Page 105 of Twins for the Off-Limits Lawyer

"Right," Edward said, looking at his schedule with betrayal. "Perhaps we need to adjust our approach."

The thing about Edward that constantly amazed me was his ability to find joy in the midst of complete disorder.

The man who had once demanded that his morning coffee be served at exactly the right temperature in precisely the right cup now cheerfully prepared bottles at all hours while covered in baby drool.

"You know what I realized?" he said one morning, appearing in the kitchen with Charlotte strapped to his chest in a carrier while Henry dozed in my arms. He was wearing a business shirt with what appeared to be regurgitated milk on the shoulder, and his hair was doing things that would have horrified his usual stylist.

"What's that, sugar?"

"I spent thirty-five years trying to control everything, and it turns out the best things happen when you stop trying to manage every detail." He kissed the top of Charlotte's head, then mine. "I've never been happier to have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

"Good thing," I said, "because Charlotte just did something suspicious, and I'm pretty sure it's your turn for diaper duty."

"Excellent," he said with genuine enthusiasm. "I've been perfecting my technique."

Watching Edward embrace the beautiful chaos of parenthood was like watching someone discover they could fly.

He still approached everything with characteristic thoroughness—he'd researched sleep training methods like he was preparing for the Supreme Court, and his diaper-changing technique was more precise than Swiss watchmaking—but there was a looseness to him now, a willingness to let things be imperfect.

The penthouse had transformed too. Gone were the pristine surfaces and carefully arranged objects. Now there were burp cloths draped over expensive furniture, baby swings in the living room, and a distinct eau de baby powder that had replaced his usual bergamot cologne as the dominant scent.

"James is coming by later," Edward said, attempting to eat breakfast one-handed while Charlotte occupied his other arm. "He's bringing the contracts for the Melbourne expansion, and he wants to meet the babies."

"Is he prepared for the full experience?" I asked, gesturing to our current state—both of us in pajamas at noon, surrounded by the detritus of new parenthood.

"I warned him that we're operating under new management now," Edward said with a grin. "He seemed suitably terrified."

The family dynamics had shifted in ways none of us could have predicted. Daphne had become the sort of aunt who showed up with armloads of impractical but adorable outfits and insisted on documenting every moment with approximately seven hundred photographs.

James had surprised everyone by being completely natural with the babies, apparently drawing on experience with younger cousins.

But the biggest change was Victoria.

She'd taken to visiting the penthouse daily, always armed with practical supplies and an endless willingness to hold whichever baby needed attention. I'd watched her take in our situation with growing concern—the way we had to navigate around baby equipment crammed into every corner, how Edward had converted his study into a makeshift nursery overflow, the way we were all practically living on top of each other in what had once felt like a spacious home.

"I've been thinking," she said one afternoon, sitting in the nursery with Henry while I fed Charlotte. Her eyes swept over the room that had somehow accumulated twice as much baby gear as it was designed to hold.

"Dangerous territory," I teased, and was rewarded with a genuine laugh.

"Quite possibly," she agreed. "But I've been thinking about the manor. The nursery is ready for the babies now, all that space just sitting there while you three are crammed into this penthouse with two growing babies."

Edward looked up from where he was organizing baby clothes with military precision. "Mother, we said we will consider it. Besides, this penthouse is massive."

"Victoria," I started, but she held up a hand.

"I know I haven't earned the right to make suggestions about your living arrangements," she said. "But those children deserve to grow up somewhere with room to run and gardens to explore and grandparents who are present and helpful rather than manipulative and destructive."

She paused, looking down at Henry with an expression of such love it made my chest tight.

"I want to do better," she said simply. "I want to be the grandMother they deserve, and the Mother Edward needed. And I think the manor could be the place where we all learn how to be a proper family."

Six months later, after we'd officially moved into the manor and settled into a rhythm that somehow managed to feel both chaotic and perfectly natural, I was getting ready for my first real date night since the twins were born. Victoria was in the nursery giving Henry and Charlotte what appeared to be a lecture about proper behavior during babysitting duties.

"Now, darlings," she was saying in the sort of serious tone usually reserved for board meetings, "your parents need some time to remember why they fell in love in the first place. Which means you will be perfect angels for grandMother, won't you?"

Charlotte responded by blowing a spit bubble, while Henry stared at Victoria with the sort of focused attention that suggested he was actually listening.

"Excellent," Victoria said, as if Charlotte had given a thoughtful response. "I knew I could count on you both to be reasonable."

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