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Telling Jordan that Madison might have health issues was tantamount to urging a helicopter mom to go full throttle.
Madison shrugged it off. “I’m carrying twins. As in plural. My chances of becoming the size of a house are a real possibility. I wanted to do this now. Before life becomes chaotic and messy, and Alex has to move me around with a forklift.”
“You mean moving your enormous breasts around with a forklift.” Her gaze dropped to Madison’s chest with an exaggerated leer. “And while we’re on the subject, I’m sure our Alex is a very satisfied man.”
Our Alex.The phrase could have been a declaration of territory from anyone else. But this was Jordan - the woman who would walk through fire for Madison, who would risk her own life for Alex and their unborn children. With Jordan,‘our’didn’t mean possessive. It meant family.
“Prepare yourself, Jordan. This baby shower is a marathon, not a sprint. The penthouse is about to be overrun by pint-sized humans and their chatty, gossiping moms.” She picked up the bottle Jordan had been eyeing. “These are filled with cosmos—a slight downgrade from your preferred vodka, but it should do the trick.”
“The trick for what? Getting kids plastered?”
“For making sure the mom’s have fun.”
Jordan blinked and pointed to the nipple. “Grown-ups are supposed to drink from these?”
Madison let out a sigh. “I guess. Cordelia Kensington says it’s all the rage.”
“Cordelia Kensington.” Jordan’s taste of the name was bitter—a lemon wedge between her teeth. “She sounds like an idiot.”
Madison smiled graciously. “Less outside voice, more drinking. She leads the Manhattan mommy group. Technically, they’re hosting the party.”
“In your penthouse.”
“I wanted to be close to home.” Her inadvertent slip caught Jordan’s interest. Madison fiddled with her tightening wedding ring. “Our kids will be circling each other for years. Maybe forever.”
“Forever’s a long time,” Jordan conceded.
“So, if I have to suck it up and get baby showered by one of Manhattan’s mommy brigade, then so be it. At least with copious baby bottles of booze, everyone gets liquored up just enough to stay happy and easy going, but not enough to bust out a stripper pole. Or kill each other.”
“Such a shame I can’t stay.” Jordan unscrewed the top and downed the drink. “With all this talk of edible children and Stepford wives, I’m already nauseous. Here.”
Jordan’s hand emerged from her pocket, holding a small box. She passed it to Madison. “There’s another gift for you hidden deep within the fortress of teddy bears, but I want you to open this one while I’m here.”
Inside, Madison found a necklace—a round pendant encrusted with small glittering stones that looked suspiciously like rubies. In the center, a larger stone caught the light, winking with a fiery brilliance.
“It’s like looking at a star,” Madison breathed in awe.
“Better than a star, those are Burmese rubies. Rarer than unicorns,” Jordan said, popping the pendant open to reveal two empty spaces. “And it’s a locket. To keep images of your undoubtedly photogenic offspring.”
Madison chuckled, touched. “Jordan, this is...”
“Overkill? Extravagant?”
“I was going with way too generous,” Madison countered, her words wrapped in the warmth of gratitude.
Jordan flashed her a grin that was part predator, part protector. “It was found at a covert estate action in Yangon. It’s worth an obscene amount of money—technically priceless. Consider it a symbol of my unlikely affection for you.” Jordan’s whisper tickled Madison’s ear, her voice playfully suggestive.” Don’t lose it.”
She’s certainly dressed to be cross.Madison cradled it against her chest. “It’ll stay close to my heart.”
Jordan’s eyes twinkled with naughtiness. “Think of it as carrying a bit of me right there between your…generous endowments.”
Jordan’s eyes, usually sharp with amusement, softened for a moment as she scanned the room before finally landing back on Madison.
There was an ease about her, a nonchalance that she wore like a second skin, but Madison knew her well enough to see the subtle shift. It was as if she was changing gears from the free-spirited troublemaker to the disciplined operative she once was.
“Speaking of Alex,” Jordan began, her casual tone belying the careful calculation behind her question. “Where is he?”
“With thirty plus people headed this way, where else? The kitchen.”
