Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters 5)

Rose, next to the photographer, casts a scathing glare at Lo. “I’m the genius that wanted the real skyline in the photos and not a Photoshopped one.”

“Your real goal is to freeze our balls off,” Lo rebuts, teeth chattering.

“Secondary goal, and only for you, Loren.”

Lo glares at the sky. “I’m officially in hell.”

Rose places her hands on her hips, ignoring him and inspecting the rooftop scene. Her elegant shearling coat keeps her and her bun-in-the-oven toasty. Lily and I are hugging onto one another beneath a thin hotel blanket.

“I can’t watch this for long,” Lily whispers and shivers against me. Her pained eyes reflect Lo’s trouble withstanding the elements. She starts typing on her phone.

How can you tell if someone has hypothermia?

She’s really concerned.

“Hey, just think, Lil, if it comes to that you can use your body heat to warm him and have epic I’m-keeping-you-alive sex.” I don’t mention how I modeled dresses during winter nights colder than this. Sometimes in unheated pools.

Lily contemplates this and tugs her Wampa cap down with one hand. “I can’t have I’m-keeping-you-alive sex if he’s dead.”

“Look alive, Loren,” Rose snaps.

Lily’s eyes widen like he’s near death.

“He’s totally alive.” I point at Lo. “That’s a classic Loren Hale glare, with a classic Loren Hale haircut, and a classic Loren Hale jawline.”

He flashes a half-smile in our direction.

“Classic,” I say.

Lily relaxes against my side, and I’m tall enough that I can rest my chin on her head. I might be twenty-three to her twenty-seven, but I think she’ll always look younger than me.

Lo blows on his hands.

“Relax, Loren.” That’s the photographer.

Lo shoots him a really nasty look that could cut up fingers and toes. Maybe because the photographer wears a warm trench coat, winter beanie, and woolen scarf.

“Ryke, hands off,” the photographer chastises.

Ryke is “adjusting” himself. “You put me in thirty-degree fucking weather in underwear only, and things are gonna fucking move.”

“Shrinkage is a real thing?” I ask aloud.

Connor begins, “Scientifically speaking—”

“Here we fucking go,” Ryke grumbles.

“—the penis and testicles move closer to the body to seek warmth when cold, all to protect sperm, which is healthiest in a set temperature range.”

“The more you know,” Lo says and shivers. He finds some heat just to glare at Rose again. “Think of our goddamn sperm.”

“I’d rather drink acid.”

Lo retorts, “That can be fucking arranged.”

Rose leans over to the photographer. “Are there any photos where Loren doesn’t look like he’s going to butcher everyone’s family?”

“Just yours!” Lo shouts.

“Her family is my family,” Connor reminds him.

Lo sighs and then shivers again. “Jesus Christ, I’m too young to die.”

Lily can’t stand here any longer. As she bolts towards Lo, I give her the blanket. She’s wrapped up in it, and his whole demeanor just relaxes at the sight of his wife. When I reached the roof, she already told Rose her pregnancy news, and I saw the tiniest tear-track on Rose’s cheek.

A tiny one for Rose is the equivalent of a sob.

Lily wraps her arms and blanket around Lo. The photographer keeps taking pictures and tells Rose to join her husband and for me to join mine.

I hesitate because I made a promise to myself not to model anymore.

Is this the same?

Rose is already sharing the lounge chair, drilling a glare through her husband. He only grins back.

Ryke is about to leave the photo shoot, but I go to him, making up my mind. He shakes his head at me like Daisy, don’t be fucking forced into this.

I’m not.

“This is my decision,” I tell him. I don’t feel strange about it or numb. It feels right because I’m not alone here. I’m with my sisters. I’m with him.

Ryke isn’t controlling, as much as the tabloids like to paint him as the “older possessive man” in my life. He’s overprotective where it matters, and he always listens to what I want. So he backs down immediately, nodding.

Then he suddenly lifts me up on his shoulders, my legs draped over his chest.

I smile down at him.

He looks up at me.

I howl like I found my mate, and he clasps the side of my face, the one with the long, old scar. And my wolf—he kisses me.

[ 14 ]

May 2019

Manhattan Medical Hospital

New York City

ROSE COBALT

“He or she is coming out before midnight,” I proclaim like it’s ancient fact written in stone slabs. “We’ve made an agreement.” I readjust my hospital gown, no longer suffocating at the neck. Then I hold my round stomach. Nine-months with this little monster and I’m ready for him or her to skedaddle right on out of my vagina.

It’s time for you to meet the world.

Though I know, like I did with Jane and Beckett and Charlie, that I’ll miss these moments where it’s just me and them. Where even in the quietest closet I can whisper little nothings and little somethings and they’d kick in reply.

Connor is all logic. He’d say the fetus is just reacting to noise. I’d like to think they knew exactly what I said, and they kicked until their mother heard their voice loud and clear.

I hear you, little gremlins.

“Rose,” Connor says from the chair nearest my hospital bed, “you can’t make agreements with an unborn child.”

I raise my hand at his grin. “I can and I did, Richard.” I fix my ponytail again. Twelve hours in labor and I’m already begging for the experience to end. It has nothing to do with pain, which is mild so far. The doctor hasn’t even recommended an epidural yet.

It has everything to do with being confined to a bed, in a hospital gown, with all my children out of my care and in Lily, Poppy, and Daisy’s for the night. They stopped by earlier with Jane, Beckett, and Charlie, but they all left when they realized how mind-numbingly long this would be.

I’ve already reapplied my mascara and lipstick to fill the wait. I also feel more put-together and comfortable when I pamper myself. So that’s why I fix my hair for the umpteenth time.

Connor and I have exhausted most of our games, including seventeen crossword puzzles. I’ve even tried sending him away so we can communicate by text, but he refuses to leave the hospital in case I go into labor.

It’s admirable. I’d even give him a gold star for his loyalty, but Connor is the kind of soldier that would rip the sword out of the king’s hand and knight himself. He doesn’t need me to present him with any honors.

Connor leans back, his fingers to his jaw, and my gaze grows hot at his calmness. I scoot further up, sitting taller and straighter to match his poise. Fuck slouching. I ignore the throb in my lower back.

He holds my sweltering gaze. “You verbally communicating with our unborn child is as nonsensical as you thinking that you can end your labor anytime you like.” Connor knows full well that I’d never force the baby out and jeopardize his or her health.

“Jane asked me…in so many words to make this a May baby.” I point at my belly. “And I am not losing to the fucking universe.” When midnight strikes, it’ll be June 1st.

Connor arches a brow.

“You look ridiculous when you do that,” I snap. He actually looks incredibly self-assured. Like he can defeat any foe. It’s attractive. I glare at the wall.

My mind is a pool of betrayal.

“Bypassing your erroneous assessment, I need to remind you that Jane simply said and I quote, ‘Mommy, do May babies look like June babies?’ She’s just curious because she was born in June.”

“Read between the lines, Richard. She said Mommy, I don’t want

this motherfucking baby born on my birthday month.”

Connor presses his fingers to his ugly grin before dropping his hand, his smile blinding. “There’s no space between her lines. She hasn’t learned subtext yet. Whatever you’re reading is your own motivations placed on her.”

I snap my hair tie, ponytail tight and secured. “Maybe so,” I admit. Jane is my first born, and I don’t want her to feel like I’ve forgotten her with each new baby. “It doesn’t change what I’m hoping for, and if fate is on my side, everything will be perfect.”

I smooth out the wrinkles on the hospital sheet. He’s rarely this quiet after I bring up a word he loathes.

“You’re not going to tell me to leave fate out of this?” I question.

He stares at me intently and his lips inch up again. “Tu es absolument magnifique.” You’re absolutely beautiful.