The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,6

you the perfect nursery wall color, because your baby deserves the best. These three are the best. These are the colors Martha Stewart dreams in. If the Virgin Mary had a ten-thousand-dollar nursery budget, baby Jesus would have had one of these colors painted on His walls. Any one of these colors in a nursery will give the most diehard childless free spirit—me, for example—aching ovaries because she wants to have a baby for the sole reason she can have a room one of these colors in her house.”

“I like blue,” Juliette said.

“What are ovaries?” Céleste asked.

Nora looked over her shoulder at Juliette and Kingsley’s three-year-old daughter Céleste, who was currently applying gold star stickers to the back of a large black German Shepherd.

“Nothing but trouble, kid. Nothing but trouble.”

Juliette looked at her. Nora laughed.

“You want blue, you can have blue,” Nora said. “I’ll do stripes, squares, polka dots of blue. But…you have to promise Kingsley won’t kill me. I have just gotten off his shit list. Please don’t put me back on it.”

“You said a bad word, Tata Elle.”

“I say a lot of them,” Nora said. “Especially where your Papa is concerned. And what are you doing to my dog?”

“Making him pretty.”

“Gmork, are you getting a makeover?” Nora asked her dog. Gmork made a happy rumbling sound and licked Céleste’s face before settling down again.

“I think I want blue,” Juliette said. “He’ll have to live with it.”

“What does he have against blue anyway?” Nora said.

“He doesn’t want a boy.”

“That die’s been cast. And I think that’s the first time I’ve ever compared sperm to dice.”

“What’s sperm?” Céleste asked.

Nora rolled her eyes. “Kid’s got ears like a bat, I swear. Why did we teach her English?”

“I’ll explain later, princess,” Juliette told her daughter. Céleste seemed satisfied with that, although knowing Juliette, “later” meant “in ten to twenty years.”

“What’s wrong with boys? Other than the whole pissing-in-the-face thing they do.”

“He says we should have just cloned her.” Juliette nodded at Céleste. Nora couldn’t blame Kingsley there. Céleste was about as easy and endearing a child anyone could ask for, even if she was in that incessant question-asking phase.

“You think it’s a boy, don’t you?” Nora asked.

“That one,” she said, pointing at Céleste, “was a lamb. This one.” She patted her stomach. “This one’s a lion. She felt like part of me. This one feels like someone’s in there planning a prison break. She’s me. This one is all him.”

“What do you think it is, baby?” Nora asked Céleste. “A boy or a girl.”

“I don’t care,” Céleste said. “I want a kitten.”

“Talk to your Oncle S?ren about that,” Nora said. “He’s the cat person in the family.”

“Speaking of,” Juliette said and lowered her voice. “Any news?”

Nora raised her hands, both empty. “I got a postcard from Idaho last week,” she said. “Idaho.”

“Any idea when he’ll come home?” Juliette said, her voice hopeful.

Nora’s stomach clenched. Her heart, too. She shook her head. “He just took off,” she said, mostly to herself. “Without a word. I still can’t believe he did that.”

“You can’t complain,” Juliette said in her most motherly chiding tone. “You run away all the time without telling us where you are. You didn’t even send a postcard a few of those times.”

“I wasn’t complaining. I’m just worried about him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She knew she shouldn’t worry. S?ren was an adult. He had a big cushion of family money and brains to spare. There was absolutely no reason for her to worry. But she did anyway.

“‘He whom one waits is, because he is expected, already present, already master,’” Juliette said, quoting a famous line from Kingsley’s favorite novel, Histoire d’O.

“Fine. He can be the master. As long as he gets his ass home and fucks me. I haven’t gotten laid in a month. My pussy has cobwebs.”

Juliette started to laugh but then stopped and pulled a white lace handkerchief out of her blouse, pressing it over her mouth and nose.

“Paint fumes?” Nora asked. Juliette nodded behind her handkerchief. “Go outside and get some fresh air. I’ll figure out the paint.”

Juliette waved her hand dismissively. She hated being fussed over just because she was pregnant. Since Kingsley couldn’t stop fussing over her, he’d been banished from the house between the hours of ten a.m. and five p.m. Juliette said the banishment had saved both their minds and, quite possibly, his life.

“I’ll open a window.” Juliette walked to the large street-facing window in the nursery and parted the curtains. “Oh, bonjour,