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Eliza furrowed her brow at the glob now resting against my collar bone. “Oh wow, Phoebe. That…well, that’s not going to come out. I mean, not the normal way at least.”
Embarrassed, I shifted Iris to cover my ring. “I’m totally screwed, huh?”
“That’s why you have a baby,” Ryker mumbled through a mouthful of bacon
Rolling her eyes, Eliza flicked her hand against the back of his head. “Stop being such a little bitch.”
I quickly took a sip of coffee to stifle a laugh. Ryker swallowed and cocked an over-pronounced eyebrow. “Something funny, Mrs. Bale?”
Coffee spewed out of my mouth and all down the front of his shirt. As he dabbed it with a napkin, Iris wailed. I looked up to see the shit eating grin spreading across his face as Eliza walked up behind him.
“What did you say?”
He allowed seconds to pass before answering her, the entire situation seemingly the highlight of his day. “I asked her if she’d heard this funny tale. One she could tell Iris.”
She shrugged and walked around him. “Sometimes I wonder if you were dropped on your head.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and gently took Iris in her arms. “Take a long, hot bath, Phoebe. After that, we’ll see what we can do about…this.” She nodded toward my hair.
Quickly standing, I hugged my coffee to my chest. “Okay, well, guess I’m going.” I caught her eye and shifted my gaze to my daughter resting peacefully against her chest. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
She smiled “Piece of cake.”
Yeah, right.
With every step, I prayed to the god of small favors for Ryker to let me go quietly.
That wasn’t happening. After all, he was a Bale.
“You owe me,” he whispered
“You’re an angry, vengeful little man, Ryker Bale.”
“And you’re a married woman with a dirty little secret, Phoebe Bale.”
***
I sank lower in the tub. Unfortunately, the last month refused to disappear under the bubbles.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and eighteen seconds.
Any way the time broke down, I’d lost a little piece of myself going back and forth from the NICU. Born slightly under three pounds, Iris fought harder than any baby in that neonatal unit. Miraculously, other than a few panic-filled nights of decelerated breathing and one respiratory infection, she’d thrived for being so premature.
Julian and I fought for days over the secrets he’d withheld and the hitmen he still had watching the house. With Iris home, I forced him to contact Zane and call the off the militia. In trade-off, I’d conceded to a small army of security and body guards who constantly followed me like personal secret service. Simple activities like grocery shopping had now become an orchestrated production of SUV caravans, concealed weapons, paparazzi flashes, and constant rushed exits when guards got “weird feelings.”
Motherhood wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies like women on TV made it out to be. I resembled a zombie that’d been blown up, reborn, and blown up again. I tried to be the perfect mother, but every time I sang to Iris, she screamed bloody murder. Actually, she screamed a lot.
All I wanted to do was scream for a martini. But according to the all holy breastfeeding bible, I couldn’t even do that. So, I put my fear in my back pocket and did what was best for my daughter. It wasn’t about me anymore anyway.
That fact was obvious every time I looked in the damn mirror.
Five hundred and four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and eighteen seconds, and Julian hadn’t touched me once. Not that sex was on my high list of priorities. My stitches were still healing and sexy would be the last word I’d use to describe myself. But we’d barely touched. A few rushed kisses here and there were all he’d offered. The combination of everything sank me deeper into a world I hadn’t taken a stroll around in almost four years.
I recognized the signs. I had the medication to appease them. I just couldn’t take them while feeding Iris. So, I did what any PTSD survivor and unsure new mom would do in my situation.
I pushed all my emotions down, locked them away, and sulked.
***
“I still can’t believe I’m a grandmother,” Eliza whispered, staring down at us.
