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He makes a low, derisive sound. “That’s stupid. How can you trust forty men and their fuck-toys?”

My eyes narrow at his description of the cutsluts. “Because they’re good fighters and loyal friends, and they respect the King they’ve chosen. Even the girls.” But truthfully, I’m just as tense. It’s not so much about the Dukes, but more about the way everyone’s gaze dips down to my pregnant belly. Some of the cutsluts visibly recoil at the sight, turning away. A pregnancy for a cutslut isn’t the honor it is for one of the girls in my court. It would be devastating. Even Remy and Nick stare at me for longer than is entirely polite. However, “I’m safe here,” I tell him, turning to peer up into his dark, suspicious eyes. “You said you’d try.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps. The sharpness of his tone makes me flinch, which is the only thing that finally draws his attention to me. “Fuck.” He turns to me instantly, cupping my cheek in his hand, and pitches his voice to a silky hush. “Don’t look at me like that, Rosi. Not here. Not in front of them.”

Frowning, I search his eyes. “Look at you like what?”

“Like I scare you.” His thumb caresses the corner of my frown, and when he bends down to brush his lips against mine, it’s easy to wind my arms around his neck, melting into the kiss. Initially, Lex was supposed to be my escort, and while it would have been good to have his calmer energy at my side, I told him it had to be Pace.

He needs to see this more than anyone.

“You’re not scary, you’re just protective. It’s sweet,” I decide, but then amend, “annoying, but sweet.”

He smirks into the kiss, shifting the package tucked under his arm. “Well, kick me in the balls or something, because if anyone here tries to protect you from me, I’m going to start stabbing Dukes again.”

I swat his bicep, ordering, “No stabbing this time! Remy’s still pissed about the scar.”

Shrugging, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, facing the room with a bracing inhale. “No promises.”

As if we weren’t off to a bad enough start, the moment we approach the table, Nick saunters up to fix Pace with a scowl. “Pretty sure the rules were to leave your heat at home.” He glances pointedly at the gun peeking from Pace’s waistband.

Pace drags me closer, eyes narrowing. “I’m escorting my Princess and unborn child into a rival territory.” He gives Nick a challenging look. “Don’t pretend you’d come unarmed if it were your pregnant Duchess standing in this gym.”

Nick’s face does something complicated, his eyes shifting to his brother. “Probably not,” he concedes.

Eagerly, I ask, “Is she here? Lavinia?”

Remy jerks his head toward the back. “In the kitchen with your mom.”

But as soon as I take a step in that direction, Pace takes one, too. And when the Dukes see Pace following me to their Duchess, Nick and Remy jolt forward to do the same.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I groan, turning to my Prince. “It’s just the girls and my mom. Sit down and have a beer, okay?”

Pace’s eyes harden. “There’s no fucking way I’m?—”

“I’ll take Ballsack with me,” I insist, but before my eyes can find him, the door to the back opens, Lavinia stepping out.

She spots me instantly, handing a tray of food off to Kaz, one of the established DKS members. “There you are,” she says. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it. Your mom’s become a real basket case.”

“Sorry.” I give a rueful smile, resting a hand on my stomach. “As soon as we hit the Avenue, my bladder decided I needed a rest stop. This one,” I jab a thumb at Pace, “had to do a securitysweep that took forever. Reminder to self: don’t ever pee in South Side.”

Just then, the woman in question struts through the door, her face lighting up when she sees me. “There’s my Ver Bear,” she squeals, sweeping me up into a bracelet-jangling hug. She smells like home, cinnamon and jasmine, and I pull in the scent greedily. Briefly, I wonder if my son will ever press his nose to my shoulder and be reminded of comforting, soft things. “Let’s get a good look at you.” Mama steps back, touching my stomach. “How’s he doing?”

“I just had a full checkup,” I assure, grinning. “Lex says he’s doing great.”

The corners of her eyes tighten, Mama’s mutter dripping with disdain. “Lex says, huh.”

Sharply, I clear my throat, turning to Pace. “I doubt the two of you have been formally introduced. Mama, this is Pace, my Prince.” I nod between them. “Pace, this is Mama.”

My mother has never liked the thought of me with another boy, and while some part of that must have been her intention to groom me for Duchess, I now know a bigger part was due to her own experiences as a young woman in Forsyth.

“So you’re Pace Ashby.” She stares him down like he’s the scum beneath her shoe. “Your bird’s got a filthy mouth.”

Pace’s jaw tightens. “Filthier since you had her.” I jab an elbow into his side, giving him a pointed look, and watch as he visibly struggles to swallow down his instinct to lash out. With a crinkle, he extends the gift he’s kept tucked close, as if it’s some shameful, embarrassing thing. “We… appreciate you looking over her.” To his credit, he almost says this with a straight face.

Mama B takes the gift with a dubious scowl, immediately tearing the wrapping paper away. Once revealed, she cradles the sparkly bottle of rum in her hands, lips pursed into a pensive moue. “Looks expensive.”

“Disgustingly,” Pace confirms, glancing around the room. “It was distilled in the nineteen hundreds. The glass is inlaid with topaz, and there are only twenty confirmed bottles in existence. It’s one of the most sought-after, collectible rums in the world.”