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D ragging my ass out of bed, I make my way to the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine.

“Morning,” Dayton calls out from her spot in the recliner.

“Morning,” I grumble in return.

After selecting the largest coffee mug Dayton and Kyle own and filling it to the brim, I move to join my sister in the living room.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask Dayton as I take my first sip of nectar.

“Like a beached whale,” Dayton answers tiredly as she rubs her distended belly. “How are you doing?” Tears pool in her eyes as pregnancy hormones get the better of her. “Sorry.” She wipes the moisture from her eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I say sternly, narrowing my eyes in her direction. “You are pregnant, not fat. As soon as you hold those babies, you will forget all about this.” I swirl my finger around, circling all of her.

My sister looks tired. These babies are sucking every ounce of life from her, but I won’t tell her that.

Dayton is already self- conscious, thanks to Lacene.

How I turned out so different from my sister, while growing up in the same house, is a miracle.

My phone rings, bringing both of us out of our thoughts.

Fiora’s name flashes across the screen and I slap my head in an oh, shit moment , having forgotten all about her traveling to Padston.

“Oh, my God!” I swipe to accept the call, earning a strange look from my sister. “I am sooo sorry, I totally forgot to text you the address,” I rush out, not letting her get a word in. “Where are you?”

Fiora chuckles, but there’s no humor in her tone. “It’s all right,” she says. “I am at the Wildfire Casino.”

“Oh, okay,” I respond before rattling off quick directions on how to get to the house.

“We can grab some stuff and stay in my apartment.” I rise to my feet while earning a questioning look from Dayton.

Holding a finger up in Dayton’s direction, I quickly finish my conversation with Fiora before hanging up.

“With everything that went on last night, it slipped my mind that Fiora said she would be arriving this morning,” I explain.

“You can stay here,” Dayton says quietly.

Returning from the kitchen, after putting my mug in the dishwasher, I look at my sister, really look at her. Dayton’s wan features cause me to move closer to her.

“Are you okay?” I ask, crouching down beside her

“I-I d-don’t wa-want you to le-leave,” she blubbers as tears streak heavily down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey,” I coo, wrapping Dayton in a side hug. “It isn’t as if I am leaving town.” This seems just to set her off more, and her tears turn into full-on sobs.

Kali walks in, giving me a questioning look just as the doorbell rings.

“That should be my friend, Fiora,” I explain to Kali. “Can you please let her in?”

Soft conversation reaches me as I continue to comfort my sister. When Kali and Fiora enter the room, it’s apparent that we need to talk. My friend, while normally impeccably put together, looks harried. I’m not just talking about being travel-weary either.

“Dayton, this is Fiora Valenhart. She was my roommate at Stanford. Fiora, this is my sister, Dayton Morris. Kali Monroe, who let you in, is Dayton’s best friend,” I explain, completing introductions.

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” Fiora says, looking uncomfortable.

“Please stay until Christmas, at least,” Dayton pleads softly, drawing everyone’s attention back to her.

“I can stay at the hotel,” Fiora says, pointing over her shoulder to the door.

“No,” Dayton says quickly, her voice breaking. “Please, I don’t want to leave the house if I can help it.” She points to her belly. “Having everyone here for Christmas would make me ha-happy,” she urges as the tears start up again.

Glancing at Fiora, it’s apparent that she is uncomfortable with this situation. Unfortunately, my sister’s feelings take precedence over those of my friend.

“You can take my room,” I state, addressing Fiora. “I will sleep on the couch.”

She hesitates, looking between the three of us. “Are you sure?” Fiora asks warily.

“Yes!” I say firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Either that or I can sleep on the floor in one of the nurseries.”

“I have an overnight bag in the car,” Fiora says, turning around. “Is it possible to get a shower and a nap? I have been driving most of the night.”

“Absolutely,” I chime in. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, thanks. I can manage.”

Ten minutes later, the shower in the ensuite bathroom to mine, now Fiora’s room, runs. She looks exhausted, so I put the interrogation on hold. For now.