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“I love you.”
I also love my niece and nephew, who I make sure to give kisses to before they leave. Jameson squeezes my free hand and nods to Pasha with that brand of stoic, unsmiling respect that men seem to love so much.
They’re almost to the door when it swings open.
And my heart plummets into my stomach.
My parents are here.
Stewart and Ophelia Hamish balk at Melanie like they’re staring at a ghost. It’s almost comical because they look like they’re just coming from a beach vacation—Stewart in cargo shorts and a floral polo, Ophelia in her signature sundress and a huge floppy hat, and that stupid weekender bag she always insisted on carrying around “for towels and the like.”
Ghost from the past or no, nothing stops them from shouldering their way into the room, uninvited and definitely unallowed by the blacklist I established with Pasha.
“What are you doing here?” my mother hisses at my sister.
“I could ask you the same thing!” I try to swing my legs around so I can storm out of bed, but Pasha presses a firm hand to me to keep me there. “How did you find us? You’re not supposed to be here!”
“Not supposed to—Daphne, darling, we’re your parents! We’ve come to see our grandchild!”
I’m literally shaking with rage. “You need to leave. Both of you.”
“Sir! Ma’am! I told you!”
One of the charge nurses tries to squeeze past everyone to get to my parents, who pretend like they can’t hear her.
“You cannot be in here! You are not an approved guest!”
Stewart scoffs. “We’re the kid’s grandparents, for God’s sake. We have every right to be here.”
“No, you don’t.” Melanie steps between them and me. “Now, please, leave before we have to call security.”
“Security is already on the way,” the nurse huffs.
“There. See? Now, you really need to leave.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Stewart whirls on Melanie, completely ignoring the fact that there are children in the room. “You and that mouth of yours! Why not just get on your knees and put it to some real use for once? It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
Mel and I both gasp. Jameson turns fifty shades of furious, and he steps forward to put an end to this once and for all. He opens his mouth, but before he can?—
“Stewart. That is enough.”
All eyes shift to Pasha. Gone is the playful, fatherly man who was squishing his face with Gentry. In his place is the Bratva overlord, streaming with unholy rage as he looms damn near to the ceiling and swallows up my parents in his shadow.
“Apologize to your daughter,” he growls. “Now.”
“Or you’ll what?” Stewart sniffs and holds his head up high. “I only have one daughter and I sure as hell don’t owe her any apology.”
Ophelia rolls her eyes with a dramatic shake of her head and shoves past him. “Oh, calm down, you two. Acting like it’s the Third World War. We’re only here to see our precious granddaughter!”
Her voice pitches into a singsong squeal the closer she gets to Taty, but I don’t care. I don’t want her talons anywhere near my child. “We already told you?—”
“Get the hell away from her!” Mel shoves Ophelia back so hard that the woman stumbles against a wall. “Get out!”
The door slams open and at first, I think it’s security finally here to end this. Instead, it’s Mak and Sofi, followed by Asya, and all three of them are on the warpath.
For my parents’ sake, security probably would’ve been safer.
“She told you to leave,” Asya hisses at Ophelia. Stewart reaches for her to pull her away, but Mak is quicker and wrenches his arm back.
