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“You think she’s planning to relocate?”
“I think she’s laying the groundwork.”
“Okay. I’ll pull the custody order and go over all the clauses to see if anything in there gives her room to move. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me. I want to be clear on where she could argue ambiguity before we escalate.”
“I don’t need careful, Blair. I need ready.”
“Then let me do my job, and you’ll have both.”
We end the call, and I stretch my neck side to side before releasing a breath. There’s nothing in that order that gives Shayla the right to move Luna across the country without going through me. But that doesn’t mean she won’t try. And if this turns into a fight, it’s not me or Shayla who takes the hit. It’s Luna.
I shove my chair back and walk out of my office, catching the pale shimmer of Manhattan waking up beyond the glass. I’ve been up for hours, clearing a backlog of work I never used to have. First time in my life I’ve fallen behind, and I have the world’s most beautiful distraction to thank for it.
On my way down the hall to my bedroom, Luna launches herself at me, still hyped from the sleepover she and Sarah had last night. Amelia and I don’t do this all the time, stay together with the girls. We try to keep our usual routine. But sometimes, we give them the fun of a family night in and a school-night sleepover.
“Dad!” She blocks my path, eyes wide and sparkling. Her version of a strategic ambush. It’s the look I can’t say no to even when I try. “We wanna go to the symphony. Like you and me did last year. But this time with Sarah and Amelia.” She pauses for impact. “You know Amelia would love it.”
Luna adores Amelia. And ever since I told Amelia I was done sneaking around like a teenager a month ago—the night I gave her the collar—my daughter thinks all her dreams have come true. She’s already planning matching bedrooms for when her stepsister moves in.
She knows I’d take her to the symphony anytime she asks. But she’s been tying Amelia into everything—every plan, every moment—as if she’s trying to glue us together before anything can fall apart. I think she’s worried that if she doesn’t keep us close, we’ll end up like I did with her mother.
The weight of that lands in my chest harder than I want to admit. She’s just a kid, and she’s already trying to patch cracks that aren’t even there yet. And fuck if I’m going to let her carry that kind of fear. Not in this house. Not on my watch.
I ruffle her hair. “I know you would love it, baby girl. Of course, I’ll take you.”
“Yeah,” she says slowly, “but Sarah and Amelia can come too, right?”
“Yes, Luna, everyone can come.”
She beams, twirling once like her entire world just aligned. When she starts to take off down the hall, I catch her hand and gently tug her back.
“Amelia and I are good, Luna,” I say, keeping my voice quiet.
She nods, eyes wide, looking like she’s not quite sure where I’m taking this.
“No one’s going anywhere.”
She nods slowly, processing, and then gives me a small smile.
I let her go and she darts off, racing all the way to the other end of the hall where Sarah’s waiting for her in her bedroom. The girls’ excited chatter echoes behind me, fading the further I walk until I can’t hear it anymore at the edge of my bedroom door.
Amelia’s in the bathroom, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, listening to someone talk while applying makeup.
Her eyes meet mine in the reflection when I rest my hip against the counter. She flashes a smile, then drops her gaze to my rolled-up sleeves that are ready for the humidity of the day. She lingers there. And then she gives me a look that belongs in the bedroom—full heat, full drama, silently asking,do we really need those rolled-up sleeves this early in the day?
I arch a brow and glance at that dress she’s wearing.
When I bring my gaze back, she just shoots me a sexy smile and goes back to perfecting her lips.
I eye the dress again. It’s cream silk with soft pink blooms scattered like a brush painted them on. Sheer in places. Ruffled sleeves sitting just off her shoulders. Legs on full fucking display. A dip at her chest giving more than a hint of cleavage.
And right there above it, sitting at her throat like it belongs there?
Her collar.
The declaration that every inch of her is spoken for.
My eyes fix on it like they always do now. Like they always will.