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Sophie doesn’t even look at it. She comes out of the bedroom, wearing one of my long-sleeve T-shirts and a pair of panties for pyjamas, takes one look at the letter before tossing it in the trash, and grabs the coffee cup and warm paper bag I’ve just brought in.

“Hey, come on,” I call after her, fishing the letter out of the trash.

I rip it open, revealing a formal invitation to a fancy alumni event in the fall. It does sound like a pretentious ordeal, but on the other hand, it’s the kind of event you want to go to if you want your kids to follow in your footsteps. Zach, Theo, Sev and Anaïs will certainly be going, and probably Zahara and Iakov too. No chance are any of them not looking to send their kids there.

Even Luca might show his ugly face, unless Willow’s got him chained up in their basement or whatever it is those two lovesick psychos get up to.

“Christ,” I mutter half to myself, “poor Ambrose will have a heart attack if all of us end up sending our kids to that fucking school.”

Sophie whips back around. “No chance.”

I flick the envelope in my fingers, smirking at her. “No?”

She comes back to the counter, putting her coffee and breakfast back down just so she can cross her arms.

“No way inhell.”

Now it’s my turn to toss aside the envelope, stepping in front of Sophie, looking her slowly up and down.

“You really think you’re gonna intimidate me looking likethis?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no hiding the delicate flush in her cheeks, the way her nipples subtly pucker and darken beneath the soft fabric of my old shirt.

“I don’t care how intimidating you find me right now,” she says. “I’d never let my kids step foot in that institution.”

“Ourkids. And why not?”

She glares at me; little does she know that only makes my pulse pound faster.

“Because,” she says defiantly, “I don’t wantourkids getting caught up in rich kid drama, or being forced to compete with Zach and Theo’s pretentious overachieving offspring, or getting pulled into fistfights by Iakov and Zaro’s feral sons.”

I snort. “Their sonswouldbe feral.” And then, I wink at her. “Don’t worry, ours will be wise and well-behaved, perfect prefect angels just like you.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“I don’t care if our kids turn out wise or well-behaved—all I care about is that they’rehappy.”

My heart clenches. She’s spent so much of her life fighting for her own happiness, imagining it might never be within her reach, that it might only be reserved for other people, softer people, people who didn’t even have to fight for it.

Pulling her to me by her waist, I look straight into her eyes.

“You think for a moment I’d ever let anything happen to them?”

There’s a tiny silence. Sophie studies my face, and she must read the truth there, printed like words on paper across my features. She lets out a little huff.

“I know you wouldn’t.”

I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and add softly, “They’regoingto be happy, love. Trust me.”

She nods slowly, and I break into a grin.

“Besides, if we don’t send our kids there, who’s going to humble Zach and Theo’s snooty know-it-all kids?”

She laughs, pulls away, throwing me a sly look through her eyelashes.

“What if they turn out just strong, pretty and dumb like their father?”

I catch her by the collar and yank her roughly back to me.