“Back up,” he ordered. His voice was low, but it rolled with authority.
They didn’t listen.
“But Uncle Jack, she’s awake again!” one of the boys said.
“She doesn’t look awake-awake,” the other countered.
“Uncle Jack,” Aria whispered dramatically, “I think she’s delicate.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that I was glad the children couldn’t hear. Then, without another word, he bent and slipped an arm under me, lifting me from the rug with ease.
I stiffened, embarrassment flushing through me. “I—I can stand—”
“No, you can’t,” he cut in flatly. His grip was steady, unyielding.
But before I could argue further, another voice joined us.
“Children,” the woman said.
The effect was instant. The chatter died, though their eyes still sparkled with
