Chapter 41

Rani’s Point Of View

The sheets were soft, warm, and unfamiliar again, familiar in the sense that this was our bed, our penthouse, the place we built for ourselves high above the noise of the world. But unfamiliar too, because we hadn’t been here in what felt like forever. Between the hospital stay, recovery, visitors, and the marathon that was labor, our bed had turned into a distant memory.

And then there was this…

This feeling.

Warm breath against my cheek. Gentle pressure. Soft lips brushing mine.

A kiss.

I stirred with a slow inhale, my eyelids fluttering open to the faint golden morning light spilling through the sheer curtains of our floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline stretched far beyond the glass, muted blues and pale yellows bleeding into one another. The city was awake, but the room felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

Lamia’s face was the first thing I saw.

Hovering above mine, hair slightly tousled, lips curved into that slow, guilty smile she always wore when she knew she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Good morning,” she whispered, voice low and smooth, like it had rolled straight out of a dream.

I blinked up at her, still half-asleep, but smiling instinctively. “What are you doing?”

She kissed me again, softer this time, barely there. “Waking you.”

I laughed under my breath, my voice rough and slow. “You’re literally kissing me awake.”

“Mhm,” she murmured, nuzzling into the side of my face, her lips brushing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the tip of my nose. “I missed this.”

My brows furrowed slightly, and I looked at her, a sleepy smile tugging at my lips. “Missed what?”

She leaned in again, her nose brushing mine as her eyes dropped to my mouth. “You,” she whispered. “Like this. This version of you. Unpregnant.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest betrayed me. “Lamia…”

She laughed, low and warm against my throat, her body half-draped over mine, the blankets tangled between our legs. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’ve been off-limits for nine months. That’s like, spiritual suffering.”

I covered my mouth to muffle the laugh that slipped out, my hand brushing over my still-tender stomach, muscles aching in places I didn’t know could ache. “I just gave birth a week ago.”

“And I’m still suffering,” she said, dramatically flopping beside me, her arm hooking over my waist, her face buried in my neck now. “You’re so soft again,” she added, whispering against my skin. “I forgot how much I love this version of you.”

I smacked her gently on the arm. “You make it sound like I was a boulder for nine months.”

“Nooo,” she said, lifting her head just enough to meet my eyes. “You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Divine.” Her hand came up, sweeping a strand of hair from my forehead. “But also very, very pregnant. I missed this. The mornings. The lazy kisses. The quiet.”

Her voice slowed with each word, like she was savoring it.

I reached up and cupped her cheek, fingers brushing the delicate curve of her jaw. “We’ve been busy.”

She nodded. “Yeah. You pushed a human out of your body.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You were crying harder than I was in the delivery room.”

She groaned dramatically, burying her face into my collarbone again. “Don’t remind me. I will never recover.”

I let out a soft laugh and threaded my fingers through her hair. Her weight against me felt grounding, familiar, safe. My body still ached in all the ways a new mother’s would, but lying here, with the windows cracked open to the morning air and Lamia wrapped around me like she never wanted to let go, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

“I kept thinking about this while we were at the hospital,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now. “Being back here. With you. In our bed. Just… breathing the same air.”

I blinked slowly, absorbing her words.

“I didn’t know how much I missed it until I had to go without it,” she added, propping herself up slightly on her elbow so she could look down at me. “You. Me. This bed. Your scent on the pillows.”

I looked at her, eyes soft. “You’re being sentimental.”

“I’m being real,” she countered, her hand slipping beneath the covers to find my waist. She ran her thumb along the side of it, slow, easy. “We’ve been in survival mode for so long.”

I nodded slowly, watching the sunlight flicker along her cheekbone. “And now?”

“Now,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I just want to kiss my wife and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a little while.”

I sighed quietly, still feeling the trace of Lamia’s kisses on my skin, as if they lingered longer than they should. My fingers absentmindedly traced the hem of her shirt, eyes still hazy from sleep, but my mind was slowly beginning to remember we weren’t exactly living in a vacuum of lazy, uninterrupted mornings anymore.

There were tiny footsteps now. Whimpers. Bottles. Blankets that always managed to fall off the crib. Tiny cries in the night that cracked me open and stitched me back together in the same breath.

I blinked up at her, still cupping her jaw lazily. “Did you go to the nursery already?”

Lamia stilled for a second before shaking her head with a soft smile. “No, not yet.”

My brows furrowed slightly, some old reflex in me wanting to sit up, to check, to move, because I’d gotten used to always needing to move, to be up before the baby cried, to make sure Faisal didn’t climb into the toy bin again or that Rebecca’s pacifier hadn’t fallen to the floor. That instinct was still wired into me even if I was barely a week postpartum.

“It’s okay,” Lamia said quickly, noticing the shift in my face, her hand gently stroking my side in slow, grounding circles. “Nina’s with them.”

I exhaled, slowly easing back into the pillow. “You’re sure?”

“She’s magic, habibti.” Lamia chuckled under her breath, fingers brushing my hair back from my face. “She was already up at six. I heard her humming in the hallway while she was feeding Rebecca.”

I gave her a sleepy, grateful smile. “She really loves them.”

“She adores them,” Lamia said. “Faisal didn’t want to let go of her hand when she brought him back from the playroom last night. And Rebecca, she’s been sleeping better when Nina holds her.”

I let my eyes close briefly, allowing myself to imagine that little scene. Nina, with her gentle voice and steady arms, carrying our newborn with the same reverence she used to hold Faisal when he was still small and squishy and always leaking out of his diapers.

“She really is heaven-sent,” I murmured, tracing little patterns along Lamia’s shoulder now, my thumb gliding over the curve of her collarbone.

Lamia nodded. “I trust her with everything.”

I opened my eyes again and met hers.

That trust, Lamia didn’t offer it lightly. She never had. Not with people. Not with places. Not even with time. And the fact that she could lie beside me like this, unhurried and completely present, told me everything I needed to know about how much weight she was letting go of just to be in this moment with me.

“She told me yesterday,” Lamia continued, her voice quiet, “that Rebecca has your exact smile.”

I blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

“She said she saw it when she was feeding her in the rocking chair. That tiny little upturn you do when you’re half asleep and someone says something sweet.”

I smiled. “I don’t do that.”

“You do.” She leaned in and kissed the side of my mouth again, murmuring against my skin, “You’re doing it now.”

I groaned lightly, pressing my forehead to hers. “We’re being mushy.”

“I haven’t kissed you properly in months. Let me be mushy.”

I laughed, half-buried into her neck now, one leg thrown over hers as we sunk deeper into the plush bedding. Her skin smelled faintly of lavender and something warm, like vanilla, or the lingering scent of the lotion she always used at night.

“I do miss this,” I admitted quietly, not needing to say what this was. The words lived between us already.

Lamia held me a little tighter, one arm beneath my waist now, the other brushing slow lines down my spine. “I missed us.”

There it was again.

The way she said it. Us. Like it was a place. Like we were a home.

I didn’t reply. I just let the silence stretch between us, thick with the weight of everything we didn’t need to say out loud.

Outside the bedroom, I could hear the faintest rustle—Nina humming again, probably bouncing Rebecca in her arms. A toy clattered somewhere on the hardwood floor. Maybe Faisal had started dragging that blue truck again.

But none of it felt urgent. None of it pulled me away.

Because Lamia’s hand was on my hip now, her lips at the curve of my neck, her voice a low whisper against my skin.

“I could stay like this forever.”

I felt Lamia’s arms tighten ever so slightly around me, as if she knew I was about to ruin the stillness with something responsible. I didn’t want to pull away either, her warmth, her breath on my neck, the way she tucked herself around me like we still had the whole world on pause, it was too good. Too rare. Too precious.

But I sighed anyway, and shifted a little in her hold.

“In five minutes,” I whispered, brushing my nose along the bridge of hers, “I need to get up.”

She groaned immediately. “Nooo.”

I laughed softly into her shoulder, even as my eyes were still half-lidded from sleep. “I mean it.”

“You just said five minutes. That’s not five yet.”

“It’s a warning.” I smiled. “So I can steal five more without guilt.”

Lamia rolled us slightly, so that I was flat on my back and she was curled into my side, half-draped across me like a stubborn blanket. “You’re cruel,” she murmured.

“I’m not leaving, Lamia.” I shook my head, even as I let my fingers slide up and down her back lazily. “I just need to breastfeed Rebecca.”

“She had her bottle earlier,” Lamia mumbled, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “She’s probably full and snoring.”

I pressed a kiss to her hair. “I know. But I don’t want her getting used to bottles too much.”

Lamia propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me, eyes half-lidded but still that signature kind of focused, like everything I said had its own gravity.

“You’re worried she’ll stop latching?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But it happens. If she get too comfortable with bottles, she start refusing the breast. And I don’t want that.”

Her thumb found the edge of my waist and started tracing soft lines there again. “You really want to keep breastfeeding?”

I nodded slowly. “As long as I can. As long as she wants.”

Lamia didn’t say anything for a second. Her face softened in that way it did when she was trying not to look too proud. Like she didn’t want to spook me with how much she was feeling.

“I think that’s beautiful,” she said at last, her voice quiet, sincere. “That you want to give her that. That closeness.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. Four minutes left.

“I mean,” I added with a tiny smirk, “It’s also incredibly tiring, my back hurts, my boobs are sore, and sometimes I cry for no reason at all…”

“You cried because the apple slices weren’t cold enough.”

“Exactly.”

Lamia snorted, resting her head back on my chest, her hand now spreading across my ribs, just beneath where my heart was. “Well, then, I will personally refrigerate every apple in this penthouse. Because you’re amazing.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And deeply in love with a woman who insists on setting five-minute alarms to breastfeed our daughter when she could be making out with me.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed her hair gently out of her face. “You can make out with me after.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I smiled, letting my fingers play with the fine baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “But I’m serious, Lamia. I don’t want her to depend on the bottle. I want to be able to nurse her. To hold her close when she’s feeding. It’s different, you know? I feel her heartbeat, her warmth… I don’t want to miss that just because it’s easier to shake formula.”

She sighed, nuzzling deeper into my chest. “You’re right. You’re always right about these things.”

“I’m a mom,” I said with a little laugh. “We just… know.”

“You’re her mom,” Lamia corrected, glancing up at me. “The best one.”

I looked toward the window, where sunlight was starting to creep through the curtains in soft strips of gold. Somewhere beyond the walls, the city had come alive, people moving about their day with coffees and calendars and deadlines.

But here, in our bed, everything was soft. Sacred.

I kissed Lamia’s forehead once, then again. “One more minute.”

She grumbled. “I’m setting a timer next time. I’m holding you to the exact seconds.”

And I just laughed, tucking her closer, already knowing the moment I stand, she’d probably follow me to the nursery like a shadow. Like always.

——

The table was alive with the warm noise of morning, Faisal giggling between spoonfuls, the clink of porcelain, and the soft hum of the city leaking in from the penthouse windows. The sun was pouring into the dining room in golden slants, catching on the polished marble and the curve of Lamia’s cheekbone as she reached across the table for a piece of toast.

Manang Sally was moving about with her usual quiet grace, placing a steaming bowl of chicken porridge near my elbow and asking softly if I wanted more tea. I thanked her, then adjusted Rebecca in my arms. She was latched to my left side, her tiny hand curled against the strap of my nightgown while I used my free hand to bring a spoonful of scrambled eggs to my mouth.

Beside me, Lamia was peeling a banana for Faisal, though Nina had taken over his main feeding, patiently scooping porridge into his mouth between his enthusiastic babbles. He was in such a good mood, too. Probably because he sensed we were all here. Together.

It felt good. Real. Like we were finally settling into this life we’d fought so hard for.

I turned a little, pressing a kiss to Rebecca’s soft forehead before taking another bite of my food. Lamia set the banana down and leaned back in her seat, sipping her coffee like it was her only job for the day.

Which reminded me.

I chewed slowly, then glanced at her.

“Hey,” I said, voice low so as not to startle Rebecca, “why aren’t you at work?”

Lamia blinked, caught mid-sip. “Hmm?”

“Work,” I said again, this time a little more pointed. “You’re still not back. It’s been a week, Lamia.”

She shrugged casually, but I didn’t miss the way she leaned a bit more into me, her hand brushing lightly over my leg under the table. “I’m on leave.”

“You never go on leave.”

“Well,” she smirked, “now I do.”

I squinted at her. “Did your board approve that?”

Lamia chuckled softly, raising a brow. “Rani, I am the board.”

“You know what I mean,” I muttered, half amused, half serious as I adjusted my nursing shawl discreetly. “Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures might need you. You’re not just some assistant.”

She leaned toward me slightly, her breath brushing my shoulder. “And I’m needed here. With you. With them.” Her eyes flicked to Rebecca in my arms, then over to Faisal who was now trying to put a spoon on Nina’s head.

I rolled my eyes. “You say that like your multi-billion dollar company is just gonna sit there politely and wait for you.”

“It will,” she said simply. “Or it’ll burn without me. Either way, I don’t care. I’m not leaving you yet.”

I sighed, scooping up a spoonful of porridge as I spoke. “You always say that. Then next thing I know, you’re on a plane to Riyadh with four phones ringing at once.”

She smiled, slow and sly. “But right now, I’m on this dining chair. With my wife. Who’s breastfeeding our newborn. Who looks like she owns my soul.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re avoiding.”

“I’m romanticizing,” she said with a grin, stealing a grape from my plate. “Big difference.”

Rebecca shifted slightly against my chest and I held her closer, the familiar tug of her mouth grounding me even in the middle of this playful argument. I glanced down at her tiny, perfect face, so unaware of her mother’s empire, so completely dependent on the curve of my arm and the rhythm of my breath.

I looked back at Lamia. “They need you, you know.”

“I know,” she replied softly, finally dropping the smirk. “But you need me more.”

There was something honest in the way she said it. No flair. No drama. Just truth.

I softened.

“You can work from here.”

“I have been,” she admitted. “Calls at 6am. Emails while you’re asleep. I just… I don’t want to miss this part. With her. With you.”

Nina looked over and smiled knowingly, like she’d heard the whole exchange but was far too respectful to say anything. Faisal dropped a spoon again and started clapping like he’d achieved world peace. Manang Sally gave him a fresh one with a laugh.

My heart was full in a strange, heavy way. Like it had been stretched too wide for my chest, but still sat there proudly, thudding under my ribs.

I ran my fingers through Rebecca’s soft curls, then looked at Lamia again.

“You’re serious?” I asked.

She reached over, wiping a bit of egg from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. “Dead serious.”

I stared at her.

Then I smiled.

It was just after my third sip of tea when the doorbell rang.

A crisp ding-dong, sharp against the warm, homey air of breakfast with two babies and one overly smug wife who was still refusing to go to work.

All of us glanced instinctively at the direction of the door, though no one made a move to stand. Nina was mid-swipe at Faisal’s chin with a napkin, I had Rebecca peacefully nursing in my arms, and Lamia had just settled into a lazy, cross-legged position on her chair, sipping from her mug like she was royalty reincarnated in sweatpants.

Manang Sally, ever efficient, gave us a small nod and padded away in her slippers.

Lamia leaned toward me. “Did you order anything?”

“No,” I said, furrowing my brows. “Maybe diapers?”

She raised an eyebrow. “We just bought four packs.”

I shrugged and focused back on Rebecca, letting the moment pass.

Until Manang Sally returned.

And she was holding roses.

A huge bouquet, red, too full, too formal. Like they belonged in a proposal on a yacht. Not our soft, baby-scented, morning table.

My breath caught slightly.

“Para sainyo daw po, Ma’am Rani,” Manang Sally said gently, almost apologetically. “Sabi po ng nag-deliver galing daw po kay… Damian Alonzo.”

I froze.

And so did Lamia.

Like, visibly froze.

The room didn’t go quiet because it was already quiet, but the energy shifted instantly. Even Nina glanced up, her hand pausing midair as she fed Faisal another spoonful.

Lamia leaned forward slowly, resting both elbows on the table like she needed to stabilize herself for impact. “He’s still persistent?”

I glanced at the bouquet… huge, lush, unnecessary and sighed.

Lamia scoffed. “How bobo he is,” she muttered, flicking a finger at the air in disbelief. “You already have two children now, dalawa na, and he still keeps sending you flowers?”

Her tone wasn’t quite angry.

No… this was worse.

It was insulted.

Personally offended, like Damian had sent the roses to her.

I rolled my eyes and tried to keep my voice even. “The last time we talked, I made it clear he didn’t have a chance.”

She turned to me fully now. “When was that?”

I tilted my head. “Long ago, before I even got pregnant to Rebecca.”

“He’s crazy.” Her jaw clenched, and I could see the gears turning. “And this is what he follows up with? Flowers? To our house?”

“I didn’t tell him where we live, ever” I said quickly. “He probably asked someone from the office or…”

Lamia was already standing.

Not stomping. Not rushing.

Just rising, like something regal and slow and menacing.

She walked around the table with that unnerving calm she gets when she’s really, really annoyed, and held out her hand toward Manang Sally.

“I’ll take that,” she said simply.

Manang hesitated, then handed the bouquet over.

The roses were massive in her arms… almost comical, but her face remained utterly unreadable.

She turned on her heel, walked to the kitchen corner, and without a word, threw the entire thing into the trash bin.

Stems, ribbon, wrapper and all.

Thunk.

Silence.

Then, in the softest voice imaginable, she said, “May I remind Mr. Alonzo that we breastfeed here. We don’t entertain.”

I bit my lower lip to stop the laugh that was bubbling in my throat. I should probably say something soothing. Something to calm her down.

But all I managed was,

“I mean… he is kind of unsmart.”

Lamia looked over her shoulder, one brow lifted, dark eyes glinting. “Thank you for finally admitting that.”

I gave her an innocent shrug, adjusting Rebecca who had unlatched and was now blinking sleepily. “He’s not even my type.”

“Obviously,” she muttered, walking back toward me and placing her hand on the back of my chair. “Your type wears heavy make up to meetings and threatens to fire anyone who do not call her ‘Ma’am’.”

I smiled up at her. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s literally me,” she said dryly.

“Exactly,” I murmured, my voice dipping low.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of Rebecca’s head, then another on my temple. “Next time he sends anything, I’m forwarding it to my legal department.”

“Oh God,” I muttered with a grin. “Don’t start a corporate war over a bouquet.”

Lamia didn’t answer.

She just slid back into her seat, tore a piece of pancake with her fingers, and popped it into her mouth like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just commit flower murder in front of our staff.

Nina looked mildly impressed.

Manang Sally looked…used to it.

Faisal, on the other hand, clapped like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

I adjusted Rebecca gently against my chest, brushing her tiny curls away from her forehead as I tried to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Lamia was sitting beside me again now, still chewing like nothing happened, but I could see it. The way her jaw tensed just a little. The flicker of her fingers against the placemat. The way she hadn’t touched her tea since she threw the roses away.

I knew that mood.

Possessive. Defensive. A little bruised, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

And honestly?

It was kind of cute.

I glanced sideways at her, lowering my voice so Nina and Manang Sally wouldn’t hear, even though they were obviously pretending not to listen.

“Don’t be jealous,” I said softly.

She didn’t even look up. “I’m not jealous.”

I tilted my head. “You threw a ten-thousand-peso bouquet into the trash like it was a used diaper.”

She finally met my gaze.

“Because it was unwanted.”

“Exactly,” I said with a smile. “So you don’t have to glare at the table like it cheated on you.”

She looked away, crossing her arms, clearly trying to hold her ground.

But I wasn’t letting her.

I turned slightly in my seat, still cradling Rebecca, and nudged her thigh with mine. “Okay, come on,” I teased, “what do you want?”

Lamia narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do I need to take you to Chanel later?” I asked, batting my lashes. “Should I buy you a ridiculously overpriced Birkin just so you calm down and remember that I’m not leaving you for that guy?”

That got her attention.

Her expression cracked… barely, but I saw it. The twitch at the corner of her lips. The way her shoulders relaxed just enough.

“A Birkin?” she repeated, pretending to be unimpressed. “You think I’m that easy?”

“You threw away a rose bouquet like it personally insulted your ancestors,” I said, grinning. “I think a crocodile-skin Birkin might be the only thing standing between us and a restraining order for Damian Alonzo.”

She finally let out a low, reluctant laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so spoiled,” I said, leaning in and brushing my nose against her cheek. “But lucky for you, I spoil very well.”

Lamia turned her face slightly so her lips brushed my temple. “What if I want both the Birkin and to get you pregnant again?”

I gasped, laughing softly as I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “You’re still not over this whole Damian thing, huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. “He sent flowers to our address.”

“I didn’t invite them,” I reminded her. “And I don’t want them.”

“You better not,” she muttered. “We’re not raising two kids while entertaining unwanted admirers.”

I smiled and leaned my head against her shoulder, careful not to disturb Rebecca. “Lamia… you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”

Her body softened instantly beside me, and her hand found mine under the table, curling her fingers around my palm.

“I know,” she murmured, kissing my hair. “But I still want the Birkin.”

I snorted. “Fine. But only if you agree to stop planning Damian’s funeral in your head.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then she whispered, “Too late.”

I shook my head, biting back another laugh as I looked down at our daughter sleeping so peacefully between us.

Dramatic, protective, jealous, spoiled.

——

The air-conditioning hummed softly above us, lazy and gentle like the early afternoon sun slanting through the curtains. It was 1PM, and the bed felt like heaven, our sheets slightly rumpled, our legs tangled lazily beneath the covers. Rebecca had just been fed and was now napping peacefully in her bassinet by the window. Faisal was off with Nina in the playroom. And Lamia? Lamia was lying on her back, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world, her arm loosely draped over her stomach.

I was resting my head on her shoulder, cheek pressed to her skin, trailing my fingers across her bare waistline under the edge of her shirt when her phone started to ring.

Her body stiffened slightly, barely noticeable, but I knew her enough to catch even the smallest change.

“Work,” she mumbled, reaching lazily for the phone on the nightstand.

I tilted my head just enough to see the screen.

Unknown Number.

But I saw the way her lips twitched, almost like she recognized it. She swiped up and answered anyway.

“Hello?” she said, her voice casual.

Then a man’s voice, low, confident, faintly accented, spoke from the other end. I couldn’t make out what he was saying exactly, but I could hear enough. Enough to know it was business. Maybe something international. The words “partnership” and “proposal” were being thrown around.

I stared at her profile.

And maybe it was the way she suddenly started smiling, or the way her voice dipped lower, more formal, more polished, almost… flirty?

Or maybe it was just the fact that he was a man, and he clearly thought he could call my wife in the middle of our bed, in the middle of our day, like she wasn’t wrapped up in my arms five seconds ago.

I blinked slowly.

And without a word, I shifted up.

Lamia barely glanced at me as I crawled over her, straddling her lap, knees on either side of her hips, my hands planting on either side of her shoulders. I leaned down, slow and deliberate, until my lips brushed her neck. Then I kissed her.

Loudly.

Purposely.

Right against her skin.

She froze. The phone still pressed to her ear.

“Uhm… yes, sir, I understand…” she tried to continue, clearing her throat.

I kissed her again, just below her ear this time. With a loud, wet mwah. Then once more on her cheek.

Her hand reached up as if to push me away, but I grabbed the phone before she could.

I sat up, fixed my hair a bit, and then brought the phone to my lips with a sharp, tight smile.

“Hello?” I said sweetly, putting on my best customer-service voice. “Hi, yes… sorry to interrupt.”

There was silence on the other end. Then a slight clearing of the throat. “Oh, uh… hello? Is this…?”

“This is Lamia’s wife,” I said, not bothering to hide the emphasis. “She’s currently on her personal leave, while her wife is recovering from something extremely beautiful… like childbirth and breastfeeding… so I’ll have to ask you to call back in about… oh, say, three years?”

“Ah… uhm… I see,” the man stammered, clearly thrown off. “I apologize, Mrs. Al-Gaddafi. I didn’t know…”

“No worries!” I chirped. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know she was happily married with two children. Which she is. Fully. Very much so.”

I turned to Lamia with an innocent smile as she stared at me in disbelief, one brow arched high.

“Anyway,” I continued, still looking her dead in the eyes as I spoke into the phone, “have a great day, sir. Please direct all further inquiries to her assistant. Goodbye!”

I ended the call and placed the phone gently back on the nightstand.

Then I looked back down at Lamia, who was now biting her lip to suppress a laugh.

“Rani…” she began slowly, reaching up to run her fingers up my thigh. “Are you seriously jealous?”

I tilted my head. “Do you want a long answer or a short answer?”

She grinned. “Short.”

“Yes.”

She burst out laughing, tugging me down by the waist until I collapsed against her chest.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said through her laughter.

I wrapped my arms around her, pressing my cheek to her collarbone.

“And you’re mine,” I murmured.

Lamia’s laughter was still vibrating against my chest when she suddenly rolled us over, shifting so that I was the one lying flat now, my hair spilling across the pillows, her hovering just slightly above me with that smug, amused glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she said, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of my hip, “at this point, maybe I’m the one who should buy you a Birkin.”

I blinked up at her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She kissed the corner of my mouth. “That was the most territorial thing I’ve ever seen you do. If that’s not worth a six-figure handbag, I don’t know what is.”

I stared at her for a long moment, then sighed dramatically. “Okay. Fair. But if you buy me one, it better not be that hideous neon orange they tried to push on us last time. You know the one.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, the one that looked like a traffic cone. I remember.”

I smiled at that, soft, lazy, already slipping back into our rhythm. I reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Also,” I added, lips curling a little, “tomorrow, we’re going to the derma.”

Her brows shot up. “We are?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “We’ve postponed it twice. My pores are literally begging for help. And you,” I poked her lightly on the side, “haven’t exfoliated in like two weeks.”

“That’s slander.”

“It’s truth.” I laughed, then added, “And we also need our nails re-done. I was looking at my thumb earlier while breastfeeding Rebecca and I saw the tiniest chip. I felt personally attacked.”

Lamia made a dramatic gasp and placed a hand over her heart. “Not a chip! The horror.”

“Don’t mock me,” I whined playfully, hitting her shoulder with the back of my hand. “You know how I feel about chipped polish. It ruins my entire aura.”

“Well, we can’t have your aura ruined,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss the underside of my jaw. “Especially not when you’re already intimidating every man who looks at me.”

“That guy called you,” I pointed out, raising my brows. “I didn’t send him a smoke signal.”

She snorted. “He’s probably deleting my number as we speak.”

“Good.”

We both fell into a light silence after that, the kind that wasn’t awkward, just warm, full of shared smiles and the gentle weight of being home again.

“I want French tips,” I said after a moment.

Lamia raised a brow. “What about the glazed look you were obsessed with last month?”

“I’ve evolved.”

She nodded solemnly. “A woman of range.”

“You’re just jealous I can pull off any aesthetic,” I teased.

“No, I’m just in love with a woman who turns every skincare appointment into a military operation.”

“Damn right I do.” I let my fingers slip under her shirt lazily, running them across her warm back. “We deserve to look like we haven’t been up all night with a newborn.”

She chuckled, then dipped her head down and kissed me, gentle, lingering, and full of that quiet kind of love that needed no performance.

A light knock came at the door, three soft taps that made both of us pause in the quiet comfort of the room. Lamia lifted her head from where it had been nestled on the crook of my neck, and I blinked at the ceiling, still basking in the afterglow of our lazy midday warmth.

Then the door creaked open, and Nina peeked her head in with an apologetic smile, holding our sleepy-eyed little prince in her arms.

“Hinahanap po kayo, Ma’am,” she said gently, stepping inside and giving us both a slight nod before she carefully passed Faisal over to Lamia.

“Ay, baby,” I cooed softly, sitting up a bit against the headboard as Lamia reached for him. “Come here, my love.”

Faisal was already reaching out with those chubby arms of his, his eyes still heavy from his afternoon nap. His hair was tousled, sticking out in odd angles, he looked so much like Lamia when she just woke up, it made me bite back a grin.

“Thank you, Nina,” Lamia said, her voice still a little raspy from laughing earlier. “You can rest now.”

Nina nodded, gave a tiny bow, and slipped out quietly, closing the door behind her.

Faisal clung onto Lamia’s shoulders for a few seconds, his arms lazily wrapping around her neck as he nuzzled against her.

Then, in a small but firm voice, he mumbled, “Mama… play.”

I covered my mouth to stop the giggle that escaped me. Lamia, however, sighed dramatically like someone was just asked to sacrifice their life.

“Mama play,” Faisal repeated, this time pulling his head back and patting Lamia’s chest like she was a giant robot he needed to activate.

Lamia gave me a look, part horror, part love, mostly surrender.

“Rani,” she said in a deadpan voice, “this might be the last time I’m playing with him and those godforsaken robots.”

I smirked. “Why?”

“Because tomorrow,” she raised a finger with authority, “my nails will be freshly manicured and absolutely not subject to toddler-inflicted trauma.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed teasingly as I adjusted the pillow behind my back. “I’m sure your two-year-old son will fully respect your cuticle boundaries.”

Faisal, completely unaware of the conversation, slid off Lamia’s lap and waddled straight to the corner of the room where a clear bin of his robot toys sat. He pulled the lid off like a man on a mission and immediately grabbed two mismatched figures, one was missing an arm, the other had a leg replaced with a LEGO wheel.

Lamia groaned. “And here we go.”

“You better enjoy this, Mama,” I said with a smirk. “Tomorrow, when your hands are dipped in warm rose oil and your fingertips are being sculpted to perfection, you’ll be longing for these moments.”

She looked at me, squinting in mock suspicion. “Did you just make that sound poetic so I won’t back out of our spa appointment?”

I fluttered my lashes innocently. “I would never.”

Faisal climbed back up onto the bed, robots in both hands, and shoved one into Lamia’s lap. “This mama,” he announced, pointing to the red one.

“I see,” Lamia nodded seriously. “So this is me.”

He then handed me the blue one. “This mama,” he said again.

I raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so we’re in battle now?”

Faisal didn’t respond, he just sat between us, robot in each hand, and began making exaggerated smashing sounds while bouncing slightly on the bed.

Lamia sighed and held up her assigned robot with exaggerated elegance. “You know what,” she muttered, “my manicure can wait one more day if it means I get to be a red robot with missiles for arms.”

I chuckled, resting my chin on my hand as I watched them. “What a sacrifice.”

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, her lips twitching. “Only for my son.”

Faisal didn’t even look up, too engrossed in his dramatic robot sound effects.

And as I lay there watching the two of them, our little boy lost in his world of imaginary battles and my wife pretending she wasn’t enjoying every second, I felt that familiar tightness in my chest again.

That hum of something sacred.

Because this wasn’t just a moment. This was a memory forming right in front of me.

And I knew no matter how many Birkins or derma appointments or polished nails would follow, this right here was the real luxury.

Our tiny kingdom, built out of toys and toddlers and love.