Nathan first. Then Ethan. Still out. Their small mouths slightly parted, their eyelashes resting against their cheeks, their little chests rising and falling in that slow, perfect rhythm.
Max stared at them for a long, quiet moment.
He could not remember the last time he had slept like that. Not restless, not halfway, not with one eye open and his mind churning through darkness.
He had simply slept. Deeply and completely and without interruption. As though something in his body had finally, after three years of being wound unbearably tight, decided that it was safe enough to let go for a few hours.
He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb them, and rubbed a hand across his face.
The day had already started. And the day had things in it that needed to be done.
When the maids arrived at the sitting room door twenty minutes later moving quietly, efficiently, the way well-trained household staff move in the early hours, they found Max already there ahead of them.
