When Bella finally emerges, she’s showered and sheepish. The expression on her face makes me chuckle. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought I was used to early mornings, but apparently not.”
“You slept in for thirty minutes. It’s hardly a capital crime.”
Maria hands her a cup of coffee, the smile on her face just a tad smug. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Bella says earnestly. “And thank you for preparing breakfast. Can I help with anything?”
“You can sit down with the girls,” Maria tells her. “Sir?”
I nod and lift Evie up from where she’d been trying to climb on the drawers to reach the fruit platter. “Come here, kiddo.”
She wails in protest and goes completely limp in my arms—the newest tactic. It makes it damn near impossible to put on her clothes or brush her teeth, but it won’t help her here.
“Won’t work.” I tell her, plopping her down in her chair at the breakfast table. “You’ll get food in a minute.”
“Patience,” Haven tells her, with all the pretentious experience of being the older sibling.
“We’ll all get food in a minute,” Bella says, smiling at me from the other side of the table. It throws me off for a second, but then warmth spreads through my chest. It’s odd, this… or perhaps it’s odd that it isn’t odd, not at all. It feels right.
The girls are going to get attached. Hell, they already are. But maybe that’s okay. Perhaps she’s here to stay—and perhaps letting someone new in is the right thing to do. The girls can’t live in Lyra’s shadow forever. Maybe I shouldn’t either.
Evie pulls Bella into the living room immediately after breakfast. “Can you help us?” she asks, holding up the makeup palette Haven had gotten from my ex-wife. “I want a butterfly on my cheek.”
Bella looks over at me. Her expression is a mix of help me and what do I do? I grin and shake my head at her. You’re on your own.
“I’ll try,” she tells my youngest, “but I’m not good at drawing. Okay, have a seat here…”
By the kitchen island, Maria is humming to herself as she wipes off the marble. When she notices me watching, she shoots me a not-so-subtle thumbs up. “Great job,” she tells me.
Well.
“Thanks.” If both my mother and housekeeper approve… perhaps my own apprehension is needless.
It’s midday by the time Bella and I get a moment alone together. The girls have run out to play in the treehouse, with Maria to supervise. It’s a Saturday unlike any I’ve had in years—with no pressing demands to work, with an adult in the house that isn’t my family, with possibility hanging in the very air.
Bella pulls me into the living room and down onto the couch. I wrap an arm around her and breathe in her scent. Shampoo and perfume and something else, warm skin and woman. I want to hold her like this forever.
“Ethan,” she murmurs.
“Mhm?”
She pushes me back, a hand on my chest. “I need to tell you something.”
“All right.” My fingers twine through her hair, soft and silky.
“Remember when we first met?”
“Of course I do. You came over to introduce yourself with your I-want-to-get-to-know-you brownies.”
“Yes, right.” She takes a deep breath. “And you asked me who I was, what I was doing here over the summer. Well, you kind of assumed, actually. And—”
The sound of the bell to the gate rings through the entire house, amplified by the built-in speakers. “Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry, I can tell this is important.”
She nods. “But it can wait. Are you expecting someone?”
“Not at all,” I say, heading to the hallway. The face on the intercom is as familiar as it is inconvenient at the moment. “You’re here?”
My younger brother’s voice echoes back to me. “Yes, and you’re there. Glad we’ve established that.”
The snide asshole, probably flown in from New York or Tokyo or wherever he’s been for work, and never a call in advance.
I open the gate for him and turn to Bella, who’s already gathering up her things.
“You don’t have to go,” I tell her.
“Yes, I do.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “I don’t need to force my way into every friend or family event you’re having. That’s not exactly nice, is it?”
“You’re not forcing your way into anything.”
“Still,” she says. “I left my thesis on your bedside table. Don’t be too harsh in your critique, all right?”
“I can’t wait to read it.”
She smiles at me, and it’s her normal kind smile, but it’s