Page 53 of Grim’s Delight (The New Protectorate Syndicate #1)
The flower market was an explosion of color, scents, and sound.
The air was cool inside the massive warehouse building, saturated with water and all fresh green stems cut with small, sharp knives.
Vendors and customers prowled the narrow paths between stalls, dodging massive white buckets full of chrysanthemums and baby’s breath and calla lilies.
Even at midnight, the market was an oasis of life and movement. Day-dwellers weren’t the only ones who needed beauty in their lives, after all.
Dahlia hooked her fingers into Colin’s crooked elbow, a wide, satisfied smile on her face.
He hadn’t stopped gushing over the sights since they stepped into the market.
Felix and Alastair trailed behind them. When she peeked over her shoulder, she found them deep in discussion — no doubt arguing over when to make their next move now that their legitimate businesses in the Protectorate had begun to turn a profit.
Those two loved to argue almost as much as she and Colin loved to ignore them.
She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point she noticed neither men appeared to loathe the existence of the other any longer.
Instead, their arguments became something of a mutually enjoyable hobby.
Kind of like putting on boxing gloves and stepping into the ring instead of starting a bare-knuckle brawl.
It was good for them. In their world, it wasn’t often that they could be totally honest with each other, and finding someone who completely understood Felix’s responsibilities and position was rare. They’d both vigorously deny it, but the men had become something akin to friends.
Felix still wasn’t allowed on Alastair’s new yacht, though.
It was fine. He just bought a bigger one and named it The Bride.
There was some debate, but she was ninety percent certain that the maiden voyage was when she got pregnant. Felix liked to think it was the week before, when they’d spent some quality time in the pool while the mansion was empty. Either way, they agreed water was involved.
Colin leaned in close to ask, “How are your feet doing?”
“They’re fine,” she answered, deciding not to mention the way her son was currently shoving his elbow into her bladder.
This was the last family business trip they would make before her son arrived. She intended to make the most of it, even if it felt a bit like the baby was doing constant diving elbow drops on her organs.
As annoying as his father, she thought fondly.
Unfortunately, Dahlia was not one of the lucky people for whom pregnancy was a joyous time of reverence for the miracle of what her body was capable of. It’d been miserable from the start.
She hadn’t been able to wear heels in months, her son liked to kick her in the ribs whenever she began to fall asleep, and Felix had been glued to her side like a sexy, blood-sucking barnacle from the moment the test came back positive.
The last several months had been an odyssey of raw physical discomfort and hormones — real nature documentary animal shit, as Luis liked to joke.
To say she was ready for her little Amauri parasite to evacuate his fleshy condo was an understatement.
That was half the reason she’d insisted on the trip to begin with. Not only did they need to check up on their interests in the EVP, but she hoped getting some walking in would help speed things along. Just a little.
“If you need a rest, just say the word. I don’t want you tiring yourself out.”
Dahlia squeezed his arm. “No, Dad. I’m not tired yet, I prom?—”
“Do you need to sit?” Felix’s voice rumbled directly into her ear as his hand settled on the small of her back, applying slight pressure.
“I do not,” she answered, giving all three suddenly very attentive men a withering look. “Alvin said exercise is good, remember? I need to walk.”
Felix muttered under his breath, “What does he know?”
“Hush.”
Alastair sidled up beside Colin, the silver tip of his cane clicking against the concrete floor strewn with bits of bruised greenery.
It was an old war injury, he’d confessed to her one night after dinner with the Bowans.
He’d gotten it fighting along the border of what would become the Neutral Zone in the middle of the war, and it was that injury that brought Colin, a field medic, into his life.
The wound itself was long healed, but not even magic could completely erase nerve damage. It was a small price to pay, he told her, for meeting the love of his life.
The family joke was that Alastair didn’t know how to acquire loved ones without a little bloodshed.
“Have you decided on a name yet?” Alastair asked.
She peered at him. “For The Lush or for the baby?”
He huffed — the Alastair version of a laugh. “Both. Either.”
“We’re still working on a name for the bar,” Felix answered, guiding her around a table covered in buckets of fragrant rose bouquets. “But I think we’ve settled on a name for the baby.”
She wasn’t sure what it said about them as a couple that it was harder to agree on what to rename the bar they’d purchased than their first born child. Cecilia just shook her head when she found out they’d snatched up The Lush.
“I always knew you’d end up running this place,” she’d laughed.
Dahlia was ecstatic that her friend had escaped the trenches serving drinks in a bar, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t wish Cecilia could manage the bar for her. Too bad the damn woman was out enjoying her life and career, terrifying mate lurking in her shadow like the menace he was.
They were set to visit the couple after their trip to the market, but whether Cecilia’s mate would show his face or not was always a toss-up.
The man was more akin to a stray cat than anything else.
If he wandered in through a window halfway through Cecilia’s dinner, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
They were two perfectly matched weirdos.
“We’re thinking something nautical, Papa,” she blithely informed him. “You know, in honor of our shared love of boats. We’ve decided on Atlas.”
Alastair choked. Colin, who’d been helping her brainstorm since her first missed period, let loose a bellow of laughter loud enough to draw the eye of several curious vendors. His mirth was so great, his glasses nearly sailed off his nose.
Whirling on Felix, Alastair hissed, “You are not naming my grandson after the yacht you sank!”
Felix slung his arm around her shoulders. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he smugly replied, “And here I thought you’d be honored, old man.”
Snickering, Dahlia basked in the glow of their levity.
Nothing mattered more to her than this. Them.
The only thing that might’ve made it a perfect moment was if Cecilia was there.
But she’d already taken a month off to stay in United Washington for the birth, so Dahlia couldn’t fault her for needing time to wrap up her work at the school before then.
“I think Atlas Alastair Amauri has a lovely ring to it,” she sing-songed.
Felix nodded sagely. “It really does. Very alliterative without being cheesy.”
“And so regal. You’d never even know he was named after his grandpa’s stupid boat.”
“His cousins will make sure everyone knows,” Felix assured her. “They’re good at keeping each other humble.”
Alastair stopped walking. After a few steps, the group came to a slow halt and turned to look at him.
The old man didn’t show much emotion on a normal day.
He hadn’t even seemed worried when they were pinned together with a piece of jagged metal.
He wore an aloof mask as much as possible, so it was rare to see more than a twinkle of humor in his eyes or a frown deepening the lines grooved into his face.
But in that moment, surrounded by a sea of vendors and flowers, Alastair looked truly stricken.
“You’re naming him Atlas Alastair?”
Humor bleeding into tenderness, Dahlia broke away from Felix to reach for her father’s hand.
Giving it a squeeze, she said, “I wouldn’t have any of this if we hadn’t met that night.
So yeah, that’s what we’ve decided.” A smile tugged at her lips.
“And don’t worry. Dad has already called dibs on the next one. ”
Alastair swallowed hard. He looked away quickly, but not before she spied the sheen of tears in his eyes. Clearly trying to regain his composure, he rasped, “I see. Well. That’s fine, I suppose.”
“Oh, look.” Felix came up beside her and pointed to a stall just a few feet away.
Arrayed in baskets on the counter and around it were hundreds of dahlias. They burst from their containers in small floral explosions of reds, pinks, and creams. Each one was its own stunning creation, with every silken petal perfectly layered on top of its neighbor to create spirals of rich color.
Trailing his hand down her back to rest on her hip, Felix drew her into his side. “You know, I think I just thought of a great name for the bar.”
Dahlia looked up at him. Whatever physical discomfort she felt was momentarily forgotten when she found him gazing down at her like that — as if she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
“What is it?” she asked, a little breathless.
Mouth curved in that devastating fanged smile, he answered, “The Crimson Dahlia.”
THE END