15. Ella

15

ELLA

M y patience with Van-pirella is currently running as thin as the budget for a high school prom. I remind myself that my sudden urge to wrap her in caution tape and ship her to the North Pole isn't solely due to my new pact with the guys. No, I merely want to keep Marcus safe from the whirlwind of havoc that is his ex.

Right on cue, as if she'd taken drama lessons from a Greek tragedy, I hear something shatter with the force of what sounds like the entire crystal section of a department store taking a tumble.

"Seriously?" I hiss, clambering over discarded pillows. "Can't a girl have a moment of bliss without a chandelier-related meltdown?"

Theo, now leaning casually against the wall like a GQ model in a disaster zone, barely even flinches. "Let's go check it out, shall we?"

Will, bless his heart, is already scrambling into clothes. Apparently, flying glass is a great motivator. Ethan is already halfway down the stairs in his robe, now looking like a grumpy, sleep-deprived teddy bear.

We burst into the living room just in time to witness Vanessa, looking like an unhinged beauty queen who lost a fight with a makeup palette, flinging what appears to be a crystal swan across the room. It explodes in a magnificent shower of glitter and shards. Marcus, to his credit, looks utterly serene.

"Doing some spring cleaning, I see?" I deadpan as I move to stand beside him, unable to resist a dig.

He shoots me a grin that could melt glaciers. "About time. Those were all gifts from her dear old mom. Just so it's clear, there is no love lost between us. Honestly, it's cathartic watching them go."

Vanessa spins around, mascara tracks forming dramatic war stripes down her cheeks. "This is not cathartic, Marcus! These were heirlooms!"

He raises an eyebrow, cool as a cucumber. "I'm not the one destroying them, darling—although you do have a penchant for ruining things. Remember, honey, you were the one caught getting… shall we say, a little too friendly… with your tennis instructor? In our bed, no less."

Her face contorts with fury. "That doesn't matter! This is my house, and I can do whatever I want!"

"Technically," Marcus counters, his voice smooth as velvet, "this house belongs to Lily. And speaking of our daughter, remember how you were, shall we say, a tad unavailable during her most formative months? You know, the whole 'hiring a revolving door of overwhelmed nannies' phase?"

Vanessa opens her mouth to argue, then deflates. The fight seems to drain out of her, replaced by a desperate pleading.

"Marcus, I… I can change. I want to come home. I love you," she says, batting her tear-rimmed eyelashes.

Yeah, right. About as believable as a politician's campaign promises. I can practically smell the insincerity radiating off her.

Before Marcus can even respond, I blurt out, "Seriously, this is the best you can do? You're a load of…"

"Cheap perfume and bad decisions?" Marcus finishes for me, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

"Basically," I mutter back. The curse word I had in mind would have summed this up.

Vanessa throws me a venomous look. "And you? What are you, some kind of homewrecker? Playing house with someone else's husband?"

Marcus steps forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Vanessa, for the last time, I am not your husband. And frankly, after this little display, I wouldn't want to be related to you with a ten-foot barge pole."

Vanessa bristles, the mascara streaks on her face making her look even more unhinged. "At least I have a life, unlike some people who'd rather play Mommy than pursue something worthwhile."

Okay, that hit a nerve. "Excuse me? Playing Mommy? You think motherhood isn't worthwhile?" I fume, hands clenching into fists. It takes all my self-control not to lunge and smear the remnants of her makeup even more.

Marcus steps between us, a low warning growl rumbling in his voice. "Vanessa, that's enough. Leave Ella out of this."

With a theatrical sniffle, she whips around, eyes settling on my friends. "And what are you lot even doing here? This is family business! What kind of friends support their so-called bestie breaking up a marriage?"

Theo snorts. "Correction. He already ended the marriage, darling. We're more like 'Emotional Rescue Squad 911', here for the aftermath."

Will shoots me a supportive grin.

Vanessa makes one final attempt. "It was a mistake," she says to Marcus, her tone weepy. "A silly mistake."

"The thing about 'mistakes', Vanessa," Ethan pipes up, surprising us with his sudden participation. Usually, he's the type to stick to the sidelines. "Is that they often reveal true character. One, sure. Three, one after the other? Not so much."

Marcus's lips twitch in amusement, despite the tension. Vanessa looks like she might spontaneously combust.

"You… you… all of you!" She sputters, rage distorting her features further. "You'll regret this! I'll leave, but I'll make sure your life is a living hell, Marcus! Especially yours!" She points an accusing finger at me. "Gold-digger!"

I roll my eyes. "And what exactly am I digging for? Happiness with a cute kid? Oh, the horror!"

With a final screech of frustration, Vanessa does the classic villain exit—stomping out the door, slamming it with enough force to rattle the windows.

Silence descends, broken only by a soft sigh from Marcus. "Well, that was… something. I'm sorry you had to see that," he adds, his tone apologetic as he turns his attention on me. Something in the new hollowness of his eyes makes my heart break. He didn't deserve to have a wife who bedded four men in the totality of their marriage.

If only I could have done something back then.

Our conversation is interrupted by Lily's crying from her nursery upstairs.

I don't even hesitate. My feet are already propelling me up the grand staircase. The guys trail close behind, and for once, I'm glad this place is so absurdly huge. Lily hopefully didn't hear everything because her nursery is situated to the far end of the upstairs floor.

The door stands ajar, the sound of her wails even more heartbreaking up close. Pushing the door open, the sight stops me in my tracks. Lily, flushed and teary, is all alone in her oversized crib. It feels… fundamentally wrong. Every fiber of my maternal instincts screams out in protest.

Before I can think, I'm rushing to her side, lifting her into my arms. "Hey, little one, what's all this fuss about?" I croon, rocking her gently.

Her cries soften into whimpers as she nestles into the crook of my neck. A pang of guilt hits me. I should've come sooner.

"Where's Momma?" she mumbles, her tiny voice muffled against my skin.

We all exchange knowing glances over her head. The tension in the air thickens as I avoid answering her question.

"Hey, Lily," I try, aiming for a distraction, "how about we go have something yummy? Would you like some ice cream?"

Her eyes, still red-rimmed, light up with startling enthusiasm. "Ice cweam!" she chirps, forgetting her woes for a moment.

I give a small, triumphant smile. Leave it to ice cream to save the day. Carrying my precious cargo, I make my way downstairs, the guys falling into step behind me.

We enter the cavernous kitchen, and the guys watch as I settle Lily into a highchair and tie a makeshift bib around her neck.

"Okay, let's see… what kind of ice cream do we have here?" I start rummaging through the freezer, mentally inventorying the contents. "Vanilla, chocolate… hmm… how about we try something special? Fruity ice cream!"

With a flourish, I pull out a basket of berries and stone fruit and lay them on the counter. I catch a flicker of impressed amusement in Marcus's eyes. He must be wondering where I even learned this stuff.

"Alright, Lily bear, what looks good? Raspberries? Peaches?" I hold each fruit out for her approval, and she babbles happily, reaching for the bright red raspberries.

Getting to work, I give the guys little tasks—washing, chopping, simple stuff. They seem more than happy to assist, even if their eyes never stray too far from Lily and me. It's a strange little tableau—a bunch of grown men, a sweet little girl, and a spontaneous ice cream-making-in-crisis operation.

The kitchen transforms into a hive of activity. The sweet smell of mashed fruit hangs in the air, mixing with the soft gurgle of Lily's laughter. It's a much-needed reprieve from the heavy atmosphere of the past few hours.

"Dis one! Dis one!" Lily squeals, pointing at the blender with a sticky finger. She loves watching the vibrant fruit blend into a smooth, velvety mixture.

I pour the sorbet-to-be into an ice cream maker, setting the timer with a grin. "Now, we wait a bit, munchkin. Patience is the magic ingredient, you know!"

We turn the waiting time into a game. I make silly faces, the guys join in, and soon, Lily's infectious giggles fill the room. Her little hands clap with delight, her eyes bright with the simple joy of the moment.

Finally, the timer dings. Scooping out the freshly-churned sorbet into bowls, I top them with a flourish of fresh berries. For a moment, it's as if we're a real family, gathered around the table in joyful chaos.

As Lily digs into her sorbet, smearing pink across her face, a warmth fills my chest. It isn't the perfect picture of domestic bliss, not by a long shot, but it feels pretty damn close.

Damn, what am I thinking?

Marcus leans against the counter, watching us with an unreadable expression. I offer him a small spoonful. "Quality control," I tease.

He raises an eyebrow but takes the bite. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Not bad, Ella. Not bad at all."

The sweet tang of the sorbet, Lily's delighted squeals, and the shared comfort around the kitchen table… It feels surprisingly good. My eyes keep shifting to the men, catching flickers of warmth in Theo's smile as he teases Lily, or the soft chuckle Ethan gives when she enthusiastically smears sorbet on her nose. And Marcus, watching us both with that familiar intensity in his gaze.

There's an undeniable admiration in their eyes, a focus that goes beyond the simple act of cleaning up a messy kid and making impromptu sorbet. It's a kind of appreciation for the way I can step in, soothe Lily, turn this potential crisis into a moment of connection. I'd feel smug if it weren't for the warmth blooming in my chest, the quiet hum of pleasure that has nothing to do with pride.

I set down my spoon, pretending to wipe away imaginary crumbs, suddenly acutely aware of how I must look—hair pulled into a messy topknot, a smudge of raspberry probably somewhere on my face.

And there's a flicker, a thought that takes me by surprise. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was so convinced I'd never fall in love, so sure that contentment and companionship were all I needed, that I closed myself off to the possibility of something more. Something deeper, something like the way my heart seems to beat in time with what these men do to me.

The realization hits me like a rogue wave, unsettling and exhilarating. I hadn't expected this. The thought is quickly followed by a wave of panic.

This isn't the plan. Unbidden, a voice whispers in my head, It never is.

"So," I say, clearing my throat. My voice sounds harsh, forced. "What have you guys planned for the day?"

"We have to get to work," replies Theo, casting a small smile at me. "You good to hold the fort down?"

I am , I think to myself. The question is—how do I stop myself from falling? Maybe I need a distraction. Maybe it would help if I had a new target? I look into Lily's forest-soaked eyes and kiss her nose.

"What do you want to do now, darling? Wanna go for a walk?"

She offers me a tiny nod.

Oh. I blink rapidly as the realization materializes. I do have a target. A very promising one.