CHRISTIAN
One thing no one told me about being married was how often I had to interact with my wife’s friends. Holidays, birthdays, dinner parties when they were in town…my once business-oriented calendar was now bursting with things like fucking Broadway nights and Christmas at the von Aschebergs. We alternated hosting the holidays, so this year, we were at Rhys and Bridget’s getaway villa in Costa Rica. Specifically, we were in their living room for the annual Christmas Eve board game night. I finished my wine and waited for the inevitable complaints. It happened every damn year. “There’s no way you’re not cheating.” Josh stared at the Monopoly board with disbelief. Just like clockwork. “How do you win every time?” “What can I say? I work in real estate,” Alex drawled. “Perhaps if we play a medical board game, you might stand a chance.” “I refuse to believe it.” Josh sat back on his haunches. “Every Christmas…” “There, there.” Jules patted his arm. “It’s just a board game.” Her diamond ring flashed beneath the lights with every movement. She and Josh had finally gotten engaged last summer, though they hadn’t set a wedding date yet. “It’s not just a board game, Red. It’s my pride. My dignity. My—” “Fake money?” Ava raised an eyebrow. “You say the same thing every year.” “Yes, well, it doesn’t make it any less true,” Josh grumbled. He leaned down until he was eye level with his three-and-a-half-year-old niece and nephew. “Your dad is a cheat.” Neither child seemed impressed by his accusation. “Daddy won!” Sofia insisted. “That’s right, Little Sunshine.” Alex cast a smug look in Josh’s direction before he swept her up and kissed her cheek. She giggled with delight.
“Your Uncle Josh is a sore loser.” Her twin brother Niko sat back on his haunches and pounded the board with tiny fists. “Uncle loser! Daddy winner!” The Monopoly pieces went flying from the force of his pounding. I silently cursed as one of them landed in my wine. There was no fucking way I’d drink the rest when it’d been tainted by a dirty game piece. Meanwhile, Josh playfully tackled Niko, who shrieked with laughter when he started tickling him. “Can’t believe you betrayed me like that, bud,” Josh growled, his voice thick with amusement. “We’re supposed to be a team.” Next to them, Bridget and Rhys’s daughter watched their roughhousing with a mystified expression that was far too mature for her years. With her blond hair and gray eyes, little Camilla von Ascheberg was a miniature clone of her parents. She also looked surprisingly regal for a two-year-old in her blue dress and matching hair bow. Her brow scrunched when Josh and Niko accidentally knocked over a glass of water. “Daddy.” She tugged on her father’s sleeve and pointed at the spill. I could’ve sworn I heard a note of disapproval. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Rhys sighed. “Happens every year.” “I never thought I’d say this, but Rhys’s kid is the only one who isn’t a little terror,” I muttered to Stella. At least Camilla had the decency to sit still.
I watched, appalled, as Sofia played with Alex’s hair. “Daddy! Braids!” She twisted the strands into something that did not resemble a braid in any way, shape, or form. ”Look!”“They look great,” he said indulgently while she continued to massacre his perfectly styled hair. I was convinced an imposter had swapped bodies with the normally ice-cold Alex the day he became a father. It didn’t make sense. Stella laughed. “The twins are adorable, and you know it.” “I know no such thing,” I said, even though, as far as children went, Sofia and Niko were pretty cute. I glanced back at Rhys. “I thought seeing you whipped for one girl was bad,” I drawled as he and Bridget cooed over a now giggling Camilla. “Two is even worse.” Now that the game had ended,
the rest of the group had broken off to do their own thing until dinner. Josh was still trying (and failing) to get Niko to say Uncle Josh is a winner. Ava was taking pictures of Alex and Sofia, who had moved on to climbing over her father like he was a jungle gym. Stella sat next to me, watching our conversation with amusement. She was used to my strange friendship with Rhys.
Once, she tried to call it a bromance, which I shut down immediately. Ab-so-fuckinglutely not. I was not a bromance kind of guy, and neither was Rhys, who appeared unfazed by my last comment. “You talk a lot of sh—fudge for someone who’s already eaten words once,” he amended when Bridget gave him a warning look. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go look at the pretty flowers while your father, uh has a chat with Uncle Christian.” She scooped up Camilla and took her out to the gardens, no doubt worried we would slip into profanity at any second. “I’ll also be back,” Stella said quickly. “I’m going to get some water.” I waited until she left before I arched an eyebrow at Rhys. “No idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t, Mr. I Don’t Believe in Love.” Aggravation lit in my chest. “Are you still going on about that? It’s been five…” I lowered my voice so Sofia and Niko couldn’t hear. “Five fucking years.” “Oh, I’m going to give you shit about it for the rest of our lives, so get used to it,” Rhys said. “And when you have children, you’ll eat your words again.” He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head with a smug smile. “Good track record of that happening.” I couldn’t stand his ass. Before I could respond, Stella poked her head out from the kitchen. “Christian? Can you come here? I need your help with something.” “Be right there.” I rose and pinned a laughing Rhys with a cool stare. “While I help my wife, you think about when Camilla grows up and starts dating,” I said, wiping the smile off his face. “Have fun.” Satisfaction filled me when I heard his low growl. When I walked into the kitchen, I found Stella downing what must’ve been her fifth glass of water that night. “Are you sure you don’t want any wine?” She wasn’t a big drinker, but she usually had a glass or two. “It’s a great vintage.” “Yes, I’m sure.” She set her glass down and looked at me with an oddly nervous expression. “I can’t drink alcohol right now.” She said it with meaning, like I was supposed to know what that meant. Why would it matter that she wasn’t drinking alcohol?
Granted, it was a bit odd that she… I can’t drink alcohol right now. I replayed her words. Can’t.
Not don’t want to. She couldn’t drink alcohol, which likely meant… My pulse slowed into one long, disbelieving beat. “I didn’t want to tell you in front of the others, but I also couldn’t wait anymore.” Stella’s voice lowered. “Christian, I’m pregnant.” “You’re pregnant,” I repeated. The words echoed in my head, too gilded with shock to sink in fully. Stella confirmed with a nod, her face glowing with equal parts excitement and nervousness. Pregnant. Babies. Our baby. The breath left my lungs in one fell swoop. I closed the distance between us with two long strides and kissed her fiercely, my heart thudding hard enough to bruise. Forget every uncharitable thought I’d had about children. We were going to be parents. I was going to be a father, and I was going to see Stella swell with our child. A little boy, perhaps, with curls and brown skin. Or a little girl with her mother’s green eyes and sweet smile. A fierce protectiveness gripped my chest. The baby hadn’t even been born, and I already wanted to guard them with my life. A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were ours. “Does that mean you’re happy?” Stella asked hopefully when we broke apart. My laugh was rough with emotion. “Of course I’m happy, sweetheart. How could I not be?” I needed to find the best obstetrician in the country ASAP, plus redo the penthouse (which was currently as non-childproof as it could get), take Stella shopping for maternity clothes, book a babymoon… “Well, you just called our friends’