Page 38 of Enticing

She shakes her head the smallest bit, then winces. “I just want to go to bed.”

“That I can help with.” I curl my arms under her and lift her as I stand up, and a sound from the other side of the room catches my attention.

“Goddamn... speed and strength.” Coraline fans her face, and I laugh silently. “Her room is at the top of the stairs. Last one, all the way down the hall on the right. Be quiet, or you’ll wake Izzy and Lennox.”

I nod and enjoy the way Adelaide settles against my chest. She buries her face in my neck and makes the sweetest sounding sigh as I carry her up the stairs. “Why do you always smell so good, Leo?”

“Soap,” I offer quietly as we pass by closed doors I’m assuming belong to Izzy and Lennox before I come to the open door at the back of the house.

“Not fair.” She exhales. “No one should smell this good. You smell like my hero.”

“I don’t want to be your hero, Addie.” I lay her gently down on her bed and tug the blankets back.

She looks at me so confused, it’s adorable.

“I want to be your everything.” I pull the covers over her and run a hand over her face. “But you’re gonna have to let me in for that, sweetheart.”

A sliver of silvery lights slices in through the gauzy white curtains covering giant windows overlooking the lake behind the house, illuminating her face and giving her an ethereal glow. Goddamn. She’s beautiful.

“Not sure you’d feel that way if you really knew me, Leo.” Her heavy eyes close before I can answer, and my heart slams behind my ribs.

“Guess I’m just going to have to prove you wrong...” I brush my lips over her forehead and hear Lennox’s faint cry coming from down the hall.

Maybe there’s a way I can help tonight.

ADELAIDE

If you speak to me before I’ve had coffee, and I’m mean, that’s your fault. Not mine.

—Addie’s Secret Thoughts

My dry eyes feel like gritty sandpaper rubbing together when I finally force them open and immediately slam them shut as my pulse pounds violently in my skull.

Ouch.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Once I’m curled up in the fetal position and the warm covers are over my head, I let the quiet house lull me back to sleep.

Wait . . . My house is never quiet.

Freaked-out, I sit up way too fucking fast and stop as the room spins around me.

Oh. My. God.

The night crashes over me like a violent wave refusing to let me get my bearings before knocking me back down. Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick.

Once I’m somewhat stable, I manage to stumble to the en suite bath and drop to my knees in front of the toilet while I try to breathe through it. I hate to throw up. Like hate it with a visceral passion, so much so it always makes me cry. On my knees in front of the toilet, I basically practice Lamaze breathing to get me through it.

It didn’t help me at all when I went into labor, but it helps me now, thank goodness.

Never again... I’m not sure what I was thinking last night, but wine and I are far from besties, and this morning is all the reminder I needed. I slump against the wall and look longingly at the big clawfoot bathtub I haven’t managed to use since before Lennox’s birth. My lip quivers, and my boobs are two painful, rock-solid bowling balls full of milk. This is by far the longest I’ve gone without nursing Lennox, and my body is revolting.

What I wouldn’t give to have an hour to soak in that tub.

A dark room, some quiet music, and maybe some of those rose-gold eye de-puffers Coraline gave me for last Christmas that are still sitting in an unopened box on a shelf.

My eyes drift closed, and I focus on the quiet. Maybe I should have checked the time, but there was no way I could have stopped once the nausea hit. I allow myself one last loving look at the tub before I stand and breathe in and out again. Guess the shower it is.

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