Christian
I could see her freckles.
When I saw her with Reyna parked on her hip, something was a little different. It took me a moment to realize her freckles were on full display. She didn't try to cover them up with makeup the way she normally did.
It was only when I would sneak up onto her roof late at night that I got to see her freckles. But today, her face was fresh and clean and innocent, bringing back memories.
But then there was her skirt. Long bronze legs under a tan plaid skirt that made my dick jerk in my jeans. Fucking hell. All of a sudden, all I wanted was for her to sit on my face with nothing else but that skirt on.
God help me.
Reyna took a solid hour-long nap, during which I let Robyn think I didn't notice when she took a picture of us sleeping through my shades and I let her think I didn't hear some old lady tell her that we were a beautiful family.
To my surprise, she didn't reject the idea either, just a simple thank you. Why? Why didn't she clarify that there was nothing going on between us and that we were just brother and sister-in-law babysitting our niece?
And why did her not denying it make my heart beat quicken just a tad? Didn't she loathe me after all these years?
Now, Reyna sat by her aunt, doodling on a blank sheet of paper that Robyn tore out of her sketchbook with the 64 pack of crayons Robyn also brought, while I responded to emails on my phone.
The depths of women's purses would never ceased to amaze me. I was confident that if I dug around deep enough, I'd find the Articles of Confederation and a full continental breakfast buffet in there too.
Robyn was busy sketching something on her pad, so I took advantage of the moment to do my favorite fucking thing in the world–look at perfection personified.
She laid down on her stomach, kicking her legs up in the air—like she did when we were kids. Her brown hair shone in the sunlight, tied up in some fancy twist at the back of her head, except for the pieces that framed her face–the ones that she constantly blew away right before they landed right back where they were—like she did when we were kids. Her dark eyebrows were pulled into a frown, focusing on the work in front of her. She scrunched her tiny nose from time to time, when she was irritated at something and then coupled that action with blowing her hair out of her face again. Her tongue curled on her top lip in deep concentration.
And then there were those fucking freckles. There were 12 of them, by the way, scattered all around her nose and cheeks, as if they were placed there perfectly like the stars in the sky, just waiting to be explored.
Robyn was so beautiful—literally so fucking beautiful—that when I could see her freckles, they reminded me that she was human because otherwise I'd believe she was a goddess–too pure, too good, too perfect.
Did she have freckles everywhere? Or were they only on her nose? What about her thighs? Did they trail up leading to–
"Wanna see?" Reyna's voice cut through my unabashed staring.
I cleared my throat and quickly looked down at the blond haired green eyed sweet little innocent child who did not need to know her uncle was thinking about pussy right now.
"Absolutely," I said, propping myself up on my elbow, laying parallel to Robyn with Reyna in between us. We were fairly close to one another, but Robyn was way too focused on her sketchpad to realize what was going on. I inhaled the scent of cinnamon and berries, trying to memorize that feeling of home all over again.
Reyna pushed herself off the ground and sat with her back toward me, leaning into my chest. The blank piece of paper most certainly had all 64 colors all over it, doodles and scribbles everywhere.
From the way she was holding the crayons, I had a feeling this was a brand-new skill she was learning, even though her verbal communication was beyond anything the rest of her classmates could muster.
Bella shared her brilliance with all of us proudly. Francis' Mensa IQ clearly passed on to his little one. Her artistic skills, however, needed room to grow.
"Wow, that is amazing," I lied, hoping she would believe me. Of course she would. She was two. It was adults who were the fucking problem.
"You." She pointed to a roughly drawn circle that was gray like my sweater.
"Aunt Robyn." A blue spiral on the other side of the paper.
"Me," she concluded, pointing to a green blob that would generously be called a square between the circle and the spiral.
Robyn leaned in closer, looking over the paper in Reyna's hands. Her hair was in my face and I inhaled once again because apparently I was a glutton for punishment. She smiled at Reyna, complimenting her artwork, but didn't move away.
"That's so beautiful, Reyna. You're a natural," she said with so much sincerity. The thing was, unlike me, she meant it. Robyn thought everything was beautiful and bright and perfect and happy so I had no doubt that she would put Reyna's artwork up in her very own studio if given the chance.
"Why's Aunt Robyn blue?" I asked, trying to focus on something other than the smell of cinnamon and berries that were always my favorite scent.
Robyn looked back up at me, the remnants of a smile still lingering on her face. Her face was so fucking close to me now, each of her little freckles right there just begging to be loved by me.
"Blue eyes, duh," Reyna pointed out matter-of-factly.
"Duh," Robyn repeated and winked at me. It stirred something in me–a glimmer of the girl I used to know so well.
"Obviously." I shook my head wistfully because it was obvious. When she looked at me with those blue eyes, I couldn't ever look at anything else. She was the only thing I saw.
Reyna grabbed some gummy worms and shoved them in her mouth. Robyn chuckled and sat upright, her legs folded carefully to one side. She dug further in her bag and produced a box filled to the brim with cinnamon rolls. Well, there was my buffet in a bag theory confirmed.
The smell of cinnamon sugar filled the air as she opened it, sticking her finger into the white icing and bringing it to her lips. I watched the way her lips pursed and her tongue darted out, before she sucked it clean with a pop.
Jesus fucking Christ.
If I was about to die of horniness in front of my only niece, my obituary was going to be mortifying and with how good Bella was at her job, it would be broadcasted across all 195 countries.
"Want some?"
"Excuse me?" I asked. Apparently, all the blood in my body was in my dick because I couldn't even form a proper sentence.
She blinked in surprise at my tone before looking down shyly. "Did you want some? I made them this morning. They're fresh."
Immediately feeling like the biggest scum of the Earth, I smiled. Her expression lightened as a blush rose to her cheeks.
"Not even a question if it's made by you, Robyn."
Robyn was a fabulous baker. Every week at our dinners she brought peach cobbler that was to die for. My mother used to make peach cobbler all the time because it was my favorite. And no one ever made it as well as she did. That was, until I tried Robyn's.
I watched as she unraveled each roll of the treat, taking tiny bites and licking icing off of her fingers. Every time she did that, I averted my gaze.
"Tastes like home."
Her eyes settled on mine in a long, pained stare before she looked away. "Home?"
My definition of home was cinnamon, berries, blue eyes, brown hair, and twelve freckles. My definition of home was her.
"You made them all the time for me. You even used to make them for your bake sales and sell out every single time."
"Because you, Damon, and Francis all bought me out every time just because it was me. Did you ever even eat them?"
"Of course, we did. Not all at once but yes, we did." I shrugged.
"Well," she whispered, blowing her hair out of her face, "that was very nice of you."
"I was always very nice to you." She was the only person I was nice to.
She smiled at me with warmth I certainly didn't deserve. "I can't deny that."
"What are you drawing?" I cleared my throat even though I could have bet my entire life that it was–
"Sunflowers," she blushed, moving her sketchpad toward me. Her skill set was vast and her excellence burst from the seams, not to be contained in her tiny little frame.
"They're beautiful," I said. "Not as beautiful as you, but then again, nothing ever is." And nothing ever would be.
Those magnificent eyes turned to look at me when she said, "You say the sweetest things, Christian Ryder."
"You're worth saying them to, Robyn Hale."
"This reminds me of the painting you made last year," I murmured.
An eyebrow on her pretty face raised. "How do you know about—"
I shot her a look that made her quiet.
"Of course," she said, shaking her head. "You've been keeping track of all my art. I forgot."
Unease built inside me. "Does that bother you? Did you not want me to? I just—"
"Christian," she eased softly, a smile on her face. "I'm honored that you would take the time out of your day to think about my art. It means more to me than you could ever know."
My chest constricted. "You really have no idea, do you?"
Her lashes fluttered. "About what?"
"When's baby coming?" Reyna interrupted. "I wanna play."
"Around... five more months?" I looked up at Robyn to confirm and she nodded, taking a long chug of water.
She frowned like she didn't approve before looking between the two of us. "You have a baby now."
Robyn promptly spit out her water, choking and coughing loudly. I rubbed her back in circles as she tried to wriggle away from my touch. Reyna looked at her aunt, horrified. Despite her brilliance, the little thing had no idea what she just asked.
"You alright there?" I asked.
She shot me a dry look as she wiped her mouth and her sweater, calming down.
"Doesn't work that way, Reyna," Robyn said carefully. "See Damon and Ariadne are married. So, they're having a baby. Your Mama and Papa are married. So, they had a baby."
"So?"
"So," she continued patiently as I sat back. "Uncle Christian and I are not married. We can't have a baby."
"Get married," she shrugged, her attention back onto her artwork. Robyn's eyes darted up at me and I rubbed my jaw, distressed. Even a two-year-old seemed to want us to be together.
I'd never wanted kids, but, seeing Francis with Reyna and seeing Damon talk about his impending bundle of happiness felt so mystical. They looked as if nothing would ever make them unhappy again.
My father was an asshole of monumental proportions and I was convinced that shit was genetic so the last thing I wanted in my life was heirs. I was terrified they'd hate me the way Ariadne and I had grown up hating my father. Starting a family was a horrifying thought for me to stomach.
But this was Robyn Hale.
She was my future, if I had any hope of one.
She was my happiness and the only thing that kept me sane.
She was the only thing I had ever wanted in my entire life.
Before I could ponder on it any further, Robyn spoke.
"Well, you have to be in love to get married, Reyna. Love that goes both ways. I haven't found someone who will love me forever. But when I do, you'll be the first to know."