Page 66 of Taking What's Ours

I almost choke on my margarita. “Excuse me? That sounds like a movie.”

“Yeah, I guess our relationships started like action films.” Kate laughs.

“More like romances,” Isabella corrects. “But don’t worry. I promise we have super boring lives now. That isn’t the norm.”

My mind’s still reeling at the things Kate so casually listed. “I don’t even know where to begin. Rock roasted a man? Like told jokes?”

Lola’s tinkling laugh draws my attention. “My dad tells the worst jokes. No, she meant literally. Like with a flame-thrower.”

My eyes widen. Rock seemed so nice at the birthday party. Maybe these men are a lot more dangerous than I thought.

Isabella seems to read the thoughts flittering across my face, and she rests a hand on mine. “Don’t worry. They’re all big softies when it comes to their women and their families. He only did it because the man was trying to hurt him and Evelyn.”

“You don’t threaten a Royal Bastard’s woman and get away with it. Plain and simple.” Kate downs the last of her margarita.

“The men love fiercely and protect us at all costs,” Lola confirms with a shrug.

I think back to how Baja stood up for me—he was theonlyone who stood up for me after Elliot showed his true colors. “I can see that.”

Tiny feet patter into the doorway.

“Mama?” a tiny bleary-eyed boy calls.

Isabella immediately moves to him. “Hey, sugar bear. What are you doing up from your nap so soon?”

“I heard a monster under my bed,” he whimpers.

“Oh, there are no monsters under your bed. Daddy sent them away, remember?” she coos.

“He missed one.” His little voice shivers.

“Well, then I better go spray him with our monster spray.” She lifts the little boy, and he wraps his arms around her neck, clinging to her.

My heart melts at the exchange.

“I’ll be right back,” Isabella calls over her shoulder as she carries the little boy down the hallway.

After we fill up on tacos, we move to the living room and watch Dirty Dancing.

When the credits roll, Lola sighs. “I never get tires of this one,” she says. “I just love Patrick Swayze.”

“Weknow,” Isabella replies with a giggle. “You tell us every time we watch it.”

“I can’t help it. He reminds me of Memphis.”

“How does Patrick Swayze remind you ofMemphis?” Evelyn asks, perplexed.

“He’s just so badass. And the way he stands up and takes the blame for something he didn’t do; it gets me every time.”

“If you start bawling, I’m throwing this pillow at you,” Kate says.

“Youarepretty emotional. You’re not pregnant again, are you?” Isabella asks.

“God, I hope not. I can barely handle two. What would I do with three?” Lola’s eyes widen.

The other women laugh, but for me, it’s a sharp pain—one of longing… and perhaps jealousy. They have the children I’ve wanted so badly. Lola wants to avoid the one thing I want more than anything. It’s a reminder of the biological ticking clock forever hanging over my head. I know if I let my chance for children slip away, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

Isabella flicks off the TV and gets up to clear away empty glasses.

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