Page 14 of Restrictions

“I’ll help you.” Asher follows me into the kitchen with Sebastian on his heels.

I grab an oven mitt and open the oven door and feel Asher lean into my ear. “Damn, you weren’t kidding. Your parents are something else.”

I pull out the pan of chicken and place it on the stove, taking themitt off and turning to face him, noticing the subtle woodsy cologne he’s wearing mixed with the minty smell of his breath. “I told you.”

“Cavity search next?”

I actually laugh at that and hand him two oven mitts. “Do you mind taking the chicken to the table?”

His grin makes him even more handsome as he does what I ask. “No problem.”

We all sit down to dinner, and Baz is just not having it tonight, jumping up and down on his chair and acting crazy. He’s three. I’m used to it, and honestly, I don’t mind his free spirit in the slightest. But I feel the daggers my mother is staring in my direction. “You know, Sebastian, you’ll never grow big and strong if you don’t sit down like a good boy and eat your peas.”

“Yuck.” Baz sits on his little butt but folds his arms and refuses to eat.

Asher leans into Baz and tickles his side. “It’s cool, buddy. I don’t like peas either, and I grew up to be huge.”

My mother’s eyes widen, and my father just shakes his head as I try like hell not to laugh. Of course, Baz finds Asher hilarious, and his little giggle fills the room. He looks right at my mother. “No peas. I want to be like Uncle Ash.”

My mother’s sight then lands right on Asher, who doesn’t quake in the slightest. “I’m sure your mother made you eat peas when you were younger.”

Please behave, Ash.

“Nah, she doesn’t like them either.”

Damn it.

I clear my throat and try to change the subject. “Sebastian, tell Grandma and Grandpa how much you’ve enjoyed the pool.”

“I love to swim!” Baz singsongs as he picks at his chicken with his tiny fingers.

“That’s good.” My father has his phone in his hand as he moves the chicken I made around with his fork, probably checking his business emails. “You might get some structure someday if you join the swim team at school.”

“Children need structure.” My mother’s eyes meet mine, and I feel everything she doesn’t have to say.

Telling me I need to force Sebastian to do more of what I say. To repress him.

“Mommy, can I go play?”

I look at his plate mostly untouched and sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want more to eat?”

“I’m full.” I recognize the whine in his voice, and I know he’s close to a meltdown. My parents are a lot, and they make him as tense as they do me.

“Okay, go ahead.”

He does a little happy dance as he runs off to the living room, and I can feel my parents’ disapproval from across the table.

“He’s going to want something else to eat in an hour, Vivienne.”

I lift my head and look at my mother. “Then I will make him something to eat.”

“He needs boundaries. He’s testing you. If you don’t set firm boundaries now, who knows what he will do when he’s older.”

I feel Asher tense from his chair next to Baz’s now empty seat. “He had a big lunch.”

My father meets Asher’s eyes now, actually lifting them from his phone. “Asher, I was surprised to hear that you wanted to move in with my grandson and my daughter.”

Asher takes a bite of mashed potatoes, not even a little intimidated, and I have no idea how he does it. My father is a shrewd negotiator and a ruthless businessman. He puts fear in people for a living to close multimillion dollar deals weekly. Everyone is afraid of him. But not Asher. “And why’s that?”

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