell.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a laugh, before quickly getting a serious expression on his handsome face. He’d shaved the day before, and I missed the beard he’d had going on, but he was the kind of man who pulled off either look deliciously. “You don’t want to name them after family members?”
“Maybe middle names,” I said with a half shrug. “But I want them to have something that is only theirs.”
“Well, you already said Buttercup was out,” he said, taking a berry for himself.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if I should be happy you watched The Princess Bride with me every night this week, or worried that now you are obsessed with Buttercup. We need to find a show to binge to get your attention off her.”
“I like Buttercup. She reminds me of you. All sassy and feisty. I really liked when she pushed Westley down the mountain before she realized who he was.”
“There are times I want to push you down a mountain,” I muttered, waving the book at him. “Stop deflecting and assist me in finding the perfect names for our girls, please.”
“I have never named anything in my life,” he grumbled. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Me either,” I assured him. “Maybe if we do it together, we can figure it out without scarring our kids with stupid names.”
He set down the bowl of fruit and plucked the book from my hand. “There are like a billion names in this book, my beauty. Where do we even begin?”
I scooted across the bed until I was leaning against him. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around me, kissing the top of my head as he read over the names on the first page. “Well, I know a set of triplets. Maverick, Mila, and Monroe. Mila has two sets of twins, and she kept all of her kids with the same first initial as well. She went with‘I.’ Ian, Isaac, Israel, and Ireland. Her husband is a twin, and all of his siblings have an ‘L’ initial. Lucy, Lyric, Luca.”
“I’m fond of the letter ‘C,’” he murmured thoughtfully.
“I bet you are.”
He frowned at the ice in my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“How many women have you slept with whose name starts with a ‘C’?” I hissed up at him.
Bain pressed his lips into a hard line. “If I say I can’t remember, will that lose me points?”
A growl left my throat, surprising us both.
He blew out a heavy exhale. “I’ve only ever loved you, Ciana.”
I leaned away from him. “Let’s use the letter ‘B,’” I suggested slyly. “I once slept with a guy named Brendon. I really like ‘B’ names.”
His own growl sounded feral. “What’s his last name? I’ll kill the motherfucker,” he snarled. “And we’re not using ‘B’ names.”
My own jealousy forgotten, I snickered as I cuddled back against him. “I’m just messing with you. I don’t even know anyone named Brendon.”
“Doesn’t matter. The Bs are now tainted.”
“But I really like Briana, Brooklyn, and Bianca,” I teased.
