19. Zara

The steam from the shower is enough to make me cough a bit—it's that hot. I'm trying to scald myself into stopping this thing with Liam. As much as I'm attracted to him, I just don't think Ben will be happy, and I don't want to do anything to cause him discomfort or pain.

"Friends. Friends. Friends," I mutter to myself as I scrub and scrub until my skin is red. "Just friends. It's fine."

When I climb out of the shower and dry off, my skin is tender, and I wince as I wrap the towel around myself, looking around for my dressing gown. I groan when I realise I left it on my bed, flustered to have a third alpha whose bergamot scent hit my nose in the early morning and mingled nicely with Ben's pinecone one, which threw my head for a loop. Then Liam strolled in, and I was toast.

This is bad. So, so bad.

Clearing my throat, I gather up my things. I know Liam will be lurking, waiting for his shower, and now I have to stroll past him in just my towel. Could you get more of a cliché if you tried?

Opening the door a crack, I leave it to my super sensitive omega nose to sniff him out. He is not hovering outside, so I open the door and run across to my room as fast as I can, slipping in and closing the door behind me. Leaning against it, I breathe out.

This is ridiculous.

I glare at the dressing gown, innocently strewn on the bed, as if it's its fault for abandoning me. I snatch it up and wrap it around myself as I find some clothes to put on.

With a deep breath, I try to push the embarrassment and the rush of hormones away. I need to get a grip. It's all well and good saying I'll keep things friendly, but with the way my heart is racing and my skin still tingling from his near proximity, keeping to that might be harder than I thought. There's only so much an omega can take before she goes into spontaneous heat.

I open my door again, this time fully dressed in my day clothes. I pick up the baby monitor to see Mia is still sound asleep and make my way back down to the kitchen. As I pass the bathroom, I hear the shower running, signifying Liam scrubbing up. For one second, just one tiny second, I pause and breathe in his scent, drifting with the steam under the door. Then, regretfully, I move on.

Ben is making cereal for breakfast, and the kitchen is quiet, except for the sound of his spoon clinking against the bowl. I shuffle in, my feet somehow heavier than usual, and I sneak a glance at his strong hands as he pours the milk.

"Morning. Again," I say, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel.

Ben looks up from his breakfast, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Want some cereal?"

"Okay, thanks."

As Ben prepares another bowl for me, I make another cup of tea.

We eat in a companionable silence for a while before Ben speaks up again. "You seem distracted this morning," he says with a hint of concern.

I force a smile, not wanting to delve into the reasons why too much. "Just thinking about plans for today with Mia. I wondered if you'd mind if I took her for a proper walk out."

"Uhm. Where to?"

"I thought we could take a walk down that path that runs down the side of the estate, see where it leads."

"To the lake."

I blink and wait for more. When it doesn't come, I draw in a breath. "So, is that a yes or a no?"

He searches my eyes for a few seconds before he says. "Yes, I suppose so. Make sure you wrap Mia up warm and let me know when you leave, when you get there and when you set off home and arrive back here."

"Yes, Daddy," I tease with a smile.

He glares at me, but there's no animosity.

We finish off our cereal in relative silence as Liam strolls in, looking more hot than an alpha has a right to. His scent is strong from the heat of the shower and brings out the deep lust in me I have for this man. I avoid his eyes as I turn around and busy myself with packing the dishwasher. Liam makes toast and takes it to go as Ben is calling for him to hurry up.

"See you later, princess."

"Bye," I murmur and breathe out a sigh of relief when he leaves.

The slamming of the front door behind him is enough for me to cringe. He's going to have to get used to being a bit more stealthy. Frowning when I don't hear Mia stirring, I grab the baby monitor and glare at it, making sure the volume is turned up. It's way up, but still nothing. She's asleep, but I find that to be a little off character. I've only been here a few days, but already I know her routine. Shooting up the stairs, I enter the nursery and go to her cot. She looks flushed and not in the good way. Placing the back of my hand on her forehead, I rear back from the heat.

"Shit," I murmur and look around hastily for that box where I know all the baby first aid stuff is. Grabbing it, I unclip the lid and snatch out the thermometer.

"Come on, come on," I mutter as I wait for it to turn on and set itself. It's a forehead one, so I place it close to Mia's skin and click the button. It flashes red, and the screen says 39C. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." Moving swiftly, I grab the baby paracetamol and double-check that three-month-old babies can take it before I place the syringe in the top and tip it upside down, measuring exactly 2.5ml. I leave the syringe sticking out of the top of the bottle as I gather Mia and place her on the changing table. She is responsive but listless. Popping the onesie open to cool her fevered skin, I grasp her chin gently and grab the syringe, slipping it into her mouth and squirting the liquid into the inside of her cheek so she can swallow it without choking.

She gulps and then lets out a wail to end all wails. I swear they can hear her in Outer Mongolia.

"Okay, baby," I coo, trying to soothe her as I pat her back gently. "Just let that medicine work, you'll feel better soon." She's crying in that way that makes every omega instinct in me go haywire—the need to protect and comfort.

With Mia still in my arms, I fetch a cool cloth from the bathroom to dab her forehead and cheeks, murmuring reassurances all the while. It's going to be okay, I tell myself as much as I'm telling her.

I do the quick check. No rash. No vomiting. No trouble breathing that I can see. No outward signs of illness. Possibly teething. It's been known to give babies fevers. Ben and I are fine, so probably not flu but possibly a cold that her little system hasn't come into contact with yet.

Ring Ben.

No, don't ring Ben. Not yet.

As I second guess myself, I check the time. I need to give the medicine twenty minutes and then check her temperature again to see if it's coming down. After that, I'll ring Ben if it's not lowering.

I walk with her, trying not to jiggle her too much. Her cries die down, and she falls asleep again, limp and hot but breathing steadily. Placing her back in her cot, I check the time again and pace some more.

At ten minutes, I feel her forehead and grab my phone. Dialling Ben's number, I steady my breathing. If I panic, he will flap so hard he will take off.

"What is it?" he asks after the first ring.

"Just to keep you in the loop, and don't worry, but Mia has a temperature. It's 39 degrees. I've given her 2.5 mils of Calpol. No rash, no vomiting, she's breathing fine. She's asleep. I'm just waiting twenty minutes to see if it goes down. If not, we may have to consider taking her to Urgent Care."

Silence.

Then. "I'm coming home."

"No, not yet. Give the medicine time to work. It's possibly teething, and the Calpol will work. I will ring you back."

"Zara—"

"Ben, it's fine, this was a courtesy call to keep you in the loop and to let you know I've given your daughter medicine, okay? Babies get fevers. It happens."

"Ring me the second you take her temperature again," he says stiffly.

"I will."

He hangs up, and I check the time again.

At eighteen minutes, I'm armed and ready with the thermometer, forcing myself to wait and not check her again already. By the time twenty minutes hit, I'm checking, and when it flashes red again and is 40C, I breathe in and grab my phone, dialling Ben.

The front door bangs open, and footsteps thud up the stairs, followed by his phone ringing, Ben blazes into the nursery, panicked and frantic.