Yulia hummed a snatch of an old Romanian lullaby, its words long forgotten, whilst she bounced the squalling 9 month old on her hip. Little Benedict Lance Seton was not so little anymore, Yulia mused as she rocked and shushed whilst trying to make up a bottle one handed.
“It’s ok Ben” she told him, knowing that as soon as he was being fed he would be fine. She looked after Ben fairly regularly for Rowan, usually a day every couple of weeks, so she was used to the way that her godson’s world seemed to come to an end whenever he was hungry.
“Here.”
She was startled by a pair of large hands reaching by her for the bottle lid, ready to screw it on once she had finished pouring the milk; Lance must have arrived home without her hear
