Mommy, Please Marry Our Daddy

Chapter 8 Family emergency

Dominic

My heart stopped at Lottie's message. I grabbed my car keys, nearly knocking over the $5,000 crystal paperweight on my desk. Three billion dollars in acquisition papers scattered across the floor, but all I could think about was Emma and the twins.

"Sir! The board meeting!" James chased after me, his usually perfect tie askew. "The acquisition—"

"Postpone it!" I was already halfway to the elevator. "Family emergency!"

"Family?" James raised an eyebrow. "Sir, you've known Miss Bennett for exactly twenty-four hours."

I jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, as if that would make it arrive faster. "The twins are with her."

"Ah." A knowing smile crossed his face. "Just the twins?"

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed again:

"The mean lady pushed me! 😠"

"But I didn't cry! Sterlings don't cry! 🦁"

"Emma took off her apron! She looks SUPER ANGRY!🔥"

"OMG DADDY! EMMA KNOWS KARATE!!! 🥋"

"What does that even mean?" I muttered, storming through the lobby. Several board members jumped out of my way, probably wondering why the CEO was running like his tie was on fire.

"Perhaps Miss Bennett is doing performance art?" James suggested, somehow keeping pace despite my longer strides.

I broke at least six traffic laws getting to the coffee shop. My Porsche – the one I usually kept hidden to maintain my "driver" cover – squealed into a parking space. The Christmas lights in the shop window cast colorful shadows across the snow, making the scene inside look almost festive.

If you ignored the two women wrestling between the tables.

I froze in the doorway, trying to process what I was seeing. Emma – sweet, gentle Emma who carefully counted marshmallows for my children – had someone in what looked suspiciously like a professional headlock. Her brown hair had escaped its neat bun, her cheeks were flushed, and she moved with surprising grace for someone in a coffee-stained uniform.

"Go Emma!" Lottie bounced behind the counter, spilling sprinkles everywhere. "Show her your super ninja move!"

"That's not anatomically correct," Noah commented seriously, arranging sugar packets into what appeared to be a strategic battle map.

The other woman – expensively dressed but currently sporting what looked like chocolate syrup in her designer hair – wheezed indignantly. "How dare you! This is assault!"

"No," Emma's voice was calm but steel-edged. "This is what happens when you mess with my family."

My breath caught. Family. When had that happened? When had this woman I barely knew started defending my children like a mama bear?

"I'll sue!" The woman struggled ineffectively. "I'll make sure you never work in this city again!"

I decided it was time to intervene before someone actually called the police. Though honestly, Emma seemed to have things well in hand.

"Actually," I stepped into the shop, letting the door chime announce my presence. "You might want to rethink that threat."

Emma's eyes widened. "Dominic!"

Her grip loosened just enough for her opponent to squirm free, attempting to salvage what remained of her dignity and designer outfit.

"And who," she sneered, trying to fix her ruined hair, "are you supposed to be?"

I walked over to Emma, noting how she still positioned herself protectively in front of the twins. Without thinking, I slipped an arm around her waist. "Her husband."

"Future husband," Emma corrected automatically, then blushed.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "So you're the one who took her in. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you? Though I suppose beggars can't be choosers."

Something clicked. "Ah. You must be Camille." I smiled my boardroom smile – the one that made CEOs nervous. "Charming. You're exactly as advertised."

"Excuse me?"

"Though I have to say," I continued pleasantly, "assaulting a five-year-old seems a bit low, even for you."

"I did not—"

"I can testify!" Lottie's hand shot up. On cue, crocodile tears filled her blue eyes. "She pushed me and I hit my head and probably got a con... concu..."

"Concussion," Noah supplied helpfully. "I got it all on video."

I raised an eyebrow at Camille. "Sure you want to press charges? I'm certain the judge would love to see that footage."

Camille's face went through several interesting colors. "You're bluffing."

"Want to risk it?" I pulled Emma closer, noting how perfectly she fit against my side. "Your choice. Though I should warn you – I can be very protective of my family."

"Family?" She laughed, but it sounded forced. "Please. This is just another of Emma's desperate grabs for attention. She'll never be good enough for—"

"Actually," I cut in, "I think she's too good for any of us. But I'm selfish enough to keep her anyway."

Emma's small gasp made my heart race. I hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.

Camille opened her mouth, probably for another insult, but I'd had enough. "James?"

My head of security materialized from nowhere, making Camille jump. "Sir?"

"Please escort Miss Bennett's sister out. And perhaps remind her about the legal implications of assaulting minors?"

Camille's eyes widened as James approached. Something about his perfect suit and professional demeanor finally seemed to register.

"This isn't over," she spat, but she was already backing toward the door.

"Actually," Emma's voice was sweet as honey but sharp as steel, "I think it is. By the way – you have sprinkles in your hair."

The door chimed again as Camille stormed out. Through the window, I watched James say something that made her face go pale before she practically ran to her car.

"YES!" Lottie's victory whoop broke the tension. "We won! High five, Noah!"

Noah considered this, then held up his hand for the most precise high-five I'd ever seen a five-year-old execute.

I looked down at Emma, suddenly very aware that I was still holding her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, blushing again. "You can, um, let go now."

"Right." I reluctantly dropped my arm, immediately missing her warmth. "Sorry."

"Noah?" Emma turned to my son. "When did you take that video?"

He blinked innocently. "I didn't. I was lying."

"He's very good at it," Lottie said proudly. Noah is the smartest kid in school!

Emma laughed, then sobered. "I should probably talk to my manager. I doubt I'll still have a job after this."

"Don't worry about that." I made a mental note to have James buy the coffee shop. It had good hot chocolate, after all. Purely business reasons.

"But—"

"Wait, shouldn't you be at work?" she asked suddenly.

I froze. Right. Work. The three-billion-dollar business I'd walked away from without a second thought.

"It's fine," I said quickly. "Everything's handled." I checked my watch, wincing at the seventeen missed calls. "Actually, I found us an apartment. Want to see it?"

"Now?"

"No time like the present." I smiled my most charming smile. "Unless you'd rather stay here and wrestle more people?"

"That was kind of awesome," Lottie piped up. "Emma was like a superhero!"

"Very efficient technique," Noah agreed. "Though her form could use work."

Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe I just got into a fight in front of your children."

"Are you kidding?" I grinned. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Her head snapped up, green eyes wide. Heat crept up my neck as I realized what I'd said.

"I mean... that is... professionally speaking, your self-defense skills are... um..."

"Daddy's turning red!" Lottie announced gleefully.

"Very red," Noah confirmed. "Like a thermometer."

I cleared my throat. "So... apartment?"

Emma's lips twitched. "Lead the way, Mr. Sterling."

As we left the coffee shop, Lottie tugged on my sleeve. "Daddy?"

"Yes, princess?"

"Next time Emma fights bad guys, can we sell tickets?"

**

Emma

"This can't be right." I stared up at the gleaming high-rise, its windows catching the winter sunlight like diamonds. "Are you sure this is the address?"

Dominic helped the twins out of the car, looking oddly nervous. "It's not that impressive."

"Not that..." I gestured at the doorman in his crisp uniform, the marble entryway, the fresh flowers in crystal vases. "Dominic, this is Upper West Side! The rent here must be—"

"Actually quite reasonable," he cut in quickly. "My boss owns the building. It's been empty for a while, so he offered it as an employee benefit."

"Your boss must be very generous." I followed him into the lobby, trying not to gawk at the chandelier that probably cost more than my yearly salary.

"He has his moments." Was it my imagination, or did Dominic sound amused?

The elevator had actual velvet seats. Lottie immediately climbed onto one, her shoes leaving tiny cookie crumbs on the pristine fabric.

The apartment took up half the fifteenth floor. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, making the hardwood floors glow like honey. The living room could have fit my entire current apartment, with space left over for a dance floor.

"This is..." I couldn't find words.

"Too much?" Dominic's forehead creased with worry.

"No! I mean yes, but..." I touched a marble countertop reverently. "It's beautiful."

"Our rooms!" Lottie grabbed Noah's hand. "Come on!"

They disappeared down a hallway, their excited voices echoing off high ceilings. I followed their path with my eyes, noting the elegant artwork, the fresh flowers in every room. What kind of driver had a boss this generous?

"Your room is this way." Dominic's hand brushed my lower back, sending tingles up my spine. He led me to a door at the end of the hall, his fingers hesitating on the handle. "I hope it's okay."

The bedroom was bigger than my first apartment. Afternoon light poured through huge windows overlooking Central Park, painting everything in soft gold. But what made my heart stop was the corner by the window.

"Is that..." My voice cracked.

A antique sewing table sat in the perfect spot for natural light. Beside it, organized shelves held fabric samples, sketching supplies, and everything a designer could dream of. A dress form stood ready, its measurements suspiciously close to mine.

"The closet's through here." Dominic opened another door, revealing a space bigger than my current bedroom. "I thought you might need room for your designs."

I touched the sewing table's smooth wood, noting the careful restoration. "This must have cost—"

"Employee benefit," he said quickly. "All included."

"Dominic." I turned to face him. "This is too much. The rent alone—"

"Is reasonable." He stepped closer, his blue eyes intense. "Emma, please. Let me do this for you. For the twins."

The air felt thick suddenly, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. He was close enough that I could see flecks of darker blue in his eyes, count his eyelashes, feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"I—"

"DADDY!" Lottie's voice shattered the moment. "Can we have pizza?"

Dominic stepped back, clearing his throat. "Only if you wash your hands first, princess."

Lottie bounced into view, her dress somehow covered in what looked like glitter and chocolate. "Already did!"

"With soap?" Noah appeared behind her, looking suspiciously clean in comparison.

"Maybe?"

Dominic sighed, looking at her sparkly, sticky state. "I think you need a bath first, young lady."

"No!" Lottie ducked behind my legs. "You always get soap in my eyes! And you make my hair all tangly!"

"I do not—"

"Yes you do!" She peered up at me with pleading eyes. "Emma, will you help me? Please? Daddy doesn't know how to braid hair properly."

"I resent that," Dominic muttered. "I watched three YouTube tutorials."

I couldn't help laughing at his indignant expression. "I'd be happy to help, sweetheart."

"Yes!" Lottie grabbed my hand, already pulling me toward the bathroom. "Can you do French braids? Lucy at school has French braids and they're so pretty and—"

"Careful with the hot water," Dominic called after us. "It takes a minute to adjust."

The bathroom was like something from a luxury spa, all marble and gleaming fixtures. Lottie immediately started playing with the multiple shower heads while I ran her bath.

"Bubbles please!" She pointed to an array of expensive-looking bottles. "The purple one smells like grape soda!"

I helped her out of her glitter-covered dress, making a mental note to ask how she'd managed to get chocolate on the back. As she lifted her arms, something caught my eye – a small mark on her inner arm, just below her elbow.

My heart stopped.

The mark was like a crescent moon, delicate as a watercolor brush stroke. Exactly like the one on my own arm. Exactly like the one I'd glimpsed on a tiny baby girl five years ago, in the brief moment before they took her away.

The timing. The birthmark. The familiar green of Noah's eyes that I saw in my mirror every morning.

My hands trembled as I helped Lottie into the bubble bath. Memories flooded back – the fertility clinic's sterile walls, the legal papers I'd signed, the nine months of carrying twins I'd sworn never to look for.

"Lottie?" I tried to keep my voice steady as I poured purple-scented shampoo into my palm. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh-huh." She was busy creating bubble beards on her rubber ducks.

"Have you..." I swallowed hard. "Have you ever met your mother?"