Dominic
Morning light streamed through the kitchen windows, catching on Emma's hair as she prepared breakfast. The domesticity of the scene—the twins seated at the counter, Lottie explaining the "optimal glitter-to-pancake ratio" while Noah calculated something on his child-sized notebook—should have brought me peace. Instead, tension coiled between my shoulder blades as I scanned the security feeds on my tablet.
"The Paris flight is scheduled for Thursday," Emma said, sliding a plate of remarkably un-glittered pancakes in front of me. "Laurent needs me there by Friday morning for the final fittings."
I nodded absently, watching the security patrol circling our building on the feed. "The jet will be ready. I've arranged for additional personnel to—"
"Daddy, are we going to Paris too?"
