Page 81 of His Surrender

Aubrey immediately looks mortified. “Syd …”

“What?” Sydney laughs. “I said you mentioned him. I didn’t say what you said.”

Color creeps into Aubrey’s cheeks. “I also mentioned Liana.”

Sydney nods enthusiastically. “Mostly Liana.”

I can’t help smiling. “I was going to say, I’d be a little offended otherwise.”

Aubrey reaches toward Liana, who then kicks both legs excitedly.

Aubrey’s entire face softens. “Oh, there’s my girl.” She walks over, instinctively rubbing Liana’s tiny back before kissing the top of her head. “Did you miss me?”

Liana answers with more flailing of the arms and legs.

Sydney watches the interaction with an expression I can’t quite place.

“I think she did,” Sydney says.

Aubrey laughs. “I missed her too.”

The sound catches me off guard. I haven’t heard that laugh directed toward me in what feels like forever.

Sydney checks the time on her phone. “We should probably unpack before our reservation.”

“Right.” Aubrey glances back at me. “We’ll try not to wake Liana when we come in tonight.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

She nods once. “Okay.”

For a second, it feels like she might say something else.

Instead, she simply smiles politely and follows Sydney down the hallway toward her bedroom.

The apartment grows quiet again. Liana starts to fuss in my arms.

“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “I miss her too.”

An hour later, I’m sitting on the family room floor, building an embarrassingly crooked tower out of soft blocks, which aren’t even age appropriate for Liana, when laughter echoes down the hallway.

My head turns before I can stop it. Sydney rounds the corner first.

She’s changed into a black jumpsuit with heels, looking very elegant.

Then Aubrey steps into view. My breath leaves my lungs.

She’s wearing a short burgundy dress that hugs her waist before flowing softly over her hips. Simple gold earrings catch the light every time she moves, and her hair—usually pulled into a ponytail—falls in loose waves over her shoulders.

For a split second, all I can think is that I never get to see her dressed for anything except what she wears around the apartment.

Oversize T-shirts with spit-up on the shoulder because she forgot to change after feeding Liana.

This woman is the one everyone else gets to see. Some stranger in Manhattan gets to look across a restaurant table tonight and think he’s the luckiest man in the room.

Something ugly twists inside my chest—jealousy again.

I almost laugh at myself. One minute, I want distance; the next, I’m irritated because she’s wearing a dress.