Fashionably Fooled (Hot Damned #13) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,47

exactly what you would call a hands-on father.”

Elle pulled a dull butter knife from the pocket of her flowing gown and twirled it in her fingers. “But that will not be the case this time,” Elle said sweetly, despite the flashing of her lavender eyes.

“Correct,” I replied swiftly. My lover was still pregnant. Decapitation and possibly castration were still on the table.

“Lucifer will nurse the baby and teach him naughty words while I sleep,” Elle explained. “Astrid gave us some pointers.”

“Astrid might need some anatomy lessons,” Mother Nature muttered.

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded, trying to remember what the Hell Astrid had made me promise to do. I needed to start writing shit down. Babies were complicated.

“Men don’t have mammary glands,” Sadie said.

“And that is where you are wrong,” I shouted. “Lizard are you guarding the suite?”

“I am,” Lizard said, popping his head inside the door.

“Excellent,” I said, giving my mother and Sadie a triumphant glare. “I need you to explain to my mother and Sadie that men do indeed have mammary glands. I can nurse just as well as Elle, and I shall be the best nurser in the goddamned Universe.”

Of course, I had no clue what the Hell a nurser did, but I was the Devil. If I wanted to nurse, I would fucking nurse.

Lizard squinted at me and gave me an odd look. “You sure about that, my liege?”

“Yesssss,” I hissed, certain I heard my mother giggle. She wouldn’t be giggling soon. I adored being right. “Out with it.”

“With pleasure, Sire,” Lizard said, smacking on his gum and shrugging. “All male and female mammals have mammary glands—or in medical terms, hooter nodules. That’s the organ that produces milk—or boob juice to be more scientific. When the hooter nodule matures fully in females during puberty, they develop into a state where a hormonal spike called prolactin can induce lactation—or milk squirts. Now for the persuasion packing a ding-dong, the gland doesn’t generally mature to that level. Hence, those with wieners rarely produce milk squirts.”

The room went silent. I heard a few snickers, but they might have been gags. I wasn’t sure and decided I could live without the knowledge.

I seriously regretted inviting Lizard in. I felt a bit nauseous. For a few seconds, I did consider blasting his tongue out of his mouth, but I had demanded the proof of my statement. It would be rude to mute the messenger.

Nursing was not in my future. Ever.

The end result of Lizard’s diatribe was what I would call a very bad short-term win. The expressions on our mothers’ faces were priceless, but for all the wrong reasons. I could easily claim the Ass of the Universe Award now. The long game had been entirely lost.

“That will be all, Lizard,” I said, trying to sound like I’d meant for the ridiculous explanation to occur—somewhat like my mother’s embarrassing entrance on the pole.

“Can someone tell me what nursing means?” Elle asked, pale after listening to Lizard.

“It means to breastfeed the baby,” Sadie said, putting her arm around Elle and giving her a hug. “Men can’t nurse.”

“Thank Hell for that,” I choked out. “Lizard, you are free to leave. If you stay, I will have to dismember you.”

“Roger that,” Lizard said with a bow. “And I’m still having no luck finding a midwife.”

“Keep trying,” I commanded.

“As you wish,” he said as he shut the door to the suite behind him.

“Well, then,” Sadie said, looking around the office and changing the subject to something where no one would end up getting maimed. “Is the new décor for the child?”

“No,” I said, eyeing my mother. “It’s Mother Nature’s travelling circus.”

“Fine,” my mother said with an eye roll. “I’ll fix it.”

She waved her hands, and in less time than it took to inhale a breath, my office was restored to its former dark beauty. I was relieved there wouldn’t be an open crater in the roof for the party.

“So, what is this about a midwife?” Sadie asked as she led Elle over to the couch and seated her.

“Apparently, we need someone to help Elle through the birth,” I said with an eye roll. “I volunteered, but Astrid said no.”

“And that’s a good thing,” Sadie said with a concerned expression. “When a Siren gives birth, it’s…”

“It’s what?” Elle asked, curious.

“Rather explosive,” Sadie finished her sentence.

“Explosive?” I inquired, feeling vindicated that my misspeak from earlier had been correct. The mammary gland disaster had poked a few holes in my oversized ego. It was outstanding to feel