Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“How are you feeling?” Geraldine, one of my best friends here, comes over with a glass of lemon water.
“Great. A little tired, but great.”
I smile to emphasize the point, but it turns into an impromptu yawn. Elijah has been a wonderful baby, but he’s still a baby. And I’m not sure if it’s just that he’s a boy, but he’s hungry every hour on the hour and has been keeping me up more than I thought was humanly possible.
“Yes, it’s hard to be the only source of food for our babies while the men sleep through almost everything.” She chuckles, looking over at her husband who is talking with Stas and the other men.
“Oh, Paul gets up with me for every feeding and does all the diaper changes during the night. He sleeps less than I do. I honestly don’t know how he’s still standing.” I smile as I look over at Stas bouncing Elijah on his shoulder as he starts to fuss.
“Wow.” Geraldine raises her eyebrows. “He really is the perfect man.”
I know a lot of the women eye my husband, but truth is I sort of enjoy it. I have complete faith in him and his eye has never wandered.
On the other hand, if anyone gives me a sidelong glance a second too long, Daddy makes sure they know in no uncertain terms what is his is his, full stop.
I like that too, to be honest. Knowing he will protect me, even from lustful glances, gives me a sense of safety and security.
He’s started a new career and has done remarkably well. He writes fiction. Novels mainly revolving around characters going into protection. Sort of crime drama slash thrillers. The characters all need to start over, some of them because they are testifying against dangerous criminals and others are criminals, same as Daddy used to help, looking to start new lives and turn over new leaves, so to speak.
He uses a pen name, but he’s gained quite a following and is sort of famous. It’s fun, but it’s all above board and legal and he gets to work from home. He’s not been away from me for even a night since his last job with Leonard Calfus.
I never asked about him since we moved. I know he’s probably dead but the idea of having any certainty—one way or the other—didn’t seem to be important to me once we got on the plane and started our new life.
Since Daddy started writing, I’ve done a few books as well. I love being his babygirl, wife and mother to the children, tending the gardens and all that…but I wanted something else. Along with the girls, we’ve created a series of faerie fantasy books. They all revolve around our own faerie garden and the adventures of a group of magical but sometimes naughty faeries. It’s fun and to my surprise, I’m gaining a bit of a following myself.
Daddy encouraged me in the beginning. Being dyslexic, my words were misspelled and sometimes out of order. He helps with editing and we hire a team of proofreaders and other professionals to help. In the end, my work is as polished as anyone and I admit it gives me a sense of pride seeing that even someone with my disability can create something other people enjoy.
Oddly enough, I have no ill feelings toward my family any more. I am not sure what has become of them either, but sometimes that’s okay too. Family is not who you are born into, family is so much more. And Stas understands that now as well.
“I better go check on dinner.”
“I’ll go with.” Geraldine follows me through the crowd and we gain a few other of our friends on the walk.
Our Thanksgiving tradition is for Stas and I to make some of the main portions of the meal, but our friends all have access to the obscenely large kitchen and everyone brings ingredients to cook and help with the meal as well.
When we get to the kitchen, it is alive with sound. It’s mostly the women cooking and gossiping and they greet me with hugs and smiles as we move into the loving fold of the scents of comfort food that fill the kitchen.
“So.” Lennie, one of our other friends, comes over with a warm hug. “When is the next one coming?”
They all tease me that I’m a baby making factory. For some reason, they think I’m crazy, but I love being pregnant. I love the craziness of the kids and the way the house is always in a state of disorder to some extent.
“I don’t know.” I laugh and rub my belly. “It’s been six weeks.”
“I don’t know how you do it. I didn’t let Roman touch me for three months after Cinco was born.” Lennie adds, going back to mixing the bowl of greens and rice.