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“Don’t overdo it.” She tosses her head. “I mean, I’m aware that you like my figure. You made that clear the first time we met.”
I chuckle. Damn, I love that she never puts down her curves. I love how comfortable she is in her own skin.
"Like? Iloveyour figure,” I growl with vehemence.
"I do, too." She tips up her chin. "Despite the fact that, even the years I was surviving on ramen didn’t help me lose them."
"Thank fuck." I twine her fingers with mine. "I should also say thank you!"
There’s a question in her eyes.
"For agreeing to marry me. For agreeing to become the mother Serene needs so desperately."
"Papa?" Serene pushes the door open and pads in, dragging her favorite soft toy—Donny the dinosaur—with her.
“Serene, what are you doing out of bed, honey?” Priscilla exclaims.
Serene walks over to stand between us. Letting go of her toy, she holds up her arms.
Priscilla and I look at each other, then together, bend and pick her up. My arm lines up above hers, my skin brushing against hers as we hold the child between us. My chest seizes up. That melting sensation that invaded it when Serene called Priscilla 'Mama' seems to pervade my entire body. If I needed any further proof that marrying her is the right thing to do, here it is.
"Did you have a bad dream?" Priscilla asks her softly.
Serene nods. "It was a tiger." Her breath hitches. "I’m scared."
"Don’t be, baby. The tiger’s not real,” I say in a soothing tone.
Serene’s chin trembles. Another tear drop squeezes out from the corner of her eye, following the trail left by the others. My chest hurts something fierce. Between these two, I’m going to turn into an emotional wreck. I reach up to brush away her tear at the same time as Priscilla. Our fingers brush against each other. Sparks zip out from the point of contact. She must feel it too, for her cheeks turn pink. She pulls her arm back, and I clasp Serene to my chest.
The little girl places her head under my chin and sucks on her thumb. She contemplates Priscilla with that seriousness I’ve known her to have from the day she arrived. I swear, Serene feels everything more deeply than any kid her age does. I personally theorize it has to do with being separated from her birth mother so early in life. I hope the therapist I’ve consulted will help Serene deal with her trauma. I’m also confident Priscilla’s love and care is going to do a world of good for her.
Serene holds out a hand in Priscilla’s direction. Priscilla takes it, and Serene urges her closer. Then she yawns hugely. "Can I sleep in your bed today, Papa?"
* * *
"She’s asleep." Priscilla closes the book she’s been reading, then stifles a yawn.
"You’re tired," I say from the other side of Serene.
All three of us are in my bed, where Serene insisted on bringing us. Then, she wanted Priscilla to read a specific story to her, over and over again. Until finally, on what felt like the hundredth read—but was only the fifth one—my daughter’s eyes finally closed. I rise to my feet and scoop her up in my arms.
Noting Priscilla’s worried expression, I reassure her, "Once she’s out, it’ll be a few hours before she wakes up. But when she does sleep, it’s deeply. She won’t be disturbed if I carry her to her room." I walk across the hallway and into Serene’s room, then place her in her bed. I cover her gently, making sure her star projector night-light is on so the ceiling of her room is speckled with stars. Then, I kiss her forehead. I straighten and turn to find Priscilla watching me from the doorway. She steps back, and I shut the door. She follows me down the hallway, down the stairs, and back to my study.
I pour a drink at the bar for myself and a glass of wine for her. Then, I walk back and hand it to her.
"I shouldn’t be?—"
"She’s asleep. She’ll stay asleep for a few hours. And if she does wake up?" I point to the baby monitor I have on my desk.
"Okay. I guess there's no harm in one glass." She takes a sip, then licks a drop from her lips.
It draws my attention to her gorgeous mouth. And damn, if I don’t want to kiss her and capture her breath. I force myself to glance away. She’s agreed to marry me. I’m not going to screw this up… Not until the papers are signed, and she’s mine. I walk around to my desk, pull out a few sheets of paper and place them on the desk.
"This is the paperwork needed to apply for a marriage license."
"Oh." She sets her glass down. The apprehension on her face makes me feel sorry for having disturbed her enjoyment of the wine. But it’s best that we get through this paperwork while she still seems open to the idea of the marriage.
She sinks into the chair and leafs through it, then reaches for a pen. She signs the papers and places her pen down. "Now what?"