Silence No More

32. The Verdict

I frowned. "The result of the contest's second round? Is it even in question?"

I'd better not have gotten those blisters on my feet for nothing, dammit!

"This is my father," came an icy voice from beneath the cushion I had thrown aside. "If there is no pomp and posturing for an occasion, he'll invent or introduce it. Oh, and Mrs Ambrose...remove this cushion from my face. Now."

One corner of my mouth quirked up. "Oh, I don't know. I think it suits you. Plus, like that you at least don't leave behind dents if you run into a wall head-first."

Reaching out, Mr Rikkard Ambrose plucked the pillow off his face with two fingers and threw me one of those icy looks that warmed my heart so much, laws of thermodynamics be damned.

"I think I will manage without padding, Mrs Ambrose."

"Aw. What a pity."

At the sound of a snicker from behind, we both turned around to see Adaira hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Do you want us to come, or would you prefer for my wife and I to continue to perform for your entertainment?"

"Err...don't mind me. I'll shut up now."

"Adequate."

Rising to his feet, Mr Ambrose marched over to the screen in the corner and started to dress quickly and efficiently. I followed suit somewhat less efficiently, and couldn't help but wonder what it said about my husband that he had a collection of men's clothes for his wife in his wardrobe.

That he married a weird wife?

Shut up, inner voice!

With a huff, I straightened my clothes and, stepping out from behind the screen, strode towards the door—only to notice that my husband was not at my side. A glance over my shoulder told me he was striding back towards the bed.

"Um..." Adaira cleared her throat. "The door is over there."

"I know," was Mr Ambrose's curt reply. Then he stopped beside the bed and gently, almost tenderly, reached down to pick up Berty from where he lay. I watched, spellbound, as he walked over to the crib and lowered him inside. Towering over the crib, he sent an imperious glare down at the little angel and commanded: "Papa. Say it."

Bety blinked up at him. "Wah waah?"

"Papa. Pa. Pa."

"Waaaah! Wah wah!"

I couldn't help but grin. That's my boy! But, just to be sure...

Sidling up to the crib, I peered inside. "Don't listen to the big bad man, Berty. It's mama. Do you hear? Ma-ma."

"Wah waah?"

My eyebrows twitched. Well, it was worth a try.

"As amusing as the impromptu morning comedy is," Adaira piped up from the door, "but father is waiting."

"Oh, I know," was my husband's prompt reply. "Why do you think I am doing this now?"

Nodding, I looked down at Berty with a besotted expression. "Couldn't agree more. Now, Berty, Say it. Ma-ma."

"And...what if father changes his mind because of that?"

That made the besotted expression in my eyes instantly disappear.

"Hm...you might be right. Well, then..." Cracking his knuckles, Mr Ambrose turned away from Berty and towards the door. "Then let's not keep him waiting any longer, shall we?"