Page 160 of Consummation

“Whoa, that’s a lot of puke,” Kat says, laughing.

I look down at my puked-covered chest, grimacing. “Fuck.”

“Poor baby worked herself up into a puking frenzy,” Kat says.

“Gee, I wonder where she gets that?” I ask.

Kat laughs. “Give her to me so you can shower, babe.” She puts out her arms.

“No, just grab me a towel. I’ll shower after I get her calmed down.”

“Nothing will calm her down, like I said,” Kat says, throwing me a burping towel. “I’ve tried everything, trust me.”

“Not everything—you haven’tplayboyedher.” I gently wipe the puke off Gracie’s chin, right off the little cleft I love so much, and thenoff the “G-R-A” in my “GRACE” tattoo, and bring Gracie to the makeshift diaper-changing table on top of our dresser. I gently lay Gracie down on her back, stroking her screaming face with my fingertip. “I’m sure my baby just needs a fresh diaper, that’s all,” I say soothingly.

“No, I just changed it,” Kat says. “It’s something else.”

“Is your diaper bothering you, little one?” I coo to Gracie, ignoring Kat’s skepticism. I lean over Gracie’s face, shooting her my most serene and soothing smile—and, instantly, Gracie stops crying on a dime, even before I’ve opened her diaper, and stares at my face, completely transfixed.

“That’s right, my little Scorpio,” I soothe. “Look into my eyes. That’s it, baby girl.”

Gracie reaches up and touches my nose and I kiss her little fingertips, eliciting dove-like coos from her.

“No freaking way,” Kat says. “I triedeverything—and one smile from her handsome daddy and she’s blissfully happy?”

I touch the teeny-tiny indentation on Gracie’s chin and stroke the soft, blonde peach fuzz on top of her head. “She’s just a daddy’s girl, that’s all,” I say softly, my voice low and calm. “Isn’t that right, Little G?” Gracie gurgles at me and pulls on the scruff on my chin and I rub my nose against hers. “My baby girl just needed a little Playboy Razzle-Dazzle, that’s all,” I say quietly. “Isn’t that right, angel?” I shoot a snarky look at Kat. “It’s the same tactic I use to soothe another Scorpio I know when she goes off the rails and starts acting like a demon spawn.”

I smile, expecting Kat to shoot me a snarky expression to match my own, but she doesn’t. To the contrary, she’s looking at me the same way she did when she walked down the aisle toward me on our wedding day—like I’m the answer to her most fervent prayer.

“I love you,” Kat says softly, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“And I love you,” I say. I begin changing my serene daughter’s diaper. “I love you forever and ever and ever, Mrs. Faraday.”

Kat’s face melts.

“I tell you what, Party Girl,” I say. “How about you get yourself into a nice, hot tub in the bathroom while I rock our little terrorist to sleep, and then I’ll join you in the bath and let you wash the baby-puke off me?”

“Oh,” Kat says. “That sounds lovely.” Without hesitation, she pulls her nightgown over her head and throws it onto the bed,revealing her new, sexy curves and dark, erect nipples. “Maybe while we’re in the tub together, I’ll imagine I’m a mermaid who’s recently sprouted legs—and maybe if you’rereallysweet to me, I’ll let you teach me what my newfangledvaginais for.”

I laugh. “So, we’re gonna do a porno version ofThe Little Mermaid?”

Kat giggles and winks. “See you soon, Prince Eric. Don’t keep me waiting too long.” She honks her delectable boobs and sashays into our bathroom, singing “Part of Your World” at the top of her lungs, her ass cheeks swishing to and fro as she moves.

I look down at Gracie. “Damn, you’re mommy’s sexy,” I say. “And very, very silly, too.”

I scoop Gracie off the dresser, change her into her Hello Kitty footy-pajamas, and bring her over to the rocking chair that’s now a permanent fixture in the far corner of our large bedroom. After settling into the chair with Gracie in my arms, I rock her slowly, looking deeply into her big, blue eyes—the beautiful blue eyes that make me want to be a better man—and I begin to sing my favorite lullaby to her: “You Are My Sunshine.”

“You are my sunshine,” I sing softly, rocking rhythmically in my chair, staring into my daughter’s ocean-blue eyes—and, as always happens in moments like this, I begin thinking about Gracie’s namesake, the supernaturally beautiful woman who long ago sang this same, simple song of love to me.

When I reach the end of the song, Gracie’s still staring at me with wide eyes, so I sing it again from the top, rocking my sweet little baby slowly, calmly, breathing deeply as I do—until, finally, Gracie’s lovely eyelids flutter and shut.

“Gracie Louise Faraday,” I whisper softly when my song is over and her breathing has turned deep and rhythmic. “I love you, Little G.” I close my eyes, sending a little prayer to heaven to the other Grace Faraday, the one surely watching over us at this very moment. “I love you, Mom,” I whisper.

Gracie’s rosebud lips part and hang open in complete relaxation. Her body’s a tiny sack of potatoes in my arms. I get up from the glider and carefully lay her down on the center of our large bed, and then I head toward my bathroom, my cock tingling with anticipation.

I enter the bathroom and there she is—my beautiful mermaid, soaking in a hot tub, her skin pink, her eyes closed.

“Hey, Ariel,” I say softly. “Our little fishy’s out like a light.”

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