Page 122 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Whatever the reason, she’s been screaming bloody murder for three solid hours. It’s gotten to the point where I’m seriously considering bringing in a nanny full-time.

Sabrina’s attempts at soothing failed spectacularly... you know, the whole rocking, singing, and swaddling thing. Meanwhile, Thomas, my usually unflappable household manager, looked genuinely terrified when he poked his head in earlier.

EvenI, Mr. Clueless-About-Babies, know when to admit defeat. This kid has lungs like an opera singer and the endurance of a fucking Navy SEAL.

Sabrina looks utterly exhausted, slumped on the nursery rocking chair, dark circles prominent under her eyes. Her face is pale with fatigue and frustration.

“I don’t get it,” she murmurs, bouncing Mia slightly. “She ate fine, diaper’s clean, no fever… why is she so miserable?”

Mia responds with another ear-splitting shriek.

I feel fucking useless leaning against the doorframe. My usual problem-solving techniques... throw money at it, delegate it, jump off something high, are spectacularly ineffectivehere.

I instinctively reach for my cane, but it’s not nearby... Dr. Evans cleared me for increased physical activity, so I’ve been trying to get through the day without the thing.

Call it painful, but liberating.

“Maybe she just… needs a change of scenery?” I suggest.

Sabrina gives me a look that says,‘Really? Scenery?’

But she’s clearly desperate, because she agrees. “Fine. You try. Maybe she’s sick of me.” She stands up, carefully handing the screaming, squirming bundle over to me.

Mia immediately escalates, her face turning beet red, her fists flailing.

Great.

“Easy there, Killer,” I say, trying to sound calm and paternal despite the ringing in my ears. I settle her against my shoulder, remembering the hold Sabrina uses.

I start pacing the length of the nursery, my limp more pronounced with the added weight, humming some tuneless bullshit song I think I heard on a commercial once.

Surprisingly… the screaming starts to subside. Not instantly, but gradually. Her rigid little body relaxes slightly against mine. The frantic wails soften into ragged, hiccuping sobs.

I keep pacing. My leg flares with pain, but I ignore it.

Back and forth.

Humming.

Back and forth.

The dim light from the hallway spills into the room. The city lights twinkle outside. The only soundis my low humming and Mia’s slowly quieting breaths.

Sabrina watches from the doorway, her expression unreadable in the shadows.

It takes another fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of pacing, humming, murmuring nonsense. My leg aches. My shoulder aches. My arms ache.

But Mia finally,finallydrifts off, her little body going completely limp against my chest.

Victory. Finally.

A hard-won, fucking exhausting victory.

Carefully, moving like I’m handling nitroglycerin, I lower her into the crib.

She stirs slightly and I freeze. When she sighs, I continue, placing her right in the center. She settles deeper into sleep.

I stand there for a long moment, just watching her. This tiny human who has completely detonated my life and who makes the silence feel…full, somehow.

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