Page 120
Story: Princes of Legacy
She nods, glancing up at me with a face that’s so forlorn, my chest twinges. “Really salty and cheesy like my mama makes it. With the little bits of garlic and thyme.”
Ah. “Homesick, huh?” This was supposed to be her month in West End, but since there’s a new stock of Dukes—and a new Duchess, fuck—in the clock tower, the old set has taken the loft Verity used to stay in.
She pulls a face, snorting. “God, no. If I were in West End, I’d be staying with my mom, and I might love her lasagna, but I’m not getting pestered daily about… who knows? Cleaning out my old high school clothes, or decluttering the chest freezer, or going over the gym ledgers.” Her eyes roll dramatically. “Plus, can you imagine me giving birth in West End? Lex and Pace—and you—would totally lose it.” Looking weirdly resolute, she shrugs. “I’m absolutely where I need to be.”
“So if you’re not homesick, then…” I pause, taking in her little pout. “Oh my fucking god, you really are out here brooding just because you want lasagna. And you call me melodramatic.”
She turns to me more fully, expression halfway to devastated. “You don’t understand! The cravings… they’re insane, Wicker!This baby is insatiable. The other day, Rory gave me a handful of M&Ms—which you won’t tell Lex about—and on the way outside to eat them in the solarium like I’m some kind of criminal, I dropped them in the mud and?—”
“Red,” I admonish, already knowing where this is going.
She flushes. “I washed them in the fountain first?”
Clearly, I’m not properly fulfilling my role of being her sweets dealer. “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “If my Princess wants a lasagna, then I’m going to get her one.”
“This is ridiculous,”Lex says, still half asleep. Neither of us are even properly dressed, and when we climb out of my car, I can only pray no one in this territory catches me in sweats and an undershirt.
I march him to the little stoop. “What’s ridiculous is you depriving the mother of our child vital sustenance.”
Lex whines, “Can’t we just go to the grocery store?”
“She doesn’t want some pre-packaged frozen lasagna,” I argue. “She specifically requested?—”
Abruptly, the porch light flares to life, the door opening to reveal a ruffled Mama B. Her hair is down in loose waves and there’s a thick cream on her face. Her face scrunches angrily. “Get your asses in here before someone sees you. I’m not dealing with forty twitchy cubs tomorrow.”
Pace called before we came—we’re notthatstupid—and explained nicely why we were crossing territory lines in the middle of the night. He said she didn’t say no to her daughter’s cravings but that she was sure as hell “not a delivery service”.
I’ve been to the gym out front plenty of times, but this is my first time in the home Verity grew up in. I take it in warily as I stamp my shoes on the doormat before ducking inside, Lex following closely behind.
The ceilings are lower than I’m used to and I walk in hunched and huddled. There’s not even a foyer. We enter right into a living room that could probably fit in Pace’s security room. There are framed drawings and banners covering the walls, a bookshelf against the back, and a mismatching furniture set, but it’s not very girly. There are no frills or flowers anywhere. One of the shelves is just a collection of crude shot glasses and wrestling memorabilia.
Despite that, it’s… cozy. And not even cozy in that contemptuous way where someone really means ‘small and crappy’, but like legitimately… homely.
Lex is checking it all out too, adjusting his glasses to inspect one of the framed drawings. “Verity did this,” he says, sounding surprised.
Mama B shuffles past us, flicking a hand. “She did them all. Now, get your asses in here and start cooking, because I’m not about to become a pregnant woman’s personal chef.”
Lex and I exchange a short, panicked look.
“C-c-cooking?” I stutter, rushing to keep up with her steps. “That’s the thing where you put food in a microwave, right?” The kitchen has roughly the square footage of a postal stamp, and Lex and I both have to duck to avoid smacking our heads on the doorway.
I’m met with a tea towel, smacking me right in the face. “Wash your hands first,” she orders, watching with sharp eyes as Lex and I both crowd in around the sink. Maybe he had a point before. Thisisfucking ridiculous.
It doesn’t get any less ridiculous when, ten minutes later, Mama B is giving us a lesson in onion cutting. “Not like that!Thinslices, blondie. And what are you smirking at?” she asks Lex, who’s gotten a little too superior since she praised his onion-peeling abilities. “Aren’t you supposed to be some bigshot surgeon guy? I could gnaw that with my teeth, and it’d make a cleaner cut. Goodness gracious, are you trying to dice it or punish it?”
He glowers at her through onion-tears. “You’re really cranky when people wake you up.”
She doesn’t dispute this, sitting down on a stool to flip through a magazine. “So the cravings are hitting her hard, eh?”
“Every night.”
“Sounds right. I couldn’t get enough chocolate when I was at this point with her.” She snorts. “Wait until she gives birth. Lactation is going to make her hungry as a horse.”
Pausing, I wince. “Maybe that’s why she’s gotten so—oof.” Lex’s very not-discreet elbow lands right in my ribs, and he shoots me a watery glare.Right. Probably don’t want to tell her mother that we’ve been nursing her tits.
“We can handle it,” Lex insists, brows crouched low. “We’ll just… have to learn to cook. Somehow.” The brows get even lower. “Eventually.”
At her blank stare, I explain, “He has his first lecture in about five hours.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159
- Page 160
- Page 161
- Page 162
- Page 163
- Page 164
- Page 165
- Page 166
- Page 167
- Page 168
- Page 169
- Page 170
- Page 171
- Page 172
- Page 173
- Page 174
- Page 175
- Page 176
- Page 177
- Page 178
- Page 179
- Page 180
- Page 181
- Page 182