Page 24 of Integrated (Mistress & Master of Restraint #11)

“Wow,” is whispered in awe from numb lips.

Cortez has been shopping.

Azrael’s hand vanishes from mine as she half-runs to her own tiny-person table. Between the center island and the breakfast table is a child-sized table and two chairs. Not pink, not blue– the table is white, with one green chair and one gray. I figure out the significance when the twins immediately know whose chair belongs to whom.

“When we moved from here almost eight months ago, the twins were still in highchairs. I found out rather quickly yesterday morning that they didn’t like sitting at the big table… so we went shopping,” Cort mutters with amusement.

“Your color scheme is interesting to say the least.” It completely clashes with the earth tones that dominate the kitchen– tan granite countertops, terracotta tile, and bronze fixtures.

“We tried the boy/girl colors. They’re not having it, and I’m not much for gender stereotypes. Azrael wanted black and purple, and that was really awful. I went with eye color, that way they can’t fight over who sits where.”

“I’m glad my man is so smart.” Voice filled with pride, I can’t keep the huge smile off my face. Cort blushes as he pulls some cooking things out of a lower cabinet.

“Where’s the staff?” I ask out of curiosity.

After a lifetime of zero privacy, the staff has become background noise, but I haven’t seen them milling around. They were all let go when we moved. Only the housekeeper and groundskeeper were kept on retainer to maintain the large, empty estate, since the older couple and their family lives on the property. Aside from the Jessups, everyone of outside employ was let go.

“It’s MZ’s turn to stir.” Cort is patient, but this is said in a way that leaves little room for argument. I quizzically watch as Cort hands Marcus Zane a small spatula, then places a purple mixing bowl in front of Azrael. Az’s chubby hands latch onto the sides of the bowl, stabilizing it on the tabletop. After Cort fills the bowl with water, MZ begins stirring it.

What the hell?

“Make it good or our breakfast will be tasteless,” Cort cautions them. He turns to me, silent laughter filling his face. “That ought to hold their attention for all of three minutes. Learned this lesson yesterday too.”

“What?” I snort, trying not to laugh at the way Cort’s face is glowing in delight.

“That water will season our frozen waffles perfectly.” Cort chuckles underneath his breath as he loads the four slots on the toaster with Eggos. I follow his lead and empty the refrigerator of juice, butter, and maple syrup.

We’re not much on cooking and keeping a house– we don’t know how. So those waffles are the scope of our abilities. Cort does do creative things with the kids, like make squishy substances out of glue and contact solution, so he’ll have a better understanding of cooking than I will.

“Only the Jessups as paid staff.” Cort begins, as if reading my mind. “They’re family. Kayla’s living here, wanting to make Shadow Haven a home for her budding family, so we thought we’d learn together. I mean, she wants to be all wifely for Aaron. Betsy is our housekeeper. George is the groundskeeper and maintenance man. We have your barnacles as drivers–”

I can’t help but snort at Cort belittling Aaron and Roarke, always jealous.

“Stephanie went to culinary school, so she can teach Kayla and me what we need to know. If we ever host a party, we can pay Stephanie to cater– you know how naturally bossy she is. Aubrianna and Lucian can do whatever, no differently than Ava and Zane– doesn’t matter, we’ll pay for their education. Luc probably won’t go to college anyway– he never wants to leave here, just working outside with his hands.”

“This is…” I trail off, at a loss. “Unexpected.”

Cort is the epitome of laziness– I’m rendered speechless.

“I want it to truly feel like Shadow Haven is a home. Us, the Jessups, Aaron and Kayla, and Roarke. I realize I’m a lazy fuck, and you and I were spoiled rotten– practically had our asses wiped. This was a major point of contention with Kitten over our lifestyle, when she just wanted to live a normal life. Hard times would leave the kids defenseless without any life skills. Now they will have chores, we’ll cook together, and if shit hits the fan, they will know how to take care of themselves.”

“Wow,” I repeat for the second time in a few minutes.

“Ain’t no way in hell we’re maintaining a seven-hundred-acre estate, which is where George and Betsy come into play. They are getting on in years, so they can just delegate to outside services. No need to overtax any of the Jessups– we’re trying to be better people, here. Not users and abusers.”

Feeling teary-eyed, watching Cortez make us breakfast, humor our children, and run an estate makes me feel so proud of him that I want to bawl my eyes out.

I don’t deserve him.

“Send Ava a text,” Cort murmurs to me as he removes the waffles from the toaster. “Pavlov’s dog, it’s the only way she’ll wake up. I can yell at her, yank the covers off her until she catches a chill, and she still won’t wake. If that cell chimes– fully awake in a nanosecond. Give Ava two minutes or shopping is off today’s agenda.”

Quickly doing as Cort bid, I grab my cellphone from my back pocket and get to typing. The man handed me Ava’s currency, and it’s a tool I plan on utilizing.

Daddy: Ava, Cort says you either get to breakfast in two minutes or no shopping today. But if you are a second late, it won’t be a lack of shopping as your punishment. No cellphone.

Ten seconds later, feet are pattering overhead. Smirking in triumph, I slip my cellphone back into my pocket.

“What did you send her?” Cort whispers in awe, taking the pretend cooking set from the twins, then places waffles in front of them.

“We have some things to iron out with our daughter. I don’t know what part she played in Niel and Whitney’s pregnancy, because everyone is so dang tight-lipped, but we need to sit her down and discuss it.” This will be the first order of co-parenting business with Katya, and it’s evil of me how I will use it to see the woman face-to-face, even if I feel like a shit-heel.

“I texted Ava how I’d take her phone away if she wasn’t down here by the time the two minutes are up, but I’ll most likely take it away anyway.”

“Minute-ten.” Ava breathlessly announces as she slides into the kitchen, looking like she met a wind tunnel on the walk from her bedroom. Hands finger-comb her long, white hair, then straightens her pajama set.

Ava flashes us an innocent smile, when she’s no longer innocent. “You just visiting or are you home for good?” Our daughter asks me, making me feel like a shitty husband and an even worse parent

“I’m home– never leaving again,” is a warning as much as a proclamation. “I’ve missed you,” I sincerely say, drawing my daughter into a hug.

I want to tell Ava how I see her clearly now. I love her. I miss her. But I see the monster I’ve created. So out of that love, I am going to right the wrongs. But Ava may hate me before she grows up.

The twins slowly eat their waffles after the maple syrup was extracted from their table– they’re going to be little chunks like Cort was when he was younger, yet still has the propensity to become if he keeps up the stress-eating.

On the other hand, Ava eats like a dang bird. I poured more syrup on her waffle when she wasn’t looking, then forced her to drink a glass of milk. I hate to think she’s striving to look like her grandmother and Ade, while simultaneously hoping this is her natural size and metabolism, because she has enough problems not to add dysmorphia to the mix.

“Shopping?” I make it a question, since I haven’t the foggiest idea what’s on today’s agenda. I’ve missed Cort so much that I don’t want him out of my sight. I’d even shop if I had to, but I tend to avoid that activity at all costs.

“Mom’s taking us to use the gift cards we got as Christmas presents, then we’re picking out stuff for our rooms at her new house. Shit!” Ava hisses, fork clattering to the table. “I better hurry, or she’ll drag me from the house in my pajamas.” She bolts from the kitchen, then seconds later her feet are pounding the stair treads, bedroom door slamming shut behind her.

“For someone who only weighs a hundred pounds, Ava sure sounds like a herd of buffalo.” I mutter to distract myself and to make the twins giggle at me.

Hand shaking profusely, I have to set my fork down before I drum a solo with it on the side of my plate. I hadn’t realized I would have to face Katya so soon, and I don’t know if I’m entirely ready. I planned on discussing Ava’s fiasco with the Whittenhower children, but it would be scheduled, where I could prepare myself for it emotionally.

Our blowup was only four or five hours ago, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. But it’s the guilt and shame that are eating me alive. I doubt I could have fucked up my relationship with Katya any worse if I actively tried.

“What’s wrong?” Cort asks, reaching over to touch my shaking fingertips, clasping our hands together on top of the breakfast table.

Unable to meet his gaze, I murmur down at our tangled fingers. “Later.” I get up from my chair, then begin picking up the breakfast mess. I busy myself with the menial tasks to take my mind off of the emotional turmoil that is inundating me.

Cort and I put things away in the cupboard and refrigerator, things the twins helpfully hand us. As Cort fills the dishwasher, I scrub sticky hands and cheeks, making sure the kids are clean for their shopping trip.

When I hear the front door close, I nearly piss my pants. As it is, tears sting my eyes, throat tightening. I busy myself by finger-combing long fiery locks to avoid the woman standing at my back.

“Hey, Kitten,” Cort happily greets, and I know in an instant that Katya and Cort have made their peace, by the affection strongly lacing his voice.

Even with them at my back, I can sense they’re embracing. Jealousy flares within me. Not jealousy because they’re touching, but because they’re already in a place that I don’t believe Katya and I will ever reach in this lifetime.

Feeling like a maggot, I slowly turn, refusing to meet Kat’s eyes. “Morning,” is a guilty mutter, not looking any higher than Kat’s chin.

Dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans, Kat looks warm but hidden, as if she’s shielding herself within her clothing.

“Ezra.” Businesslike and unemotional, Katya produces winter jackets for the twins out of somewhere. “C’mere, let’s get you ready,” she croons.

Trying to keep the tears at bay, I can’t help but watch as Kat dresses wiggling creatures in coats, hats, gloves, and scarves. This is my family, and I’ve hurt us so much, I don’t feel as if I deserve to be a member of it anymore.

“You can keep them as long as you want. But they have to be back by eight o’clock for bed,” comes out as a demand, causing Cort to instantly backtrack. “Oh, shit! I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” Voice tight, Katya’s shoulders bow in, red hair used as a veil, so we cannot read her expression.

“No, it’s not. What I meant to say is–” Cort huffs in an exhausted breath, then levels Katya with a stare. “Maybe we should get identical bedding and furnishings for their rooms here at Shadow Haven and at your house. There is no need to wait until they’re older. Might as well start this routine while they’re so young, instead of waiting until they’re older when it will be more stressful on all of us. After their rooms are in order at your house, you can take them as little or as much as you’d like. You’re their mom, Katya– you can’t be replaced.”

“Thank you, Cort.” Kat murmurs as she stands upright, eyes glistening with tears, usually peachy face as white as a sheet. “You said you bought them new stuff yesterday, right? What store did you use? We’ll go today to place the order.”

“Harrison’s. They’ll have what I bought on file. I’ll get my receipt for you to use. Just a second.” Cort strides out of the kitchen, leaving Katya and me alone with the twins.

Behaving more than usual, the twins keep looking between their mommy and me, sensing our discord. Maybe it’s the layers of clothing keeping them still, like how Mast and Missy freeze when Niel puts a coat on them.

“Don’t,” Kat warns just as I was about to automatically mutter I’m sorry .

Right on the spot, I decide to try a different tactic to get Katya to interact with me. “Ava is getting dressed. When you guys get back, I think we need to sit Ava down and have a talk with her. Ground her and take her cellphone away. I don’t know what she did, I just know she did something.”

“I can’t repeat it, Ez.” I don’t know if it’s being around me, or if what Ava did was so bad, but Katya is yet again on the verge of tears.

“We need to get to the bottom of this, so it won’t happen again.”

“No details,” Katya whispers in a rush, heart breaking. “No girl should have to tell her father those details. What it comes down to is trust, acting as adults but not taking the consequences, and harming others.”

“That makes the conversation all the more important then. Ava isn’t even fifteen. I’ve messed up that precious eleven-year-old baby girl you entrusted into my care.”

All those words Katya lobbed at me as weapons last night, they hit at once, and suddenly I want to toss up those waffles I just ate.

“You had help.” Disgust twists Katya’s expression, and I finally notice the deep-seated resentment she holds for Marcus.

“Be that as it may, that help will no longer dictate anything dealing with Ava. The three of us only ,” I stress. “I’m asking your permission to speak with Ava tonight, then punish her accordingly. But I’m also asking you to join the conversation.”

“Unless you plan on putting our daughter in prison, there is no punishing her for the crimes she’s committed. Ez.” Katya sighs, looking as exhausted as I feel. “It will be lifetimes– Ava’s actions altered lifetimes.”

“That’s my fault,” I hopelessly utter.

“No.” Kat finally looks at me, and I see the Kat I’ve always known gazing back at me. Strong, resilient, and take no prisoners. “I was always scared of my daughter. I humored her. It’s as much my fault as it is yours. When she started messing around with Generation Next, I thought it was cute, because I didn’t believe it would go anywhere. Ya know, they were just teenagers getting into mischief. Now that Ava has learned she has real power to break people, we just have to be proactive in the future.”

“I agree,” I whisper, mind reeling.

“In coming!” Cort sings lightheartedly as he enters the kitchen. Judging by his facial expression, he was listening at the doorway, giving Kat and me some time to find common ground. He hands Katya a printout of what he’d purchased for the twins.

A second later, a fresh-faced Ava enters the kitchen. That in coming wasn’t meant for him– Ava was coming, and she would have heard us discussing her.

“Ready to get your shop on?” Kat smoothly says to Ava, attempting to cover our conversation. “We have to alternate between your stores and the babies’ stores or they will get fussy.”

“Yeah.” Ava smirks with pride. “Az sure can scream like a banshee. We’ll go to the toy store first. I only have two gift cards– clothes and books.”

“What are we having for lunch?” Kat asks an observant Azrael, acknowledging who is in control of us all.

Knowing how the little tyrant operates, Azrael will probably tease Ava for being in trouble, ruining the element of surprise when we finally sit her down.

“Ice cream,” Az primly says, and to our utter shock, Marcus Zane shouts over his sister, “Pizza!”

“Pizza it is then. Are we ready?” Katya stares at our son with wide green eyes, all of us just as shocked that the little guy finally told us what he really wanted.

Even more surprising is Azrael’s reaction– she pouts but doesn’t complain.

Feeling lost, my legs turn to jelly, knees no longer supporting me. My ass lands heavily into my chair as I watch Katya and our children leave me behind.

“I’m a monster,” I hopelessly mutter to myself. “I did this to us.”