My dad became one of the most powerful attorneys in California, making the rest of their past ancient history. But they were Southern people through and through, and I think the fat-laden food on our dining table was fucking proof of that.

“Park your ass, Baby LB.” I pulled a chair, giving her my own version of being a gentleman. We sat next to each other. I poured her coffee. She liked it black. No sugar. No cream. No nothing. Actually, Rosie avoided dairy altogether, and I noticed those things because every little detail about her was observed, recorded, and filed in my brain. I kept my hands off of her, knowing full well that the minute my fingers found hers, they wouldn’t stop until they dove down between her legs. My parents had no idea what a fucking horny bastard they had raised. I was trying to keep it that way.

“Rosie, I heard you volunteer at a children’s hospital.” Keeley grinned.

“At the Mott’s Children Hospital in Manhattan,” Rosie confirmed, taking a long sip of her coffee. “ICN unit.”

“You must really love kids. Does Dean know he is going to father at least three or four of them?” my sister joked, taking a bite of her greasy bacon. Rosie blinked, her easy smile unfaltering. My gut turned into a knot of hard wires. Because while Rosie still hadn’t told me about her situation—well, she did, but not consciously, and certainly not the details—it didn’t make her reality any less real. I shouldn’t be mad at Keeley. She was direct and playful. I shouldn’t, but I fucking was.

“Thank you, Keeley, for freaking my girlfriend out five minutes into our brunch.” I smirked, casually asking my mom to pass me a bowl of who-the-fuck-knows just to keep things moving. “Two can play this game. I’ll be waiting for your future boyfriend with an arsenal of questions about his sperm quality and parenting methods when the time comes.”

Rosie put a hand on my thigh.

“Dude, it’s okay.” She smiled with her whole face. “Yeah. I have a passion for children. I would love to be a mother one day,” she added after a pause. “And I think your brother would make an amazing dad. There, baby. Just making sure the anxiety is distributed evenly between us.” She patted my cheek and winked.

I laughed because she expected me to, but it never reached my eyes. Or any bone in my body, for that matter.

“I’m rolling with whatever you want.” I clasped the back of her neck, planting a kiss on her temple. “Three kids. Ten kids. One. None. Don’t give a damn as long as it’s with you.”

As I said it, I knew that my balls would never forgive me for the cheese I just poured all over my reputation, but my balls had no say in this. Besides, I didn’t hear them complain when Rosie licked them last night in-between sucking my cock. My dignity was a price I was willing to pay for her happiness, and I was hoping she’d read between the lines and understand that her infertility issues weren’t going to come between us.

Less children = More Rosie for me. No complaints there.

“Awww,” Payton cooed. “Someone grew a heart.”

“What did you put in his drink, Rosie?” Keeley snort-laughed, pretending to fan herself with her hand. “This is not something my brother would say unless he’d lost a bet.”

My mom smiled so big I thought her face was going to collapse into the back of her neck. Dad looked a tad uncomfortable, but it couldn’t have been the topic. He was the one drilling it into my head that I needed to settle down. Dad kept moving his gaze from his Bvlgari watch and back to me. Eli Cole wasn’t a man who was easily irked.

“When are you guys leaving Todos Santos?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning. We’ll be spending Thanksgiving dinner at the Spencers.” I threw a strawberry into my mouth and chewed. Maybe he was pissed that I was staying with Rosie’s family, but he ought to know that winning her parents over was a priority this year. Rosie’s parents didn’t completely hate me—I helped them get their shit together back when they moved to L.A. and Vicious was in New York playing Romeo to Emilia—but I got where they came from. If I had two daughters and a bastard who boned both of them, I’d be suspicious of his intentions, too.

I needed to rehab my image, make sure they knew chasing a LeBlanc ass wasn’t a hobby of mine.

“Would you be able to drop by afterwards?” Dad smoothed his Polo shirt. “There are a few matters we need to discuss.”

Mom’s face changed, her eyes were pleading with me now.

“Are you guys getting a divorce?” My voice was dry, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, Lord!” My mom scoffed, clutching her pearls. “What are you talking about, Dean? Of course not.”