Chapter Seven

Up was down, left was right.

Daytime was for visitors that Hope slept right through, and night was when she was wide awake.

I was wearing the same gray Whitmore and Creighton t-shirt that I wore when we were both discharged a few days ago. My naughty bits were feeling anything but naughty. Sleep had become an elusive thing ruled by the most adorable little tyrant with an insatiable appetite and a killer grip.

And I was loving every minute of it.

I rolled on my side, Hope's bassinet snug in between me and Jacob. My nipples brushed against the wicker material and the tender things cried out in pain, picking up the slack since Hope was still fast asleep.

Correction: swollen, achy nipples that leak milk? Not loving that so much.

But all things in the realm of complaining evaporated when I nestled my chin against the edge of the bassinet, watching the gentle rise and fall of Hope’s itty bitty chest. Her onesie was the color of the rays that tried to sneak in from the blinds.

I smiled, remembering watching Jacob practice swaddling her. I could tell from the way that nerve had twitched below his eye that he wouldn’t rest until he got it perfect. His jaw had been locked so tight that I had to bite my lip to hold back my smile.

Once he’d figured it out, he put even me to shame. Hope didn’t make a peep as he wrapped the blanket around her tiny body. Not a single tuck had come undone and when I gazed at this perfect little baby we created, I was reminded of a cloud, kissing the sun.

I knew I was playing with fire, and the fact that she was still fast asleep was reason enough to do as little moving as possible, but I couldn’t help myself. I doubted I was anything exciting like a spy in a past life, but I inched my fingertips forward like a professional, holding my breath as I gazed at her.

I left my fingers suspended just above her chubby little cheeks, my eyes falling to her chin. It was so doll-like. Fragile. Too dainty, too patrician for a Montgomery, so I chalked it up to her dad’s side. The lips that were pursed like she was about to lay the sweetest little peck on your cheek or start hollering her head off? That was all me. Her nose was a little bit of both of us, round with the gentlest nostrils. Her eyes were still closed, dreaming a beautiful dream, despite Mommy’s meddling. I knew if she batted those thick, feather soft eyelashes of hers I’d see the shape of mine and the brilliant blue of Jacob shining up at me. And that chestnut colored hair? I could just die. She was barely two weeks old and was already well on her way to a bad ass pixie cut that-

“Can’t help it, huh?”

I snatched my hand away like I’d been caught.

Jacob, who I thought was sound asleep too, was looking back at me with a sly grin that turned my heart into mush. His voice was barely above a whisper, and he wasn’t on the verge of rousing her with his touch like yours truly, but I still brought my pointer finger to my lips, gesturing toward the closet area. Both of us moved in silent unison, rolling on our sides and scooting from the bed without stirring Hope. We weren’t going far, but I grinned when we both reached for the baby monitors we each had perched on our respective nightstands. Even though Jacob hired a new bodyguard just to monitor our long guest list and keep the paparazzi out, neither of us were taking any chances.

I let him do the honors of carrying the monitor and I led the way to the dressing room, which had become our pow wow area. The closet used to be lined with Jacob’s suits, all sleek and devastatingly sexy on the hanger. My side was dresses and blouses, the shoes a kaleidoscope of flats, slip ons, and heels for work and special occasions. Now, it was also speckled with overflow of gifts and knick knacks for Hope, a breast pump that I hadn’t quite figured out just yet and enough baby blankets that Hope could snuggle in a different one from now until she was a mouthy pre-teen.

I plopped onto one of the high back chairs, muscles and parts of me that I didn't know could ache still groaning a bit. When my doctor finally made her grand and unnecessary appearance, she'd run through the list of 'dont's', particularly highlighting a friendly reminder that we had to wait six weeks, or until my first check up after delivery, to have sex. When she laid down the law, I didn’t even pout. Considering the blood and carnage and other not-so-sexy fluids that Jacob had witnessed and the fact that my body felt like I'd pushed a human being out of it, bowchickawowow was the last thing on my mind. But two weeks in, gazing at the man I loved in a plain white t and black cotton pants that accentuated every muscular part of him, I was clutching the hem of my chemise.

And that wasn't even the sexiest part. It was the way he was leaned against the doorway, staring out at the bed like he couldn't take his eyes off our baby. So filled with love that it radiated from him, swirled around him and lifted my heart to my throat. And just in case I wasn't already in full blown swoon mode, his low, sultry voice filled the silence. "She's perfect."

"Damn skippy," I agreed, my smile stretching from ear to ear. "Clearly, she gets it from her mama."

He cast a smirk in my direction. "Clearly." His cool eyes seemed to freeze over for a second, focusing on something unseen. A memory that ghosted across the happy moment. "I've been thinking a lot about my parents."

That light dimmed, replaced by a sadness that took root the day Jacob had opened up to me, sharing that while he lived a charmed life, growing up drenched in wealth and privilege, reality was anything but. His father spent most of his childhood longing for love lost, and his mother spent most of it trying to recapture her philandering husband's heart. Jacob was left picking up on cues and lessons they taught him through their actions. According to The Whitmores, love was pain, lies, and secrets.

His father passed on before he had a chance to get any closure, to have a tough conversation where he put all of his hurts and disappointments on the table. His mother wasn't so lucky. Alicia Whitmore got the full brunt of Jacob's wrath, and rightfully so. Anytime I found myself feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for the woman, I was reminded of her narcissism.

After our last collision with The Eichmanns, her staff put in mortal danger, I was sure the Alicia I'd seen—putting her own freedom and safety on the line to help them—was closer to the real Alicia. The Alicia beneath the cold, brutal persona she broadcasted to the world.

After Hope was born, she FaceTimed us. She was boarding a plane to the US from Paris and paused her visceral berating of the flight attendant long enough to gush over how beautiful Hope was. Any sort of ‘awww’, bonding worthy moment was soured when we caught the frazzled attendant's stature as we were treated to the beginning of what I was sure would be the longest flight of the poor woman's life.

"Is this your first day? How difficult is it to let wine breathe before you pour it? It's not a box of Franzia."

Jacob had shrugged his shoulders, focusing his attention on Hope, but I knew that every time he let Alicia in, he was quickly reminded that the woman was incapable of maintaining her humanity for longer than a few minutes at a time. Every disappointment was like a tiny paper cut slicing into his heart. Death by a thousand tiny blows, pushing the two of them farther apart.

I slid out of the chair, pausing to marvel at the fact that I no longer had to waddle, no longer had a stomach to rest my hands on or stroke when I got nervous. I made my way to him, his body turned away from the bedroom, like he didn't want that energy to seep into our happy place. I gripped his hands and brought them to my lips, kissing them gently like I was trying to kiss the old wounds. I wanted him to know that love was all around him. That he wasn't alone.

"It took my father a month to make his grand entrance after I was born," Jacob continued, still locked in my embrace. The ice in his eyes was sharp enough to rip a hole in an ocean liner, to tear through any disillusion that having a famous father = #blessed. "I was the one who was foolish enough to ask for specifics instead of just making something up for some project at school. My mother told me that he was wrapping up filming some project." The nerve beneath his eye flickered. "I wasn't quite as good at pretending and I must have looked shocked or disappointed because she waved it off with a little chuckle, adding that he came home for two months straight after and was just in the way." Jacob retracted his hands, but came right back to me. Back to the now. He cradled my face and all the heat of us, of love, set his eyes on fire. "The zombie fucking apocalypse wouldn't have been able to keep me away from our baby."

The power of his love, of our love, filled me up and my vision swam because I knew that for Hope, that well would never run dry. "How about a gnarly, post apocalyptic poop-filled diaper?" I joked. For such a tiny thing, Hope could clear out a room and bring different kind of tears to my eyes.

Jacob shuddered, his laughter bringing the light back to his pools of blue. Glittering like diamonds reflecting off the waves on a sunny day. "I don't know how someone so beautiful can create something that smells so awful."

We tag-teamed the 'special' diapers, and to be honest, I had no complaints. I'd been shocked when he volunteered to help, his eyes going round as he held his breath and realized what he signed up for. I was feeling lucky in an infinite number of ways: we had Hope, I had a man who didn't see changing diapers as a 'woman's thing', and from the number of prospective visitors that seemed to multiply every day, everyone from Missy to Claudia couldn't wait to congratulate us and meet Hope.

Jacob's phone hummed from the nightstand, the sound making us both cringe, worried it would wake Hope.

She didn't budge.

Both of us exhaled in unison. Hope was a happy baby, who only cried when she was hungry, needed to be changed, or was woken from her slumber. Our relief was short lived when my phone sounded off. The discreet mode was anything but, the chirping sound cajoling rustling movements from the bassinet. We must have communicated via telepathy because Jacob went to Hope and I went to my purse, rustling through the bottomless thing, searching for the angry bird sound that was about to rouse some anger from my baby.

I pressed the button on the side to silence it, pausing to make sure I was reading the screen correctly.

Jacob was the first point of contact for the security, and I was next in line, if it was an emergency.

My heart went from butterflies, bluebirds and onesies to DEFCON 2. "Something's wrong."

His face went still. Even though the forecast called for sunny weather, I saw the storm clouds roll over his eyes, hardening his jaw. I felt the change in the air, the calm before shit got real. If he wasn't busy getting Hope settled, he would have been filling the silence with some non kid-friendly words.

I pulled my robe tight and hustled out into the hall. I tapped the screen and let out a hoarse greeting that I was surprised anyone could hear. "H-hello?"

"Mrs. Whitmore?" The rich, deep baritone that flowed into my ear wasn't lined with panic, like he was calling because some idiot had threatened to wreak havoc on us and was now headed up in the elevator to make good on the threat.

I was beside Jacob when we decided to bring someone on, determined to have a say after our last go round with bodyguards. I wanted someone that could protect us if we needed it, but not so obvious that it highlighted the VIP target on our backs.

Dimitri Sollenski towered over most, but his lean frame was reminiscent of an athlete versus a burly man that could chew you up and spit you out. He came highly recommended and even shared a few instances his previous clients weren't aware of, near misses with danger that he handled before they led to catastrophe.

His smooth, professional voice sounded slightly different now. Hesitant. Edged with worry. Like a kid with a not-so-impressive report card in tow, preparing their parents for disappointment.

"I tried to reach out to your husband, but there was no answer on his end." He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't have disturbed you two at all, but she has credentials-"

"Just tell me what's going on," I cut through all the red tape, pulling a little further into the hall. I put it on speaker phone when Jacob appeared in the doorway. Even in a plain white tee and sweats, he looked ready to charge into battle.

"Your doctor is here. She claims she was in the neighborhood and wanted to check on the baby."

"Doctor Clarkson?" Jacob mouthed with a frown, exchanging glances with me.

My first visit post birth check up wasn't for a couple of weeks. By the time she rolled into my hospital room, Hope had already stolen the hearts of everyone who walked through the door, perfectly healthy with ten fingers and toes and could melt a room with one of her dazzling, gummy smiles.

"You can send her up," I told Dimitri, disconnecting the call and leaning against the bannister. I gave Jacob a wary look. ”I'm all for going above and beyond, but isn't it a little odd that she's making house calls?"

"Maybe she's feeling guilty about missing the main event?" Jacob offered, but he didn't look anymore relaxed than I felt.

He dipped back in the room, pressing a kiss on the crown of Hope's head, murmuring something to her. I didn't catch the words, but I didn't need to. She was destined to be Daddy's girl the minute he held her in his arms. "You take Hope and I'll say hello to the good doctor?"

“Hmm.” I grunted, not consenting to that. I remembered how he'd torn into Dr. Clarkson when she came in, wrinkled scrubs, disheveled, with the nerve to look appalled that Darla stepped in and delivered the baby. I thought he was going to throw her through the window when she'd scanned the room like she was looking for an adult, or someone who wasn't a nurse or tech. Someone of her caliber with a MD behind their name.

Jacob was clearly no fan of the whole family going downstairs, his jaw locking with finality. "I think it's best you wait up here, just in case our visitor is some clever paparazzo or psycho fan."

"Hope and I will go with you, just in case it is Dr. Clarkson and you're in the mood to bite her head off for showing up unannounced."

I said it with enough finality that he didn’t bother arguing with me. He even did one better and leaned in and gave me a kiss, too. Right on the mouth, making my tummy swarm like it was the first time.

I’d been ready to shut down his other theories of who might be coming up the elevator as well. Dimitri was a veteran in the field and would have seen right through a paparazzo in a Halloween costume. And a crazy fan? They wouldn’t have been able to keep it together long enough to get past him since they were literally in the same building as Jacob Whitmore. But all those things flew out the window, because I was too busy floating on could nine.

Jacob’s lips hovered above mine, his pale gaze fanning the heat between my thighs. The inappropriate heat, considering we still hadn’t reached that point where we could do more than fuck each other with our eyes.

Hope let out a little gurgle, nuzzling my breast through my gown. It was her way of reminding me there was one more reason I couldn’t jump Jacob’s bones at the present moment.

I caressed her feather soft cheek and pulled back the cup of my gown and watched her latch onto my nipple. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip as she locked onto my nipple and went to town. The pain was a fleeting thing, swimming in a sea of other emotions. Gratitude, that Hope was in our world. Awe, that I was more than me now.

I held Hope tight as I followed Jacob down the stairs, feeling a different emotion churning inside me. I pity the fool who comes to our door looking for trouble.

The sound indicating that we were about to have a visitor, ready or not. Jacob must have been on my wave length because he didn’t pause and check the screen to confirm it was Dr. Clarkson. He strode to the foyer, meeting her head on.

I paused in the main room, curiosity and Hope’s razor gums making me a take a moment, I stroked her dark locks with my fingertips as I squinted at the monitor, my lips rounding with surprise.

Even disheveled, Dr. Clarkson had a presence. Hell on wheels. Strawberry blonde locks and chubby cheeks that made the unwise underestimate her, a mistake that she made abundantly clear with her quick wit, intelligence, and sharp tongue.

Our visitor had only slightly bent the truth because she technically had delivered our baby, but what the hell was she doing here?

When Jacob reappeared, the same question all over his face, Darla was hot on his heels, covered in bright yellow scrubs and an oblivious smile, clutching her purse nervously.

“Surprise!”