I told him, “We got it. Go play chauffeur.”
And we did. Our entire room has been transformed. We bought a massive bed because our girl loves to sprawl with the three of us when she sleeps. Rose petals scattered across the duvet, arranged in the shape of a heart. Candles set aside but not lit yet. All that soft, romantic shit I pretend not to know anything about… even though I’ve read enough of Berk’s hidden romancestash to script an entire seduction scene start to finish. Reverse harem books, too. Ironic as hell, but useful.
Rowan leans against the counter next to me, chopping herbs for the simple dinner we planned. Comfort food, but easy. We want her full, happy, and relaxed before we pull out the surprise we’ve been sitting on for months. Then we’ll handle dessert. And by dessert, I mean literal dessert in the oven… and then the kind that requires no utensils.
The air is warm, quiet, humming with anticipation that prickles under your skin.
“Think she’ll like it?” Rowan asks without looking up.
I snort. “Berk? She’s going to lose her mind.”
Because tonight, we’re delivering the ridiculous request she made months ago, back when she was still fighting and delirious with vengeance. She told us she wanted us standing in the kitchen naked except for aprons. Now, specifically, the stupid octopus aprons she ordered as a joke.
Well… here we fucking are.
Rowan ties his apron first, smirking, cocky. I strip completely and knot mine around my waist. The cool air against my skin sends a shiver down my spine, but the thrill running through me drowns out everything else.
We look ridiculous. We also look exactly how she fantasized. And I cannot wait to see the way her eyes go wide, how her breath stutters when she realizes tonight is for her. All of it.
“They should be back any minute,” Rowan says, straightening his apron like it’s formal wear.
I grin, adjusting mine so it hides just enough but not too much. “Good. Em can get her inside, we can distract her with some romantic bullshit, and while she’s floating on cloud nine, he’ll strip and join us.”
I lean back against the counter, heartbeat steady but eager, imagining the way Berk will stand there—stunned, laughing, flushed—before she decides which one of us she wants to devour first.
“Ready?” Rowan asks.
“Always,” I say, my grin wicked. “Let the show begin.”
Berkley
Kimber is practically vibrating in the passenger seat as Emerson drives. Her sneakers tap against the floorboard, her hands fidget with the straps of her backpack, and every few seconds she lets out a tiny squeak of excitement she tries very hard to pretend isn’t happening.
Watching her like this fills me with a kind of warmth I don’t think I understood before. A pride that’s almost painful. When she first came home, she woke up screaming most nights, curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear. And each time, one of us sat with her until she could breathe again. Slowly, the nightmares eased. Slowly, she remembered she was safe.
And now she’s bouncing. Smiling. Nervous, yes, but glowing in a way that makes my throat tighten.
My recovery has been… well, slow is putting it kindly. My body is still mending in its own stubborn time, and the guys have been nothing but gentle and patient. We’ve made love, but carefully, one of them at a time, always watching my face for the slightest sign of pain. But tonight… tonight I want everything back. All of us together, the way we were meant to be. My body is ready. My heart even more.
And with Kimber gone for the weekend, we finally have the space for it.
When we pull up to her friend’s house, her excitement shifts into nerves so fast her eyes go wide. She grips the door handle as if it might bite her.
“What if they think I’m weird?” she whispers.
I turn in my seat and cup her cheek. “They already adore you. Go have fun. Be loud. Eat too much sugar. That’s your job tonight. Just don’t puke.” I point, laughing.
Her laugh trembles, but she nods and climbs out. Before she shuts the door, she leans in. “Love you guys.”
“Love you more,” Emerson and I say at the same time.
We watch her walk to the door, ring the bell, and disappear inside. Emerson doesn’t move right away. His hands rest loosely on the steering wheel, but I can see the tension in them, the tiny tremor that only shows when he’s trying very hard not to feel something too deeply.
When he finally looks at me, his eyes are soft in a way that always undoes me. He leans across the console and kisses me slowly and gratefully.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against my lips. “For everything you’ve done for her. For loving her the way you do.”
I brush my thumb along his jaw, shaking my head. “You never need to thank me for that. I love her like she’s mine.”