Mummy! Daddy! It's my birthday!"

I awaken to the sound of my daughter's excited yells and the sight of bedroom walls that I'm pretty sure aren't mine.

"I'm five!"

Her tiny body leaps onto the bed, the force in which she does so startling the body lying next to me.

Fuck!

My five minutes clearly turned into five-fucking-hours and now our daughter has caught us in bed together.

Nice one, Imogen!

Torin groans as he is subject to Maeve's insistant bouncing and high pitched yelps.

"Maeve—baby—your birthday is tomorrow," I explain.

She immediately drops to her knees.

"How long is tomorrow?"

Torin laughs.

"One more sleep," I tell her, quickly stealing Torin's shirt and shoving it on.

"Can't we just have it today?" she asks, cuddling her stuffed unicorn for added cuteness.

I swear this kid knows exactly what she's doing.

"No," smiles Torin, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Why not?" she asks, turning her cuteness up a notch.

"Because—Maeve monster—that's not how it works," he replies, tackling her waist and forcing her into a huge hug.

Her giggles are infectious as Torin tickles her stomach; stuffed unicorn long forgotten. I watch them both for a moment, truly in awe of their relationship. In such a short amount of time, they've both come a long way. I've never seen my daughter more in love. She dotes on Torin like nothing else and seeing her like this with him does amazing things to my heart.

"Daddy, what's that?" she questions once the tickling has stopped.

She's pointing to the tattoo of a tree on his arm.

"It's my tree. Do you like it?"

She nods, poking it with her small finger. "You have lots of skin pictures."

I laugh, quickly kissing her head. "They're called tattoos, baby."

"Tattoos?"

I nod.

"What does that one say?" she questions, running her thumb over the ink on his left pec.

Torin smiles before answering. "It says Imogen."

"That's Mummy's name!" she delights, wide eyes turning to me.

"Wow!" I respond, joining her in extreme excitement.

Torin and I share a brief smile.

"Where's my name?" she asks, searching the entirety of his chest for any indication.

"I don't have your name on me, baby," he informs, sounding sad.

"Oh." Maeve struggles to hide her disappointment. "Why not?"

"Well—I only just found out about you, remember?"

"When you came back from heaven?" she wonders.

Torin looks at me before nodding. "Yeah, exactly. I promise to get your name tattooed on me soon."

"WHERE?" she asks, soon forgetting her disappointment.

"Wherever you want."

She thinks for a moment before pointing to where my name is. "Can I go next to Mummy?"

He smiles. "Sure you can."

Maeve steals a quick glance at me before returning her gaze to Torin. "Why do you have Mummy's name tattooed on your heart?"

Trust Maeve to notice the positioning of it.

"Umm—"

"Is it because you love her?" she asks.

Torin nods. "Very much."

Maeve slowly turns her head towards me, as though discovering a mighty secret only she can be trusted with.

"Mummy, did you hear that? Daddy loves you."

"I know he does," I answer, gently taming her wild curls. "But he's not allowed to tell me."

"Why not?" she questions. "Because of the curse?"

"Yeah—baby—because of the curse."

She drops her gaze to the mattress, shoulders slumped. Torin and I exchange glances, giving her a moment to process her thoughts. Her—no doubt—confusion. It's hard explaining things to her. At five-years-old, everything should be simple. Easy. I suppose it doesn't help that she keeps catching us in the shower and in bed together. We're not exactly making it any simpler for her.

"Is this one of those things I'll understand when I'm older?" she questions, making me laugh.

I have no fucking idea where she gets her maturity from.

"Yeah, it is," I explain, pulling her to me for a big hug. "I promise it'll all make sense one day."

"Will I have to marry someone I don't want to when I grow up?" she enquires, looking to Torin for an explanation.

I close my eyes to block out the pain, her words cutting deep. Maeve is smart and—already—she's picking up on things. I was like her at this age. Far too inquisitive and observant for my own good. It's what I admire about her most, but right now it pains me to know she has these thoughts.

"No way," insists Torin, kissing her little button nose. "You'll marry whoever you want to marry. Or maybe you won't get married at all. You might not want to."

It's a huge deal hearing those words come from a mafia boss. Usually, in the family, made men have children purely for that reason. To Arrange marriages for political gain. Torin wants different for Maeve and that—more than anything—makes my heart soar.

"Really, Daddy?"

"Really," he promises.

She cuddles up next to him, somehow sensing the importance of his words.

"I've just had a thought," she declares, making Torin laugh.

"Go on..."

She looks at me as she begins. "When you get Maeve painted onto your skin, it can be for me and for my aunty Maeve."

Torin falters for a moment, the hand he'd been previously using to caress her hair also stopping.

"That's who I'm named after," she shares, always so proud of the fact.

"Is that right?" asks Torin, voice a little strained.

She nods. "Mummy told me what happened to her. That she's in heaven."

Torin and I haven't had the chance to discuss this yet. It feels strange to bring it up after five years, but also needed. Maeve—Torin's sister—was fourteen when Shane's men murdered her. She was a whirlwind. A tornado. And Torin worshipped the ground she walked on.

"Does that make you sad, Daddy?"

"Sometimes," he reveals.

She silently positions her stuffed unicorn on top of Torin's stomach, hoping the presence of her mythical creature somehow eases his pain.

"Mummy says I look like her."

"Yeah, you do," agrees Torin, smiling as he lightly strokes her cheek. "Would you like to see a picture of her?"

Maeve's eyes widen to extreme lengths, her excitement unmatched. "Yes, please!"

Torin grabs his phone from the nightstand and—after flicking through a few images—presents Maeve with his phone.

"Oh wow!" she reveals, clinging onto the phone with both hands. "She's pretty."

I steal a glance over her shoulder, suddenly floored by the image of Torin's baby sister so full of life. I grew up with Maeve and—despite the four year age gap—always made sure to include her in things.

"I love her so much," offers Maeve, gaze fixated on the image of her aunt who—because of Shane—she'll never meet.

Torin takes hold of my hand and gently kisses away the moisture in my eyes.

"Can I keep this?" she asks, facing us again.

"What? My phone?"

Maeve nods.

"No—baby—I need my phone."

"Oh."

"But how about we get you some photographs printed?" he appeases, sensing her disappointment.

Her face immediately lights up.

"I have some of your Aunt Shined too," shares Torin, bopping her nose.

Maeve instantly looks to me, smile unstoppable. "And what about Uncle Shane?"

Oh fuck!

I've yet to explain the full situation to her. For years, I thought the O'Neil's' were responsible for our downfall. Shane—like everyone else—was a victim. Maeve has grown up with all sorts of stories about her Aunts and Uncles and I don't really know how to approach the topic about Shane with her.

"I'll have to check," replies Torin, thankfully masking his true thoughts.

I squeeze his hand, silently thanking him for his understanding.

"What time is it?" I ask, deliberately changing the subject.

Torin flashes me his phone, the clock displaying a very early 7am.

"We've got a few hours," I say, stomach suddenly dropping at the thought of having to face Shane soon. "We should prep."

Torin nods, taking Maeve by the waist and forcing her into a hug.

"We will." He tickles her stomach. "In five minutes."

***

Five minutes—of course—turns into a few hours spent lazing around in bed, looking through old photographs and listening to Maeve list off all the wonderful things she wants for her birthday. Unexpectedly, it turns out to be the most beautiful of mornings. For a while, reality seems to slip away. I'm no longer Imogen Murphy—destined to marry a man I not only don't love, but actively despise. Instead, I'm a mum to Maeve and a lover to Torin. On more than one occasion, he kisses me in front of her. I know I shouldn't let him, but part of me wants her to have this memory. Even if it is only for one morning. Thankfully, Torin has the sense to tell her it's all make believe and that everything we do is part of a fun game. I wish—more than anything—it wasn't. I wish this could be my life.

"Are you okay?" asks Olivia, wiping Katalina's mouth with a wet cloth.

My niece sure knows how to smear strawberries just about anywhere.

"I'm nervous," I admit, checking my watch for what feels like the millionth time this morning.

"Katalina!" sequels Maeve, opening the door to the kitchen.

Katalina escapes her mother's advances, but I catch up with her before she has the chance to get strawberry sauces on anything else.

"Come here!" I sing, grabbing a tissue to wipe her sticky hands. "You messy monster!"

The two-year-old giggles and proceeds to tell me she "wovs me."

"Cake?" offers Olivia, already grabbing two plates.

The two girls run off to—no doubt—cause havoc elsewhere.

"Is that even a question?" I ask, taking a seat on one of the stools.

On numerous occasions, I have to remind myself that sitting for long periods of time can make certain body parts ache. The presence of Torin between by legs still lingers and although I'm not complaining, fuck me, it hurts.

"So, how are things with you and Torin?" she asks, positioning a cup of tea in front of me, alongside a slice of lemon cake.

"Great, actually. He's—"

"Accommodating?"

We both giggle.

"I suppose..."

"And what about Aidan?" she asks, cautiously broaching the topic.

I appreciate her need to check in with me.

"Aidan is fine," I sigh.

"I've heard terrible things about him."

And they're probably all true.

"I don't trust him one bit."

"Neither do I," I insist. "But we need him."

"No, we need his influence," she corrects. "There's a difference."

I smile.

"Men like Aidan and Frank are bullies and will get what's coming to them," she states.

"Careful, sweetheart," interrupts Max—one of Torin's younger soldiers—stealing a slice of cake. "Words like that will get you killed."

"No," she argues, taking the cake off him. "Being kept prisoner in my own home is what will get me killed." She slams the plate down. "Only people I like can eat my cake."

He appears wounded. "You don't like me?"

"Not right now."

I shift awkwardly in my seat, not entirely sure what to make of their exchange.

"Olivia—"

"You're intruding on time with my friend."

Damn!

Max looks wounded, "Will you please just look at me."

"Nope."

She rounds the breakfast bar and plonks herself next to me, purposely avoiding eye contact. Eventually—after what feels like a lifetime of award silence—he leaves, defeated.

"What was that about?" I ask, intrigued.

Olivia sighs. "We had a fight."

"Yeah, no shit!"

"I told him I wanted to be involved in the rescue mission. Who else better to help than the woman who spent two years of her life there?"

She has a point.

"He refused."

Oh.

"Says I have more training to do."

"What did you do?"

"I went Imogen Murphy on his ass."

I laugh. "What does that mean?"

"I stood my ground and called him a dickhead. Then I told on him."

My humour increases. "Who to?"

"Torin."

I'll admit, the idea of Torin having to parent these two through their relationship issues brings a smile to my face. I bet he just loves dealing with their differences.

"What did Torin say?"

"That my inside knowledge would be useful and integral to the overall mission."

Wow—go Torin!

"But I'm not to leave this house until Shane has been taken care of. So, I'm pissed at him too."

"Pissed at two men in one night. I'm impressed."

She smiles.

"Keep pressuring them," I encourage. "You can't stay locked up forever."

"I should've known you'd encourage her," remarks Torin, striding into the kitchen wearing jeans and a cocky smirk. "Cake?"

Olivia scowls. "Nope! You and Max are banned!"

I suppress a smile, finding the entire thing very entertaining. Honestly, I don't know of anyone who would deny the boss cake and live to see the end of the day. Yet here she is, defying all odds. Olivia Wells is a lot tougher than she looks.

"Can I borrow you for a minute?" asks Torin, looking at me.

I nod and slowly slide off my stool.

"I'll go check on the kids," shares Olivia. "Come find us when you're done."

I follow Torin to his office, taking note of the way his jeans hug his arse. His strides are powerful and I know I shouldn't want him right now, but I do. I want him to ravish every last inch of me and call me angel until I'm screaming his name—

"Imogen."

"Huh?"

"Close the door," he instructs, gesturing behind me.

I do as I'm told and lick my lips in anticipation, preparing myself for the submissive role I need to portray.

"There's been a development with Shane," he informs. "You won't be seeing him this morning, after all."

This isn't what I was expecting, but I manage to recover well.

"Oh?"

His shoulders deflate. "Angel, you're not going to like what I'm about to say..."