Page 31 of Vows in Sin

R eign

I step over a pile of laundry, grabbing Mr. Bear’s toy stroller from the floor before I trip over the damn thing and break my neck. I park it by the back door in the kitchen. “Pure madness, this bloody house!”

We’re overdue for a family tidy-up. But I’ll have to be the bad guy to make it happen. And—it’s my night to cook.

Leaning my ass against the edge of the kitchen island, I flip the reading glasses from the top of my head to the bridge of my nose. Seraphina ordered them for me. Peering at my phone screen, I pull up the app she downloaded on my phone.

“Who knew you could get fried chicken delivered in Italy? From your phone no less.” I tap on my restaurant of choice. “Alright, let’s see. Blaze and Cleo. Tabby and Hunter,”—the pair now shares as much interest in one another as they do in patching people up— “me, baby doll.”

Six mouths to feed so far.

Who else?

Eloise’s parents are part of our Tech program.

They’re sweating night and day trying to hack into the Moretti systems. Eloise is pleased to stay with us as much as she can while her parents are working.

Especially since Eloise is an avid reader and Seraphina has no limit on the number of storybooks she’ll read.

My hard limit is two books. Maybe three.

I have been told I’m better at the animal voices. I do a magnificent lion.

Throwing back my head, I holler at the puzzlers in the dining room. “Doll, is Eloise staying for dinner tonight?”

“Is it your night to cook, Uncle Renan?” A little voice shouts back.

“Yes, Eloise, love. It’s my night.”

Two voices chorus back with a resounding, “Yes!” One belonging to Seraphina, and a younger, more emphatic one from Eloise. They’ve been working on a jungle puzzle and won’t stop till the Colonel delivers our tea.

“Right-O.”

I go back to my app. There’s no way Dame’s not going to come.

Not if he gets wind of what I’m ordering.

He shies away when it’s Tabby’s night to cook, opting for the safety of his microwave over her eccentric recipes.

I shoot Dame a text, letting him know I’m calling the Colonel. I get an immediate RSVP.

“Dame’s in,” I murmur to myself. “We’ll practically need a bucket for him.”

Fuck. Lost count. I’ll order extra. Cleo and Seraphina can take leftovers with them to preschool for their lunch tomorrow.

It’s a burgeoning form of homeschooling-slash-unschooling in the pool house for now, but Cleo has high hopes, and Seraphina has an insatiable work ethic.

My thumbs fly over the phone screen, tapping the app. “Mashed potatoes and gravy. Double corn. Better make it three buckets.”

Eloise’s little face peers around the doorframe, a colorful puzzle piece pinched between her fingers. She gives me what Seraphina calls her ‘serious eyes.’ “Don’t forget the extra corncobs.”

I give her the exact look I used to provide Tabby with at this age.

“Please,” she adds.

“Good girl,” I say. “And they’re already ordered, my love.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs as she disappears.

I double-check the order. “Alright. Done.” I leave the phone and glasses on the counter, tackling the morning’s dishes in the sink.

Preferring to wash by hand over using the dishwasher, I plunge toast-crumbed plates and milky bowls into the warm, sudsy water for scrubbing.

I’m wiping counters when my phone pings with a delivery notification.

“Perfect timing. And it’ll be paper plates tonight,” I mumble to no one in particular.

I call Dame to ask him to pick the order up at the gate on his way.

“Dinner!” I bellow. Footsteps. Like a herd of buffalo.

We’ve been banished from the large dining room table. Jungle puzzle. We’ll have to squeeze in at the round kitchen table. It’s cozy in here, though, the walls decorated with family photos Seraphina’s taken and doodles I’ve sketched.

Seraphina insists on framing her favorites. I pretend I hate it. Secretly, it fills me with pride. I set down a stack of heavy-duty paper plates, a clatter of real forks, and a pitcher of ice water. My job is done.

I slip into the seat beside Seraphina, greeting her with a kiss. “Good day?”

“The best! I’m hanging out with my favorite kid,” she beams, handing a plate to Eloise beside her. “And tomorrow I’m meeting with a couple about their engagement photos.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” She plants a kiss on my cheek and I feel the small gesture down to my steel-toed boots.

Cleo takes a seat, letting us know, “Blaze can’t make it to dinner.” He and Haze are desperately trying to chase down Blaze’s contact with the Morrettis. The one that went silent on him.

Seraphina reaches over Eloise to put a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “We’ll save him a plate, honey.”

Tabby swoops into the room. “Hey Dad! Hey all!” She finds two empty seats. One for her, one for Hunter. “Why are we piling in here?”

“Puzzle,” I say.

“Nobody goes in there!” Eloise shouts. “We’re ten pieces away from done!”

“Eloise,” I chide.

“Please,” she adds.

The front door opens, Hunter’s deep voice booming, “I’m not late, am I? Tell me Dame left me a leg at least.”

“You’re right on time!” Tabby calls, honey in her voice and glitter in her eyes.

I lean back in my chair, shouting down the hall with gravel. “Take those damn cowboy boots off before you set foot in this house.”

A moment later, Hunter pops up in the doorframe, boots still on, tracking dirt as he goes. He waggles his brows. “Did ya’ll save me a leg? You know I’m a leg man.” He winks at Tabitha.

“And Tabitha is a brain woman, but we can’t always get what we want.” Classic Dame. He’s standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, a heavy bag hanging from each hand.

“Thanks, Dame.” Hunter takes the empty seat between him and my shiny-eyed daughter. Hunter leans over, greeting her with a kiss too deep to be appropriate for the dinner table.

“That’s enough,” I grumble. Seraphina squeezes my thigh under the table.

Eloise points her serious eyes at Tabby. “Are you two gonna get married?”

Tabby laughs. “Not anytime soon, little one.” Conversation closed.

“Here.” I hand Seraphina the bowl of potatoes, hoping the question skips over us. “Help yourself, Doll.”

“Yum!” Seraphina’s fingers brush mine as she takes the bowl to serve her and Eloise. “I love your home cooking, babe.” Eloise already has four half-ears of buttered corn on her plate before Seraphina can even serve her a scoop of potatoes.

Eloise narrows her powerful little gaze at me. “What about you, Uncle Renan? Are you going to marry Seraphina?”

Seraphina tenses against me.

I have one failed marriage. I get the picture that Alessi was more Seraphina’s child than her sister’s. Seraphina’s only beginning to get a hold of her grief. You can imagine the idea of marriage and babies of her own induces anxiety for her.

And it’s a tumultuous time in the family with the Village being gone and what feels like an invisible threat around every corner. I’ll add no extra stress to my doll’s shoulders. I refuse to rush her.

But one day, I hope there will be a ring on her finger and Bachman behind her name.

I nod at Eloise’s plate. “Mind your manners and eat your dinner, Eloise.” She takes a small bite, eyeing me over her fork.

“It’s just a question,” Eloise mumbles to herself. “How’m I gonna know if there’s any more weddings if I can’t ask questions?”

“Please, no wedding.” Tabitha jokes, making a fake gagging sound. “Then Seraphina would be my mom!”

“Stepmom,” I correct.

“A lot is going on right now, Eloise,” Seraphina deflects. She wraps an arm around the little girl. “But I’m sure there will be more parties.”

Celebrating is the last thing on most adults’ minds right now. We’re preoccupied. Predicting where the Morettis will strike next.

Cleo adds quietly, “You know what Emilia says. Weddings bring hope.”

“Thanks for that, Cleo,” Tabby jokes. “Do you really want me to be a neglected stepchild?’

Eloise pops her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She sighs, her shoulders heavy. “I just wanna be a flower girl.”

Laughter lightens the mood.

I wrap a protective arm around Seraphina. She leans against me with a happy sigh. “I’m still grateful to you, Tabitha, for how you reacted when you found out.”

“You mean when I found out. Or when I found you two?” Tabby asked with a raised brow.

“I prefer the story never be retold.” But the laughter that comes feels good. I grunt. “Kid at the table.”

“No more marriage talk.” Seraphina claps her hands twice. A teacher thing she picked up from Cleo. “Now, let’s all eat before Reign’s hard work gets cold.”

We all eat, and then I instigate a twenty-minute clean-up. I tackle the floors, giving the girls the laundry and beds. Hunter and Dame take off for more work. With the extra pressures on us all, Liam has enforced a mandatory night off every week. Tonight, I’m off. Hence, my night to cook.

There’s not as much time for sexcapades as there were before the Village was destroyed.

That’s pretty much how we Bachmans divide time, now: before the Morettis blew up our headquarters, destroying our New York home and family history.

And after.

I do my best to give Seraphina stress relief on these nights. Finding her in the laundry room, switching a never-ending load of towels from the washer to the dryer, I surprise her by grabbing her around the waist and lifting her. I perch her on the dryer, leaning in for a kiss.

“Hey! I’ve got work to do.”

“You can slip away for a bit. Colonel’s orders.”

Without waiting for an answer, I pick her up. Laughing, she wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. I carry her out the side door of the laundry room, into the quiet night.

We pass the butterfly garden we planted in Sissy’s honor. She blows it a kiss as we walk by the fragrant lavender. We’ve added verbena and zinnias, and, in the spring, she and Eloise are planning a caterpillar ‘nursery,’ with fennel, parsley, and dill for the adult butterfly to lay their eggs.

Her energy hums against me as I hold her, knowing what’s in store for her in the dark shed behind the house.

In some ways, she’s different. In many ways she’s still that defiant girl standing in the backroom of the club, begging me to do something to her. Anything to turn off her mind.

She comes to me for release, now.

And I’m more than happy to give it to her.