Page 15 of The Billionaire's Instant Triplets

Ria rolled her eyes and scooped the sponge up. “I figured you’d appreciate that it wasn’t something breakable, at least.”

“Thanks. Also, you know you don’t have to hand-wash dishes, right? I have two dishwashers.”

“I know.” Ria shrugged and brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “But I like washing things by hand. It’s relaxing.”

“Really?” Tristan had never heard that before.

“Really.” Ria turned back to the sink and began scrubbing a pot. Not wanting to just hover, Tristan picked up a dish towel and started drying things. “How was work?”

“Productive.” Tristan would usually have been more excited to talk about his job, but today he wasn’t feeling it. “How were the kids?”

“Oh, they’re great. Although they just can’t pronounce ‘squirrel.’” Ria grinned. “We went to the park, did some baking together, had a nap — well,theydid — played some games, did a craft, cleaned up the toy room, had dinner and a bath, and went to bed.”

“Were there any tantrums?”

“A few. Kids that age always have a few.” Ria rinsed the mixing bowl she’d been scrubbing and handed it automatically to Tristan. He took it. As he did so, he wondered how long it had been since he’d washed or dried a dish by hand.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.” Ria gave him a warm look. “Tantrums are very common.”

“I suppose I expected that the kids would behave for you,” Tristan admitted. If he were being honest, he was a little relieved that everything hadn’t been sunshine and rainbows for Ria when it was so hard for him.

“At two and a half, even if they’retryingto behave, things will fall apart. They have so little control over their emotions, yet their feelings feel so big.” Ria shrugged and handed over a dripping wooden spoon. “They would throw a tantrum or two no matterwhowas looking after them.”

“Still, you have some kind of magic,” Tristan said. “You got them asleep, all at the same time, two nights in a row. And the house is looking cleaner than it has in, well, a while.”

“You can just call me a sorceress.” Ria winked and twizzled a second mixing spoon in her hand as though it were a magic wand.

“What were you making today?” Tristan asked as he accepted the mixing-spoon-slash-magic-wand and dried it.

“Cookies. I know, you won’t be having any, but they’re actually quite healthy. They’re mostly made of oatmeal, with just a little natural cane sugar and some dark-chocolate chips.”

“You’re right, I won’t have any, but I’m sure the triplets loved them.”

“They were excited mostly because they got to help make them,” Ria explained. “Kids that age love being involved in things. A few chocolate chips did disappear, but I felt it was an acceptable tax for the fun we had.”

“How do you know so much?” Tristan asked. “About kids, I mean.”

“Experience.” Ria shrugged. “That’s all there is to it, really.”

Tristan hesitated. “Surely, though, you have… I don’t know… some kind of magic you can share with me. Something that would make things easier with the triplets.”

Ria looked at him, her green eyes intense as she held his gaze for a long moment. Tristan realized that he wasn’t going to get her jokes about sorcery this time, and he found himself holding his breath. Perhaps this would be the moment when Ria would say a few magic words and he’d be able to understand the triplets better.

“There’s only one real kind of magic when it comes to taking care of kids,” Ria said gently. “It’s the same kind of magic that makes love thrive anywhere, and the same kind of magic that makes you good at anything.”

“Which is?”

“Showing up. When you’re there for your kids for long enough, every day, and keep showing up when things get hard, that’s when the magic happens. Nothing really changes, butyoufeel differently, and it becomes easier.”

“Right.” Tristan’s stomach twisted. Those weren’t the magic words he’d hoped to hear from Ria. Instead, she’d confirmed what he knew to be true. He didn’t show up for the kids, not enough. He tried. Of course, he tried. When he was taking care of them, he made sure they were fed and dressed in clean clothes and that they had everything they needed. Yet the first opportunity he had, he always ran away to work.

Part of it was not wanting to step on his sister’s toes. Another part, though, was that Tristan simply felt he couldn’t give the kids as much as someone like Ria could. He’d never been compelled to ooh and aah over babies, nor had he planned to have children of his own. His company had always been his child, and work was what he was good at. He wasn’t good with the triplets.

“Here.” Ria handed him a plate. “Dry this?”

Tristan understood her request for what it was: a way to change the subject. Perhaps Ria felt she’d overstepped, and she probably had. If Tristan hadn’t been so impressed with her, or if he hadn’t recognized the truth in her words, he probably would have been angry.

---