Prologue

She approaches me slowly, her tiny feet shuffling across the bare wood floor, her long, dark hair, so much like her mother’s, tumbling past her shoulders in a haphazard mess. I know for a fact Wren brushes our daughter’s hair after a bath every night. If she’s not doing it, I am.

Somehow, our sweet Willow makes a mess of it in those twilight minutes between bath and bed. Every single time.

“Daddy.” Her big blue eyes that match mine shine up at me, her little rosebud lips pursed into a perfect pout. She is truly the most beautiful little girl in the entire world, but I’m her father so I’m biased. “Can you put me to bed?”

I glance over at my wife, who’s standing in the doorway of the living room, a soft smile on her face, cradling our baby boy in her arms. Another Lancaster to carry on the family name.

“Just performing our expected duties,”I said to Wren when she told me she was pregnant. She rolled her eyes and gave me a gentle shove, which caused me to pull her down onto our bed and perform more of those duties on her …

But I digress.

“I thought you asked Mama to put you to bed.” I’m already rising to my feet, holding my hand out to our daughter and she takes it, curling her small fingers around mine.

“I want you instead,” Willow says firmly.

Wren watches us, her expression a little weary. Our son is keeping her up at night because he’s always hungry and she’s breastfeeding. “She specifically requested her daddy.”

“I don’t mind.” I stop beside my wife, leaning in to brush a kiss to her cheek before I murmur close to her ear, “Are you feeling all right?”

She nods. “A little tired. Row is finally asleep.”

Our son. Rowan. He doesn’t like to take naps and isn’t the best sleeper in general. Wren says it’s because he never wants to miss a thing and I tend to agree with her.

“Go to bed.” I deliver another kiss, this time to her lips. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“After you tell me a story,” Willow demands.

We go to her bedroom, the light on her nightstand already on, as well as the light we installed to highlight Wren’s favorite art piece, which is in our daughter’s room. I tuck Willow into her fluffy princess dream of a bed, brushing her dark hair from her eyes, and she scoots away from me, patting the empty spot beside her.

“Sit.”

I do as she says because this little girl owns my heart like her mother does and settle in beside her, slipping my arm around her slender shoulders and scooping her closer to me. She tilts her head back so our eyes meet, her lips parting and I have a feeling I know what her request is going to be.

“Tell me the story about you and Mama.”

My gaze goes to the piece hanging on the wall, smiling as the memories wash over me, one after another. Willow has already heard this story countless times and she’s barely three. But she can’t get enough of it.

“Where shall I start?” I ask.

“When Mama didn’t like you.” Willow wrinkles her nose then bursts out laughing. “It’s funny.”

“That would make you laugh.” I tickle her and she giggles uncontrollably, so loud that Wren calls from our bedroom.

“What’s going on in there?”

We both go silent, sharing a secret look, and I press my finger to Willow’s lips.

“Nothing. I was just telling her a story,” I respond.

“Uh huh.” The doubt in my wife’s voice is obvious and I smile.

So does Willow.

“We need to be quiet,” I whisper.

“Don’t tickle me,” Willow says, sounding completely logical.

My girl is smart. Much like her mama.

Clearing my throat, I lean against the headboard and stare at the art piece, telling the story about watching for Wren every day before school started. How I didn’t know her, but I wanted to, even though she never wanted to give me the time of day. How we were forced to work together on a school project and we slowly got to know each other.

And swiftly fell in love.

“What about the kisses?” Willow stares at the piece with me.

“What about them?”

“You owe her two million.” She remembers that. She remembers pretty much every detail of our story. “How many do you give her?”

“A lot.”

“How many?”

“We’re probably only a quarter of the way in,” I say, and my poor little daughter frowns, confusion etched in her delicate features. “Let’s just say Daddy still owes Mama a lot of kisses.”

The frown disappears, just like that. “I want kisses.”

I give her one on her forehead. Her nose. Each cheek. “All the kisses you could ever want, you deserve.”

“I wanna husband who gives me kisses too.” Her gaze turns dreamy as she stares at the art piece once more.

Over my dead body,is what I want to say, thinking of my own self not too long ago and how completely over the top I was. How badly I wanted Wren and went after her with a dogged determination that still surprises me. I’ve never chased after someone like I chased after Wren.

And look at me now. I got her. I love her. I love our little girl and I love our son. Life is pretty great.

“Someday,” I tell Willow, dropping another kiss on top of her head. “But for now, save your kisses for your mama and daddy. And your brother.”

“Okay, Daddy. I’ll save all my kisses for you.” She tilts her head back to look at me, and for a moment I think she looks older. Wiser than she should. “But someday I’m going to kiss someone else. Like Mama kisses you.”

“Uh, sure.” I swallow hard, hating the thought of her being so grown up. She’s still my baby. My first child. My daughter. “Just … don’t give your kisses away too easily.”

She frowns. “Doesn’t everyone need a kiss?”

I say nothing, unsure of how to explain myself. She’s unreasonable a lot of the time, but she’s still a toddler so it’s expected. She’s also naturally fiery and hotheaded—Wren calls that the Lancaster in her.

She’s right. I can’t deny it.

“Kisses are the best. They’re so pretty.” She turns toward the art, a little sigh escaping her. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Kisses.” She turns a toothy grin on me. “Lots of them.”

Shit.

I’m in trouble.