Page 120 of The Prince of New York

She bobbed her head. “Most of your real presents are at the junkyard, as everyone has figured out you’re a traumatized New Yorker who doesn’t understand how to process people actually liking you. We’ve caught on to your ways, Ian. You help people because you needed to be helped, and you’re determined to change the world on your own. Now you’re going to just have to deal with the grateful people who want to see you get the happiness you deserve.”

I raised a brow at my wife. “And what about the happinessyoudeserve?”

“I got the happiness I deserved the instant I realized you actually wanted me around.”

“And when was that?” I’d wondered, but I hadn’t been brave enough to ask.

She smiled at me. “It was when we were sitting on that stupid hospital room floor, and you were like a hopeful puppy wanting to please but not sure how—and then I asked questions you could answer. You lit up. You, despite that stupid headache and that fever, were just so damned happy trying to make me happy. I’ll admit, at first, I was testing to see if you were actually smart or just a spoiled prince, but then you were just so genuine. But that was when I understood you actually wantedmearound and it wasn’t because of pity. You liked talking with me. You wanted to talk with me. You wanted me asking you questions and having a conversation with you. Your face betrayed you, and you were disappointed when we stopped talking and had to deal with your health matters.”

Before I had entered her life, before there had been hope for an us, she’d been expected to listen, and her bastard of an ex had hit her if she stepped out of line for even a moment.

“And here I thought you were just trying to figure out with which method you could kill me off and blame the planet,” I teased, as I always did whenever she brought up that fateful day my sister had almost taken me out on the mud run. “If it makes you feel better, I had wanted those conversations from the moment I met you. You weresonot impressed with me.”

“Most people would not be thrilled about that, Ian,” she reminded me yet again.

“One, two, or more than two?” I asked, regarding my wife with curiosity.

“I am in camp more than two, as so far, we have survived having two under the same roof without many difficulties. Of course, you’re the Prince of New York, a most majestic and responsible being, so you wisely hire people to help with the load. You’re going to end up hiring a nanny per child, aren’t you?”

I read between the lines: my wife was still a little cranky over the whole venture to Cambodia and Thailand, although I’d learned an important truth. She wasn’t cranky I’d gone. She was more cranky I’d gone without her.

“Some will call it overcompensation, but we’ll raise the little ones until they’re two or three, and then we’ll start figuring out what sort of nanny that specific child needs. It’ll be expensive, and we’ll run high risk of having spoiled brats underfoot, but they’ll be happy spoiled brats.” I rubbed my hands together at the thought of putting my junkyard to good use to pay for the spoiling of our brats.

“Ian, you realize your parenting method is not going to produce spoiled brats, right?”

I stilled and stared at her. “What do you mean? I literally throw their favorite things at them all the time with the expectation of them enjoying what they’re given. We havemaybeone temper tantrum a week. How is this not spoiling them?”

Madelyn crossed her eyes, and as she wore a fancy Thai circlet that matched her dress, she refrained from slapping her forehead. “Ian, what do the girls have to do first thing in the morning? And by first thing, I mean literally at six in the morning.”

“They have to go to the barn with us to feed and groom the horses, they have to help us take care of the cats, they have to check on Smalls, Isla’s cage needs to be cleaned and she needs to be fed and put into her daytime cage so she can sleep undisturbed, and they need to spend thirty minutes in the ferret pen feeding, cleaning, and playing with the ferrets.” In reality, Madelyn and I handled the cleaning, the palace staff handled the feeding, and the children handled the playing portion of the venture to the ferret habitat. “What about it?”

“And what do they do after they’re done making sure the animals are taken care of?”

“That depends on which day of the week it is. Which day are we talking about?”

“Tuesday,” she prompted.

“On Tuesdays, we usually go to the museum for a wander through the exhibits, and then we go to the food bank to prepare baskets for an hour. After that, we visit the women’s shelter so the girls can play with the other children. We don’t get to play. We’re interviewing the newest residents.” I eyed her, wondering what she was getting at. “I don’t get what you’re trying to communicate to me.”

I’d found once I told her I failed to understand, she would take the time to explain it in a new way until I could see the problem through her eyes. Acknowledging confusion helped—and it prevented arguments, which neither one of us handled well.

I tended to break down and flinch, and once that happened, Madelyn panicked because she realized I had more mountains to climb.

One day, we might navigate through a disagreement without one of us becoming an emotional train wreck.

“Ian, you’re literally teaching them to be selfless people who care about others. They don’t throw temper tantrums unless it’s really important because you’re showing them how little so many others have. They finish their dinner, even when they don’t like it, because they understand what it is to starve and not have enough. And you encourage them to put away their leftovers if they take too much food. You even got the kitchen staff working with the girls so they have the appropriate portions for their health and their current hunger levels. You have to nudge them to ask for new toys, and they won’t even accept them unless they can go take some toys to the shelter, too. I swear. It’s literally impossible to raise girls like you’re raising them and get spoiled brats out of it. You’re going to end up with hard workers with a strong focus on public services and a relentless drive to improve the lives of those around them. Now, youareraising them to be horse girls, which is why they’re ridiculously excited they’re going home with Pat and Jessica rather than with us.” Her gaze landed on the Texans, who had our children clinging to their legs. “They’re acting a little spoiled right now, but they’re doing so quietly.” She narrowed her eyes, and then she sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”

I checked, realizing that Danielle had fallen asleep on Pat’s feet. “Well, he’s going to be happy about that. His favorite thing in life is having little children fall asleep on his feet. Don’t worry about it. He’s in his happy place. Sure, he’s going to have numb toes, but I’m sure Randy won’t mind helping him limp around as his last act as Pat’s head of detail.”

When the girls came home, Randy would be joining Terry as a New York RPS agent, and he’d be in charge of May’s detail. We’d also be getting Andrew, another one of Eddie’s fathers, for Danielle’s head of detail. I foresaw Eddie visiting often, as he worried about all of his fathers and checked on them as often as possible.

Marcus would head to Texas as Pat’s new head of detail, and Monty would lead Madelyn’s detail at my recommendation.

Times had changed, and I had changed with them.

I spotted my head of detail prowling our way, and I nudged my wife with my elbow. “Uh oh. Zach’s coming this way.” I waited for the RPS agent to come closer to say, “I’m behaving, I promise.”

“I am absolutely astonished over how well behaved you’re being, honestly. The next wave of presents is ready. Madelyn, you’re going to need the tissues. Don’t be alarmed.”

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