Mommy, Please Marry Our Daddy

Chapter 7 Mother's Instinct

Emma

The sharp click of designer heels on tile made my spine stiffen. I knew those footsteps. Had heard them coming up behind me in school hallways, at charity galas, at Dad's second wedding. Always followed by that same honeyed voice dripping with poison.

"Still using the cheap cleaning supplies, I see." Camille's perfectly manicured finger traced along the counter, her diamond bracelet catching the Christmas lights. "That lemon scent is so... common."

I automatically shifted to block her view of the sleeping twins. Funny how protective instincts could kick in so fast. Just yesterday these were customers' children. Now I wanted to shield them from every sharp edge in Camille's words.

"We're closed," I said quietly, gesturing to the sign. "There's a Starbucks three blocks down."

"Please." She pulled off her Hermès scarf with practiced elegance. The same scarf I'd gotten for my fifteenth birthday, back when I was the one with a trust fund. "Like I'd drink coffee from a place like this. I just came to check on my dear sister. Family duty and all that."

The word 'family' in her mouth tasted like ash. I still remembered the day everything changed. I was sixteen, sitting at our marble kitchen counter doing calculus homework, when Mom discovered that our trusted housekeeper Lily wasn't just Dad's employee.

"Do you remember," I said, methodically wiping the counter, "how you used to bring Mom her morning coffee? Every day for ten years. Two sugars, splash of cream."

Camille's perfect smile flickered. "Ancient history."

"Except it wasn't just coffee, was it? You and your mother were watching. Waiting. Planning exactly how to take everything from us."

"Oh, spare me the victim act." She dropped her designer bag on the counter, probably costing more than I made in a month. "My mother cleaned your toilets while you played princess. For years, I had to watch you swan around in your private school uniform while I wore hand-me-downs. And now you're upset because things finally balanced out?"

"Balanced out?" A laugh bubbled up, tasting bitter. "Is that what you call it? Dad divorcing Mom the minute her family's money was gone? You and Lily moving into our house while we packed into a one-bedroom apartment?"

"At least you had a mother who loved you." Her voice cracked slightly before hardening again. "All I had was stolen moments with my father between serving your family meals."

For a moment, I saw the little girl she'd been. Following her mother around our house, watching her father kiss another woman, pretending she didn't exist.

Then I remembered how that same girl had smiled when she watched us pack our things.

"I heard about the wedding." She examined her perfect French manicure, voice honey-sweet again. "Such a shame. Though really, what did Harrison expect from someone who'd rent out their body for cash?"

My hands clenched around the cleaning rag. "Don't."

"I mean, surrogacy?" She wrinkled her nose. "At least when my mother cleaned houses, she kept her dignity."

A soft murmur from the twins' table made us both freeze. Noah shifted in his sleep, dark hair falling across his forehead. My heart clenched.

"Get out," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "Now."

"Or what? You'll throw coffee at me?" Her laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Face it, Emma. You're nothing but a waitress now. Just like my mother was nothing but your maid. Karma's funny that way."

"You know what's really funny?" I couldn't help saying. "How you still show up to gloat every time something goes wrong in my life. Almost like you're still that little girl, desperate for attention."

Her cheeks flushed. "Whatever. The point is, don't bother entering Laurent's competition. You'll only embarrass yourself."

"We'll see about that."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You really think you can compete with me? I have connections, resources, a proper studio. You have... what? A secondhand sewing machine and desperation?"

"Miss Emma is very talented!"

Lottie stood beside our table, her little fists clenched, brown curls wild from sleep. I hadn't even noticed her wake up. Her Christmas dress was wrinkled, but her blue eyes blazed with five-year-old fury.

"You big meanie! Stop being mean to our mommy!"

Noah appeared at his sister's side, green eyes serious. "Very rude," he agreed quietly. "You should apologize."

My throat tightened at their innocent defense.

Camille's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. "Your mommy? Oh, this is rich." She turned to me with a vicious smile. "Desperate much? The wedding's barely cold and you're already playing stepmother?"

"Leave them out of this," I warned. "They're children."

"They're witnesses to how far the mighty have fallen." She gestured around the coffee shop. "From debutante balls to serving coffee and collecting other people's kids. I guess when you can't have your own—"

"Stop it!" Lottie marched right up to Camille, fearless as only a five-year-old could be. "You have to say sorry to Miss Emma right now!"

She grabbed Camille's sleeve with sticky fingers, leaving traces of red and green frosting on the designer fabric.

"Get your sticky little hands off my Chanel!" Camille's face twisted. She yanked her arm away hard, sending Lottie stumbling backward.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Lottie stumbling backward. Noah reaching for her too late. The soft thud of her small body hitting the floor that seemed to echo through my entire body.

"Lottie!" Noah was at his sister's side instantly. "Are you okay?"

Lottie's lower lip trembled, but she sat up straight. "I'm fine. Daddy says Sterlings don't cry when they fall down."

Something inside me snapped. All these years of taking Camille's abuse, of turning the other cheek, of being the bigger person – none of that mattered anymore. She could mock my job, my choices, my life. But she'd crossed a line.

"Noah," I said, my voice deadly calm as I untied my apron. "Take your sister behind the counter, please."

"But—"

"Now, sweetheart."

Noah helped Lottie up, both of them scurrying to safety. Only then did I turn back to Camille.

"You know what's funny?" I stepped closer, watching her smug expression falter. "All these years of looking down on me, and you never asked what I learned after falling from our cushy world."

She backed up slightly. "What are you—"

"Want to know the most useful skill I picked up?" I cracked my knuckles, remembering all those self-defense classes I'd taken after moving to the rougher part of town. "How to fight back."

**

Dominic

The photos of Emma with the twins made me smile like an i***t. She'd caught Noah mid-eye roll as Lottie decorated his cookie with an excessive amount of sprinkles.

"Ten minutes until the board meeting, sir." James appeared in my doorway, his expression knowing. "Though perhaps we should discuss the dreamy smile first? You're starting to worry the secretaries."

I quickly locked my phone, straightening the papers on my desk. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not, sir." James's lips twitched. "Just like you have no idea why the twins' college fund suddenly had a substantial increase this morning. Right after a certain waitress agreed to marry you."

"That's just good financial planning."

"Mm-hmm." He handed me a tablet. "The apartment details you requested. Though I must say, house hunting for a marriage of convenience seems rather... involved."

I scrolled through photos of a luxury condo in the Upper West Side, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. "This is too much. She'll know something's off."

"It's the smallest property in your portfolio," James said, adjusting his tie. "But we can say it's a rental. The location is perfect – ten minutes from the twins' school, fifteen from Laurent's studio. And the security system is top-notch."

"Clever." I nodded approvingly, zooming in on the kitchen layout. Emma had mentioned liking to cook. "Sometimes I forget why I pay you so much."

"Someone has to keep your fairy tale on track, sir. Though I must say, for a fake relationship, you're putting in an awful lot of—"

My phone buzzed. Lottie's special ringtone – the one she'd picked herself, complete with unicorn emoji.

"Just a second," I told James, opening the message.

My heart stopped.

A string of frantic emojis filled the screen, followed by words that made my blood run cold:

"DADDY COME QUICK! EMMA IS IN DANGER!!!"