As the van glided up the long brick drive the house loomed above them—grand and polished, its wide windows glowing faintly with the gold of evening light.
Theo stepped out first, shifting Taymor carefully in his arms as if the baby were spun from glass. A waiting footman hurried forward to open the car's side door, but Theo waved him off and reached in himself, his voice softened in a way that startled the staff.
"I had the west wing nursery redone…"
He said as Joy eased the wheelchair forward.
"There are three separate cribs, all new—mahogany frames, soft white canopies. The walls are pale sage; the ceiling has a mobile of tiny clouds. There's a rocking chair near the window for you… and I hired a live-in nanny. She's already waiting upstairs. She'll handle the night feedings if you need to rest."
His tone was almost tender, but there was something in the way he carried himself—too straight, too precise—that made Yu's skin prickle.
