Page 62 of My Dear Mr. Corporate

EPILOGUE

Bryan

3 years later

“Isaac, honey, don’t kick daddy’s seat,” I reprimanded our four-year-old adopted son. He lowered his legs and gave me the big innocent blue eyes as though he hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Aren’t we there yet?”

“Almost,” Tate replied, throwing him a smile in the rearview mirror. “Are you excited?”

“Not really.”

Tate and I shared a smile because, of the three of us, Isaac was probably the most excited about the birth of our twin girls. That was to say a lot because Tate and I were pretty stoked at this moment. When we had held our babies for the first time yesterday we had been a blubbering mess. They were perfection we would always cherish as much as we loved our little boy. We were closer to that goal of four kids, although Tate barked that we were capping it at three. I knew exactly how to get him to change his mind though.

“I thought you were looking forward to being a protective older brother,” I told Isaac. “You don’t want to be a big brother anymore?”

“Will I get to tell them what to do like daddy tells you what to do?” Isaac asked.

Beside me Tate choked on laughter and I scowled at him. “Daddy doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Uh huh.”

“Uh uh,” I disagreed.

I reached across to the backseat and tickled him until he erupted in laughter, his little legs kicking.

“We’re here,” Tate announced, pulling into a parking spot at the hospital.

“Fi-nal-ly!” Isaac exclaimed in a voice that showed how exhausted he was from all the wait.

“Alright, everybody, bail out. Let’s go fetch our princesses.”

“Does that make me a prince?” Isaac asked Tate who helped unbuckle him from his booster seat.

“Yes, that makes you our little prince,” Tate agreed, and I smiled listening to their conversation. That big lug of a mountain man had been through so many changes. As the C.E.O. of the Rosenbaum Holdings and with me in charge of the Foundation we had turned into San Diego’s perfect corporate couple. At least that was what they referred to us as. Today’s newspaper headline had read:

Our Own Mr. Corporates welcome twin baby girls to their already perfect family.

Our family was anything but perfect. Tate and I still argued, and we were still figuring out parenting. It helped that Tate’s mother had gone through a whirlwind change after our marriage almost three years ago. It was as though she realized that it was useless fighting against me being in her son’s life. She had welcomed Isaac in our family. Aunt Susan was always volunteering to keep him for a night whenever Tate and I had functions to attend or just needed some daddy alone time. We were happy to have her around as she never quite got over what her husband had done. Less than a year in prison he had developed pneumonia and died.

At the time we had adopted Isaac from the children’s home, which had been my first project with the Foundation, we had been trying with a surrogate but with no luck. The same day the adoption of Isaac was finalized our surrogate had called to break the good news that she was pregnant. In fact, she had called us while we were at the adoption agency. When the agent had asked us if we wanted to cancel the adoption there had been no doubt between Tate and me what we wanted to do. From the moment we had seen Isaac we knew we wanted to raise him as our son.

Isaac walked between us swinging on both our hands. “I can’t be a prince!” he exclaimed.

“Why not?” I asked him.

“Because that makes you a King and a…” he scrunched up his face as he examined me. “A queen?”

The only reason I didn’t erupt into laughter was because we were in a silent zone as we entered the hospital. It didn’t stop me from snickering though. Tate was grinning from ear to ear.

“Try again, little buddy,” I told him.

“A king and a king?” he asked, looking hopeful this time that he was right.

“Exactly.”

Tate leaned sideways to kiss me briefly to prove his point.

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