Page 142 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Nadia has been working behind the scenes to get the house I purchased ready for me and Garrett, then eventually, the twins. She’s been slow with updates, seemingly embarrassed by the time it’s taken to finalise everything I’ve requested, but I pried the truth out of her this afternoon. It appears that I’m stuck at Slash’s for another month, and it’s not optimal for my sanity. Every day we’re together, I run the risk of falling back into old habits.

They’ve already started taking control of my life again.

The scene in the elevator is proof that I can’t be trusted alone with them.

“Duchess,” Slash enunciates his pet name for me with a composure that doesn’t match the tension in his body. I back away from him, edging toward the stairs, determined to find space, despite knowing that I can’t outrun him in my current state. “We respect your boundaries, but some things are non-negotiable.”

“We...” I repeat. Taking another step across the landing, I attempt to distract Slash from my departure with a dumb question. “When did you two become a team?”

“Don’t deflect, sweet thing... you’re no good at it.”

The glare I direct at Lazarus could peel paint.

My anger has no effect on him.

He simply grins.

I understand his reaction a second later when my husband lifts me off my feet. Locked in a bridal hold, I slap at his arms as he carries me up the stairs. My strikes are ineffectual, resulting in laughter instead of freedom.

Lazarus’ humour follows us to the second floor and into my bedroom.

“Shhh, baby,” my husband chides. He flicks his gaze toward Garrett’s crib, then back to me. “You don’t wanna wake our son.”

My heart flipflops at his description of the sleeping baby as ours.

It makes me slow to react when he sets me back on my feet.

I catch his hand as he grips the hem of my t-shirt. “Don’t.”

“We’re sleepin’ skin on skin, duchess.”

“We are not.”

Digging my fingernails into his skin, I press flatten my lips into a line.

The stubborn man pulls free of my grasp. “Why not?”

“Because I’m flabby, sore, and bleeding.” My honesty doesn’t faze him. All it does is make his eyes fill with affection as he shakes his head to reject my claim. “I’m not joking, Slash. Please leave... give me the space I asked for.”

“Sure.” I breathe a sigh of relief when he steps away from me. It doesn’t last long because my husband moves to the other side of my bed as he tells me, “Wear a t-shirt... can’t guarantee it’ll last the night, but I’ll give you space—” He pulls the covers back with a flourish. “—to fall asleep in it.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

I roll my eyes when he doesn’t respond.

The resolve in his expression alerts me that I’m not going to win this fight. So, rather than argue with the stubborn man, I lock myself in the bathroom. It takes half an hour to shower, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. The entire time, I avoid glimpsing my body in the mirror. A few days ago, I made that mistake in hospital bathroom. The changes from my pregnancy are stark, and they’re no longer as welcome now that the babies are born. My stitched-up belly is soft. A series of purple stretchmarks decorate the swell of my hips. The backside that acted as a poor counterweight to my bump seems even larger without my rounded stomach to balance it out.

Turns out I’m vainer than I thought.

Because I want my old body back.

Preferably, yesterday.

“Made you a sandwich,” Slash tells me when I finally exit the ensuite. “Grabbed you a bottle of water too.”

My husband is propped against the padded headboard. Wide shoulders and tattooed chest exposed since he’s decided not to wear a t-shirt to bed, my gaze locks on the bandage over his head. Now that I know what it hides, I am determined to make him understand that I’m not giving up on him. My boundaries and the request I’ve made for time and space are for me. I envision a future with them both—once they’ve proven that we won’t be walking the same path as we did before.

No more lies.

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