“You don’t have to micromanage everything I do, either.”
I rolled my eyes. I was not a micromanager. Far from it.
Well, kind of.
“Did you actually put the formula in them?” I shouted.
A very unhappy Roman suddenly appeared at the base of the stairwell with a pink, floral diaper bag draped over his shoulder. “I swear to Christ, Lis. I said I’d pack the baby’s bag so you could get dressed while she takes her morning nap. But, if you are just going to scream down all the crap I’ve already packed, then I’ll gladly unpack it so you can do it your damn self.”
“You did not just say that,” I spat.
He planted a hand on his hip and glared at me. “Oh, I said it. And, if you don’t knock it off with the attitude, I’m gonna do it too.”
Being a parent was hard.
Like really freaking hard.
But throw in a bossy, overprotective father, a baby with colic, and a grand total of ten hours of sleep in two weeks and it became exponentially harder.
I loved Roman more than anything, and I believed with my whole heart that he was my soul mate. But damn, parenting with someone was enough to make you question the universe’s matchmaking skills.
“I dare you,” I whispered ominously.
His silver eyes narrowed on me as he reached into the bag and very slowly pulled a purple swaddling blanket out before sending it fluttering to the floor.
I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, praying for patience that would never be found.
After a few years of healing both physically and mentally, Roman and I had decided to try to start a family—again. However, this time, we had gone into it with a different mind-set and took a different path.
Neither of us had had any desire to attempt IVF again. As far as we were concerned, that was a bridge better left burned. I’d never regret the family we got out of our first attempt—Tripp, Tessa, Clare, and Heath. But that was the end of it for us.
Adoption became the obvious avenue. It was an expensive and time-consuming process, but the good news was money was no longer a factor for us and I got to spend that time waiting with Roman. Even if it was arguing.
“Pick it up,” I ordered.
He cocked his head to the side. “Drop the attitude.”
“What’s wrong? I thought you loved my attitude,” I smarted A sinister smirk curled his lips as he dropped the bag to the floor. “Oh, I do. Mainly because I enjoy fucking it out of you.” He took a step up.
Oh shit.
I knew that glint in his eye all too well.
“Roman, no! I have to get dressed.”
He took another step up, his smile growing.
“Mom!” Parker yelled from the playroom.
Roman froze, but his heated eyes remained locked on me as he replied, “Yeah, buddy?”
Parker Tripp Leblanc had come into our lives three years earlier via international adoption when he had been eighteen months old. I would never, for as long as I lived, forget the day we’d brought him home. Wounds I hadn’t known were still inside me had suddenly healed. I’d told myself I could have lived a lifetime with only Roman, and it was the absolute truth. But that was before we’d experienced life with Parker.
Watching Roman as a father was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life. He was amazing with Parker. Patient, loving, and gentle as he helped our little boy adjust to a new life and culture. It only cemented the fact that I wanted more children with him.
And, only six weeks earlier, after a year of waiting, a three-a.m. call had come, matching us with a newborn baby girl via domestic adoption. By four a.m., we’d dropped Parker off with Kristen and her husband, Seth (yes, that Seth), and we were on our way to Savannah, Georgia, to meet our daughter. With her dark-brown hair and even darker eyes, Alissa Cathleen was perfect. How a person could instantly fall in love with a tiny, wrinkly thing that did nothing but scream in their face for hours on end was beyond me. But, oh my God, how we loved that little girl.
And we started our life as a new family of four.
After years of being a workaholic, Roman had finally hired a CEO and turned the reins of Leblanc Industries over. He still worked a lot, but he’d become strict about keeping a nine-to-five schedule. I even went back to work, too. I gave up real estate and started working part time as an interior designer. It was my true passion, even if my clients did drive me crazy with their outlandish requests sometimes. (I’m sorry, but cowboy chic was not a real thing—or, at least, it shouldn’t be.) “Can I watch a movie?” Parker asked.
“No!” I replied.
At the same time Roman yelled, “Yes!”
“Yay!” he squealed, apparently only having heard his father.