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While I get the babies changed and dressed in adorable matching outfits for our outing this evening, Tyler packs the diaper bags with everything we could possibly need—diapers, bottles, formula, changes of clean clothes, and burp cloths. Forty minutes later, Tyler carries both car seats out to my SUV, while I carry the diaper bags—two of them, purple for Will and pink for Lizzie.

Other than making a couple of visits to the pediatrician for check-ups and vaccines, and a few strolls up and down our quiet residential street, we really haven’t taken the babies out much. They’re just so young. We’re worried about them catching something. So this evening is a big deal. While my parents have come to our house several times to see the babies, this is the first time we’ve taken them to their house.

It’s an easy twenty-minute drive across town to my parents’ house. Tyler drives, while I sit in the back seat between the two car seats.

“Here we are,” Tyler says as he turns onto my parents’ street.

It’s a residential neighborhood of old, stately homes. Layla and I grew up in a veritable mansion built by our paternal grandfather in the early twentieth century. Tobias Alexander, who amassed more money in his lifetime than is seemly, was one of those early titans in the telecommunications industry. Upon his death, he left sizeable fortunes to both me and my sister—sums of money and investments that immediately catapulted us to the top of Forbes’ most wealthy people under the age of thirty.

Our family home, which is a massive white marble structure that looks more like a stuffy old museum than a private residence, takes up an entire city block in an exclusive part of Chicago. There’s private parking in the rear of the building, along with separate housing for the staff. My parents have a butler and a housekeeper, a maintenance guy, a private chef they lured here from Paris years ago, and various other live-in help.

Probably one of the most notable features of the house is that it has an indoor pond, which is home to Layla’s collection of koi.

Tyler drives around to the back and parks next to my mother’s BMW. He carries the two car seats to the back door of the house, while I bring in the diaper bags.

Obviously expecting us, Charles, the butler, greets us at the door, opening it wide. He peers down into the car seats. “Just look at those two!” As he studies their striking coloring, he grins up at Tyler. “Well, I can easily tell who it is they take after.”

As we step inside, my sister’s squeal can be heard all the way across the industrial-sized kitchen. “The babies are here!”

Layla races to greet us, with Jason Miller, her boyfriend and official bodyguard, right behind her. She’s wearing her customary outfit—a pair of blue jeans and a burgundy University of Chicago hoodie. Her long black hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and her striking dark eyes are lined expertly with kohl.

Like me, Layla’s adopted. Our parents brought her home from the hospital just days after she was born. When it was discovered that Layla had a defective pancreas, her teenage birth mother, overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of a special needs baby, immediately surrendered custody of her to the state. The birth father, a foreign exchange student from the Middle East, was already out of the picture and had expressed zero interest in his daughter.

Layla takes Lizzie’s car seat from Tyler. “I’ll carry my niece,” she says as she exits the kitchen. “Ian, bring Will. Mom’s in the front parlor. Hurry up, because she’s dying to see them.”

Jason pauses to shake Tyler’s hand, and then mine. “Good to see you guys.”

“Likewise,” Tyler says, as I steal Will’s car seat from him and follow after my sister.

Before I’m out of earshot, I hear Jason ask, “How’s it going?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Tyler responds, sounding grim.

And then I’m out of earshot and can’t hear any more of their conversation. I follow Layla to my parents’ favorite parlor—there’s more than one in this monstrosity of a house. My mom likes the fireplace and reading chairs in this room, and my dad likes the antique mahogany bar. In fact, he’s pouring himself a shot of something when we enter the room.

Mom sets down her glass of red wine on the small round table sitting between two armchairs. She stands and meets us halfway, a huge smile on her face as she gazes down at her grandchildren. She bends down to get a closer look. “How are they doing, sweetheart?”

“They’re doing great,” I say. “Eating, drinking, sleeping, and pooping. Lots of pooping.”

“And they’re gaining weight?” she asks. “They’re thriving?”

“Yes. Everything’s going well.”

Lizzie wakes up at that moment, her blue-green eyes fluttering as she stares up at some unexpected faces.

Mom unbuckles her granddaughter and gingerly lifts her out of the car seat. “Hello, darling girl.” She kisses Lizzie’s forehead. “How’s my beautiful little angel?”

“Did you talk to me like that when I was a baby?” Layla asks, looking skeptical.

“Of course she talked to you like that,” my dad says as he takes a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He chuckles. “She spoiled you both rotten.”

“Martin! I did not spoil my children,” Mom says, giving him a fake scowl. “Besides, when they’re this age, you can’t spoil them. All they want is love and cuddles.”

Will begins to stir then, wriggling and making those adorable sounds babies make when they wake up.

“Well, let me see my grandson, then,” Dad says as he rescues Will from his car seat.

I smile as I watch my dad, the stern and stoic federal judge, lift his grandson into his arms with kid gloves.

Tyler and Jason join us in time to see my parents fawning over their first grandchildren.

“All right, Tyler,” Mom says, cutting to the chase. The attorney in her is coming out. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Tyler reaches into his jacket breast pocket and pulls out the blackmail letter. He carefully pulls it out of the envelope, unfolds it, and hands it to my mother.

She quickly scans the paper. “Good Lord. Martin, look at this.” She hands the note to my father, whose expression darkens as he reads it.

My dad’s gaze goes immediately to Tyler, and the two men stare at each other in silent communication.

“What is it?” Layla asks as she moves in to get a glimpse at the note. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” Dad says as he begins to fold the sheet of paper so she can’t read it.

Layla snatches the page from his grasp, reads it, and then hands it to Jason. “Now what?” she demands. “What are we going to do about this?”

We.

I love my sister. She has more health challenges than any young woman her age should have to deal with, but she always puts others first.

“That’s why we’re here,” Tyler says glancing first at my mom, and then at my dad. “What can you tell us about Ian’s birth mother?”

Mom frowns. “You think she’s behind this?”

Tyler shrugs. “Right now, she’s the prime suspect. Who else would have pictures of Ian’s early childhood? So, what do you know about her?”

Mom gazes down at Lizzie, sighing as she gathers her thoughts. “It’s been so long. And honestly, we didn’t know much about her. Her name is Rhonda Mitchell. She was twenty-four when Ian first went into the foster care system and was placed with us. Children’s Services got involved when a neighbor complained that a young child was crying on and off throughout the nights.

She was charged with child neglect and endangerment, as well as prostitution and illegal drug use. She attempted to get herself cleaned up and off drugs so she could get Ian back, and at one point, he did go back to her. But it didn’t last long. When she resumed her old habits, the state terminated her parental rights, and we were allowed to adopt him. We attempted to keep in touch with her. I sent her several letters when she was in prison, sharing updates and pictures of Ian. But frankly, she wasn’t in a good state of mind at the time. After a couple of years, we lost touch, and we never heard from her again.”

“How are you planning to handle this, Tyler?” Dad asks. “Are you going to the police?”

Everyone’s talking about me and around me, like I’m not even in the room. I throw my hands up in the air. “Hello! I’m right here!”

Dad softens his expression as his eyes land on me. “I know you are, son,” he says consolingly. “But let’s be honest. This is something for Tyler to deal with. Right?”

I frown because he’s not wrong. “Yes. But still.”

Tyler takes my hand and squeezes it as he pulls me close. With one look at him, I can read his thoughts— Please, let me handle this, babe. Let me take care of this—of you.

I nod. “Okay.”

“I’m of two minds,” Tyler says, quickly switching gears as he addresses my parents. “I don’t know if we should involve the police or if I should handle this myself. Do we want to bring charges? Would that help matters or just make things worse?”

Mom holds her hand out, and Jason deposits the letter in her hand. She reads it once more. “In general, there’s not enough here to warrant extortion charges,” she says, putting on her prosecutor hat. “Not from the letter alone. You’d have to actually pay the blackmailer. And then, yes, we could bring charges. But even then—”

“Given Ian’s financial standing in this city,” my dad says, “—not to mention the fact his father is a federal judge and his mother is an assistant district attorney—the police will surely act. They wouldn’t dare ignore this.”

“But then we’re possibly dealing with a public trial,” Ruth says, her gaze turning to me . “Unless, of course, the defendant pleads guilty. And there’s no guaranteeing that will happen. I think it’s fair to say we all want to spare Ian from having to testify in a trial.”

“Then no charges,” Tyler says. “I want to keep Ian’s name out of the news. My objective, besides putting a stop to the harassment, is to minimize the impact this has on him.”

When Will starts fussing, Dad hands him to me. “I agree. We want to keep Ian’s name out of the news.”

Charles knocks on the open door. “If everyone is ready, dinner is served.”

* * *

While we’re seated at the dining table, enjoying lasagna, fresh garlic bread, and salad, the babies are dozing in a pair of matching bassinettes that my mother purchased for just such an occasion. She was more than ready for our first visit.

I’m trying to eat quickly because I figure they’re going to wake up hungry any second, and I still need to get their bottles ready.

I watch Jason as he quietly programs my sister’s insulin pump to administer the correct dosage for this meal. Jason is more than just her boyfriend. He started out as her personal bodyguard, chosen specifically because of his medical background. He’s a former paramedic. After my sister was abducted by her former asshole-of-a-bodyguard, Sean, my parents contacted McIntyre Security Inc. to hire a new bodyguard, one well-versed in medical care.

In addition to being a type I diabetic, my sister also has schizophrenia—auditory hallucinations, to be exact. She often hears mean girls berating her, cutting her down, whittling away at her self-esteem.

Layla fell in love with her new bodyguard, and fortunately, he returned her feelings. She’s never been happier. She now lives with him in his apartment in The Gold Coast.

After I finish my dinner, I excuse myself from the table and run to the kitchen to prepare two bottles of formula. When the bottles are ready, I return to the dining room. Layla steals one of them from me and proceeds to feed Will. I pick up a squirming Lizzie and feed her.

The rest of the family sits around the dining room table, chatting, sharing a bottle of red wine, while my sister and I feed the twins. I notice the sweet smile on Layla’s face as she stares down at Will. I notice Jason noticing her . It makes me imagine them getting married one day—I have no doubt that will happen because they’re crazy about each other. I wonder if they’ll want to have kids. It’s obvious Layla enjoys being around the babies.

When dinner is over, and after my parents have shared every scrap of information they remember about my birth mother, Tyler and I pack up the babies and head home.

We change them, dress them in their sleepers, and tuck them into their beds for the night. Once they’re asleep, we change into comfy clothes and head downstairs to the living room to relax.

We end up on the sofa watching Heartstopper on Netflix—an amazing series about British teenage boys falling in love. The show is based on a series of graphic novels.

“Haven’t you already seen this?” Tyler asks as he props his stocking feet on the coffee table.

I prop my feet up, too. “Yes, but I want us to watch it together .”

“But they’re just kids—they’re in high school.”

“You need to see this, Tyler,” I say as I rest my head on his shoulder. “You missed out on teen crushes. You missed out on the pain and agony of navigating adolescence as a gay kid. You missed out on getting teased, being bullied, and having your heart broken because the quarterback of the football team didn’t return your love.”

Tyler tilts his head toward mine. “You were in love with the quarterback? Seriously? That’s so cliché.”

“I know, but he was so dreamy. I suffered through my entire senior year of high school hoping he’d notice me.”

“And did he?”

“Of course not. He was as straight as a flagpole, didn’t know I was alive, and when he knocked up the head cheerleader, I was devastated.” I glance up at Tyler. “What about you?”

“Did I knock up the head cheerleader in high school? No.”

I smack his thigh. “No! I mean, did you ever have a crush on a boy when you were in school? Even just a tiny one? I’ll bet you had a crush on the quarterback.”

“Ian, I was the quarterback.” Then his smile falls. “I never noticed guys when I was in high school. It never even occurred to me.”

“That’s just sad. I bet you were a hot, broody teenager.”

“Broody, yes, but I doubt I was hot.” Tyler lays his hand on mine, which is resting on his thigh, and links our fingers. “I tried dating girls a few times, but it never went well, so eventually I stopped trying.” He kisses the side of my head. “Turns out it was all for the best. I just needed to be patient and wait for you.”

“Aww.”

When Charlie and Nick share their first kiss on-screen, I elbow Tyler. “See what you were missing out on?”

Tyler pulls me onto his lap so that I’m straddling his hips, facing him. He reaches up beneath my T-shirt and thumbs my nipples, sending delicious tingles down my spine. His heated gaze is locked on me, and the TV show gets forgotten. “When I was a senior in high school, you were hardly more than a baby, Ian.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” I cup his handsome face and lean in to kiss him. “It’s a good thing you waited for me.”