They all three stare at me as if they don’t believe me.

“I would never say that to a female. You know I would never threaten a mate.”

“She told us you said this while half asleep. It’s possible this happened and you don’t remember.”

My jaw clenches because I’m irritated that these males who know me the best would believe a female they recently met over me.

“We’re going back to our cabins and we’re going to leave you two alone now,” Urdan announces.

I nod. “This is acceptable. I am calm. I’ve slept the night with her at my side and my sons in my arms. If she chooses to leave I will calmly allow her to go. I told her that if she leaves my sons remain with me. She knows the rules.”

“Yes,” my father answers as he hands Owen back to me, “she understands that once she entered commune space with the babies, they were legally ours. If she leaves, she leaves behind your sons. But she sounds very certain that she’d never leave her children.”

“Sometimes the women say that at first…” I remind them.

“We know. But this seems different. I think she’s serious in wanting to stay at your hearth. I think you should give your Bride a chance,” my father says. “She might surprise you.”

I return to the sound of the shower running.

I sit at the kitchen table with both of my sons in my arms because I can’t stand the idea of being separated from them.

Finally, Drew strides into the front room with damp hair and skimpy new clothes. Her feet are covered in thick gray socks—my socks. And she’s wearing shorts that barely cover her ass and a long sweater jacket of some sort. Her large nipples poke enticingly through her thin t-shirt.

“My babies!” she cries out. “They look so cute in your arms.” Then she rushes forward and gives each of them a kiss on the face. “Sorry I slept so long. You should’ve woken me up. Bran and Owen must be starved. I’m ready to feed them.”

“They’ve already been fed.”

She blinks. Her blue eyes wide and mesmerizing.

“They each took a bottle earlier.”

She swiftly opens the fridge and gasps with surprise. “You fed them?”

“Yes.”

“And you bathed them and changed their diapers and even dressed them in new outfits? And you took a shower too?”

“Yes.”

She places a hand against her chest and gives me a watery smile. “You’re wonderful.”

I let out a grunt.

“Well, give me a minute to express some milk. My breasts feel really engorged. Then I’ll make some coffee and then breakfast for us,” my female says. “Since you did all of that work earlier, it’s the least I can do.”

“No,” I grumble.

“No?”

“You know that males like their Brides to cook home-cooked meals and feed them by hand. You are trying to trick me again.”

“Maybe I just like to cook, and I’ve always wanted someone to cook for?”

“I don’t trust you.”

She tosses her damp hair over her shoulder. “Obviously.” Then she takes out a small, clear plastic object out of a cabinet and glances at the windows. “Do I need to close the curtains? Are the guards still out there?”

“No, the others went home. We are alone. This corner of the commune is very private.”

“Good.” Then she sits down and lifts her shirt and fixes a plastic object to her luscious breast. “At first, I had a fancy breast pump and this manual one was supposed to be something quick for the middle of the night, but I decided I like this little thing better. It does the job and it’s easier, doesn’t leave me sore and there aren’t a bunch of tiny parts to clean. It’s all I need.”

I watch in fascination as she gets to work, pumping each breast, filling a milk storage bag. Watching my female feed my sons last night and now expressing extra milk for them is maybe the second-best moment of my life.

Finally, she sighs with relief and fixes her shirt. “All done. There’s a lot of milk, it’s crazy. If they don’t nurse, I have to get rid of it or is starts to hurt.”

“Orc infants cannot take human infant formula. Also, you have twins, so your body is making extra.”

“I have even more milk than the normal woman giving birth to an orc?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains things.” She puts the milk in the fridge and then putters around the kitchen.

I have a hard time knowing who to gaze at, my sexy female or my gurgling sons. All three cause my heart to swell with pride. But I force myself to remember this is temporary. She’s here at my hearth now, but tomorrow Drew Reilly could be gone. Forever.

She pauses in front of a contraption on my kitchen counter I’ve never seen before. “I’m making some coffee for myself. Do you want some too?”

“What is that machine you’re using?”

“Oh, this is my new Keurig,” she smiles, exposing smooth white teeth and an exotic lack of tusks. “It’s wonderful.”

I let out a snort of disgust. “Why do humans invent these useless things? That coffee maker creates too much trash that cannot be recycled.”

“Please don’t burst my bubble of happiness. A Keurig in a commune might not work out in the end but let me use it for now, okay?” She lifts a special pod in her fingers and waves it at me. “Do you want to try my favorite dark roast?”

I grunt my acceptance.

“Sugar and creamer?” she questions.

“Yes.”

“Tell me exactly how you like your coffee.”

I sigh with resignation and let her know I like one scoop of sugar and a splash of creamer. Soon we each have a steaming mug of coffee. She sits at the table for a moment and takes Bran in her arms, smiles at me and sips her steaming drink.

I sip at this special coffee too, learning that it’s actually more delicious than anything else I’ve ever tasted. Not that I’d admit this to her. “You drink black coffee?” I question.

“Yeah, I’m weird that way. How about pancakes? I saw pancake mix and syrup earlier in your cupboard.”

“That’s my favorite breakfast,” I agree.

She smiles again, places Bran in a nearby bouncer and soon my Bride is up and fixing breakfast.

I should complain. Say no. Stop her from performing this loving task between mates. But I can’t. Even if this is pretend, I find I want it.

She chats with me while cooking, telling me stories about the babies’ delivery. About how my sons rejected the arms of their Nanny and her best friend she says is named Amelia. And I look down at my sons who have been content in my arms and smile.

“…I carried them like a normal pregnancy, and in fact it wasn’t such a bad time. At least I was able to have a fast delivery without even the need for painkillers or a C-section. Both babies were perfectly healthy. The worst part was going back home with them because caring for two orc twins is exhausting. My best friend, Amelia, was there with me the first week. That woman is a saint. And when she had to return home to her own family, I cried.”

All I can think is that she should never have left and how I missed out on the birth of my own sons. But I’ve said this obvious statement already, so I remain silent because I have nothing new to add.

She pours circles of batter onto a sizzling grill then turns to me. “This is nice,” she says. “We never talked before. Didn’t have a chance to get to know each other the last time…”

“Because you left,” I point out.

She exhales and turns back to the pancakes. “But I’m here now,” she says over her shoulder. “And there’s plenty of time for a do over.”

Soon Drew sits next to me. She places a plate of steaming pancakes, butter and syrup between us. She cuts a piece and pierces it with her fork and leans forward to offer the food to me.

I take the bite and chew and swallow. And suddenly that constant need to toss her onto the bed in the bedroom becomes overwhelming.

She gasps at the heat in my gaze. “Oh my.”

“Drew,” I rasp, taking the fork from her small hand. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to follow through with.”