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A husband who enables me every step of the way. Just because I decided I want kids now doesn’t mean he let me slack off law school or put it on the back burner. He knows that it’s my dream and it’s important, too.
Which is why he takes care of our newborns most of the time, even though there’s a nanny. He reminds me of Dad, who didn’t trust them around me when I was younger and always watched them through cameras and such. He often reminded them of the legal action he could take against them, too, because he can be extra like that.
Nate is similar with our children, but his methods are more subtle. He doesn’t threaten anyone, but he can get his point across with his normal manner of speech alone. That delicious, stern manner that I can’t get enough of.
Our twins, Logan and Lily, are a handful to say the least, but Nate successfully puts them to sleep. Last night was the only time he was going to spend an all-nighter at the firm since their birth.
And I obviously screwed it up because there’s no sight of them.
Tears sting my eyes and I’m about to have a meltdown of epic proportions, but I notice a Post-it Note on my upper arm.
I command Alexa to turn on the light, and all the breaths I’ve been holding instantly deflate out of me when I read the words written in Nate’s beautiful, distinctive handwriting.
The twins are with me and King in the garden. Sleep in and don’t worry about anything.
P.S. Happy birthday, baby girl. I have plans for us as soon as I kick your father out. In the meantime, I left you an early birthday gift on the bedside table.
All fear about my babies’ safety vanishes and it’s replaced by furious warmth for their father. Just how the hell did I end up with this man? Every day, I wake up more in awe of him than the day before.
My gaze falls on the box on the bedside table and when I open it, I find a photo album inside. The first page has a picture Dad took of me and Nate while we each held one of the twins. My face is filled with happy tears and Nate is kissing my forehead.
Our first family picture.
Before I can get all emotional, I spot a folded piece of paper on the album’s jacket. My fingers are a bit unsteady as I open it and instantly recognize his handwriting.
Gwyneth,
I met you the day you were born.
King freaked out when he found a baby at his doorstep and thought it was a good idea to call in his nemesis for crisis control.
Truth be told, I planned to make fun of him and his carelessness, but when I got to his house, you were crying your head off and he was flustered until I told him you were probably hungry.
He pushed you in my arms and flew to the kitchen like a madman. It was the first time I held a baby and it was pretty awkward at best, but then something happened.
You stopped crying.
Just like that.
You stared at me with those colorful, inquisitive eyes that somehow pierced through my chest.
Since then, you have always held a special place in my life. I might not have been a doting uncle, but I believed that I cared about you as much as King did. Which is why I made sure no one bullied you or gave you a hard time. Sort of like I did with my nephew.
But you ruined that six years ago.
When you kissed me on your eighteenth birthday.
When you got on your tiptoes, ignored all common sense, and crashed your lips to mine as if you’ve been waiting your whole life to do it.
In that single moment, you demolished every picture I had of you. Instead of being like my nephew, you planted other images in my head. Images I shouldn’t have entertained for my best friend’s much younger daughter.
I shouldn’t have thought about lifting you up in my arms, slamming you against the nearest object and kissing you until you could only breathe me.
But I did.
And I hated you for it.
Not only because I lost the easy relationship I had with you, but also because no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t think of you as King’s daughter anymore.
