Page 151

“No,” Tommy says, rocking back on his heels. “They’re specifically for the baby.”

A smile twitches at her lips. “I’m sure Justice appreciates it.”

After that comes Kramus, Baxter, Loeffler, and Mitch, each with their own bouquets of white roses. By the time PNZ leaves, the whole console table is bursting with them, a shock of white amongst the bare furnishings. They seem content to hang out all day, until I kick them out, telling them Verity needs a break.

“You need a break,” she says watching them exit the room. “You were up all night hovering.”

“I wasn’t hovering.” I was checking vitals, and fluids, and listening for Justice’s tiny, perfect breaths.

Her eyes harden into a threatening resolve. “When Pace and Wick get back, I want you to go home and sleep.” Somewhere in the procession of PNZ visits, she’d sent them home with a list of things to bring back for the rest of her stay. Hopefully, they remember to bring my glasses so I can take these godforsaken contacts out.

I rub my eyes, refusing to acknowledge how gritty they feel. “Ver, I’m fine. I got a solid two hours around three?—”

“Are you fucking me with this plaque?” Verity’s mother’s voice comes from the hallway. “‘The Rufus Ashby Maternity Suite’. Jesus Christ, that son of a bitch never saw a room he didn’t want to piss on.” She walks in with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Well, I wonder if rooms in the fiery pits of hell have plaques?”

“Hey, Mama,” Verity says, eyes lighting up when she sees her mother. “I’d ask to move rooms, but this one is really nice.”

The four of us came to an agreement when Verity killed Rufus. We’re going to enjoy every privilege and indulgence he left for us, and the maternity suite is exactly that. Indulgent. From the coffee maker and mini-bar to the jetted tub in the bathroom. The only reason I managed those two hours of sleep last night came down to an accidental lounging on the guest bed six feet away from hers.

“Sure enough. It’s a palace.” She looks around, taking in the couch and small kitchenette. She spots the wall of roses. “I see the frat has been here.”

“They just left,” I say gently, “and Verity needs to rest and feed?—”

“Lex Ashby, don’t even think of kicking me out,” she snaps, heading straight to the little bassinet where Justice is sleeping. “Verity can feed the baby in front of me. The girls, too. This is nothing we haven’t seen.”

“What girls?” I ask, but a moment later, Lavinia and Story appear in the doorway. A grin splits Verity’s face at the sight of them, and I remember what Tristian said that day working on the nursery. These women aren’t just contemporaries. They’re friends.

“You came,” Verity says, looking more alert than she has all day.

“And we brought food,” Story says, holding up a greasy bag.

Verity inhales deeply, immediately sitting up. “Is that from Señor Mexicana?”

“Yep. Special number five.”

“Oh my god, I love you.” She snatches the bag from her. “I’m starving.”

At Verity’s defiant look, I hold up my hands. “Go for it. Your body needs fuel.”

“Got you one too, Dr. Daddy,” Lavinia says, thrusting a foil-covered burrito at me from another bag.

Since when does West End’s Queen buy food for a Prince?

Unable to hide how touched I am by the gesture, I say, “Wow.” My stomach rumbles, and I remember I haven’t eaten either. “Thanks.”

While Mama B is hunched over the bassinet and—there’s no other word for it—gushing, the two girls plop on the couch.

Lavinia begins, “Okay, tell us everything. Like, on a scale of one to Sy’s dick, how bad did it hurt?”

“Jesus.” I choke on the first bite of spicy chicken, not even caring that Verity’s exposing a breast for the hungry baby Mama B is bringing her. I can’t be here for this discussion. “I’ll, um, just go eat this down in the visitor's lounge.”

The sound of giggling follows me out the door.

I wander down the hall until I find the little room set aside for visitors, and pull out a chair. The second bite is as good as the first, and I relish the grease and carbs, idly wondering if Wick and Pace can take a detour on the way back to buy me three more.

I’m halfway done when a massive figure in black stalks by, and I call out over beans and rice, “Hey. In here.”

Sy loops back, exhaling in relief when he sees me. “This place is a fucking maze.”