“Doctor didn’t say anything about folding napkins,” I argued.
“He meant you sit. We serve.” Kingsley pressed a kiss to my temple. “Now behave.”
I huffed, but secretly? Yeah, I liked it.
The rest of the morning was exactly what I didn’t know I needed: them fussing over me, massaging my swollen feet, brushing my hair, reading aloud. I lay stretched out like a spoiled queen, belly huge under my dress, sighing in bliss as Keegan kneaded my calves, Kendrick rubbed my shoulders, and Kingsley fanned me lazily with a magazine like I was Cleopatra.
And Kyle?
He decided to read.
Big mistake.
Because Kyle can’t just read. Oh no. He reads in that deep, husky voice of his, throwing in dramatic pauses, raising a brow at me whenever something remotely romantic or steamy pops up in the story.
And
