Page 63 of Dirty Damage

“Sorry, baby,” he cuts her off. “You’re just so gorgeous when you’re pregnant that I couldn’t help myself.”

Faye rolls her eyes, but she can’t quite stop herself from smiling as she turns to me. “Men are all full of shit. Am I right, Sutton?”

“In my experience? Absolutely.”

She claps her hands and then heads for the kitchen. I follow reluctantly, not sure I want to discover what other secrets this place is hiding.

She slides open what I thought was a pantry door, revealing a burst of color that feels like stepping into an alternate dimension.

The room is chaos.

Toys everywhere. Art supplies. A miniature basketball hoop. Building blocks scattered across the floor like landmines. It’s everything the rest of the apartment isn’t.

“Why…” I start, then stop. Try again. “Why does Oleg have this?”

“For the rugrats,” Faye says, like it’s obvious. “They needed somewhere to be kids when they visit Uncle Oleg.”

Noah perks up. “Unca Oleg is here?”

Holy shit, the Beast has a soft spot.

I suspected when he was sweet to Chloe at the daycare, but that was when he was in business mode.

For all I knew, he could’ve been sweet to kids at work and then purposefully ran over their bikes and tipped over lemonade stands in his free time.

“Not yet, baby,” Faye tells him. “Soon.”

Noah and Lily are visibly disappointed.

“Not soon enough,” Artem announces. “I’m starved. Anyone else hungry?”

Both kids shoot up like prairie dogs at the mention of food. My stomach chooses that moment to remind me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

“Pizza?” Lily sing-songs, her hands clasped together in a plea.

I just met Lily, and I already want to give her and her gap-toothed smile everything she’s ever dreamed of, but I think of greasy fingerprints on Oleg’s pristine furniture and wince.

“Pizza is pretty messy.”

“Which is why we’ll eat in the playroom,” Faye announces. She touches me gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Oleg is used to the kids. We’re over all the time.”

I’ll be damned. Oleg’s ivory tower had a rainbow-colored trap door I wasn’t expecting.

Maybe the Beast has a fun-loving personality tucked away under all that muscle, after all.

“More juice!” Noah demands, holding out his cup like a tiny emperor.

His hands are covered in sauce, along with the collar of his shirt and the kid-sized table he and Lily are sitting at. Faye was a genius for having us all eat in here.

“Water,” Faye tells him.

“Juice! Now!”

She arches a brow, and I watch the toddler crumple. “Juice… please?”

“Nice try, bud.” She ruffles his hair and hands him his water bottle. “Water.”

I feel like I should be taking notes. Faye really knows what she’s doing when it comes to this parenting thing.

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