An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses)

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Authors: Linda Cassidy Lewis
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for the rest of our lives."
    "You would deprive our children of all the advantages money affords us?"
    "I wasn't suggesting you give every dime to charity and we live on the streets."
    "What were you suggesting?"
    "I just don't think acquiring or spending money should be the primary focus of life." He comes up behind me and nuzzles my neck.
    "I am not the least bit focused on money right now, Mrs. Vaziri." He slips his hand up under my sleep shirt.
    "Not so fast. You have to tell me something first."
    "Anything."
    "Why did Aza insist you say nothing about her plans to take a writing class?"
    He groans in dismay and his hand slides down to rest chastely on my stomach. "Because I acted like a jerk once when she asked me to read a poem she wrote."
    "You wouldn't read it?"
    "No, I read it. Then I analyzed, dissected, and rewrote it for her."
    "Jerk." The baby kicks his hand. "See? Your daughter agrees with me."
    "In my defense, I was only nineteen."
    "But still."
    "I know."
    I pull his hand back to my breast. "Shall I presume you have more tact now?"
    "Indeed." He guides me to the bed. "I will be generous in my critique of your performance here tonight."
    "Jerk."

Six

    M ia Grace enters the world five weeks before expected. She's perfect in form, but her jaundice requires photo therapy and her sucking reflex is weak, so because I want to breastfeed her, I stay in the hospital with her five days. Those days are agony because I feel like I'm choosing between my two children. Though each morning Jalal brings Adam to me right after breakfast, active toddlers don't tolerate confinement to one room very long.
    So Adam will nap with me, Jalal tires him out each afternoon at the nearby park before bringing him back to the hospital. Jalal reads while I sleep with my daughter cradled in my arms and my son curled against my side. Still, I cry for my son each of the nights I spend away from him.

    I would have a dozen babies if they were all as good as Mia Grace. At six weeks, she's already sleeping four hours straight at night. Jalal says it's because she's not in our bed like Adam was; we put her to sleep in a mini crib in the alcove of our room, though after she wakes for a feeding I keep her in bed with me. And I've promised Jalal that in a few weeks I'll trust the monitor and start her nights in the nursery.
    Adam's had trouble adjusting to the baby taking some of his spotlight. After our first night here, when he slept with Jennie, he's insisted on sleeping only in his bedroom, but several times since Mia Grace's birth he's ended up snuggled between me and Jalal. And sometimes, like now, when I nurse Mia Grace, he sits beside me, patting her head and sucking his thumb. Jalal worried until his sister Goli assured him this is only a temporary regression. Since she has eight of them, beating Jalal's mother by one, Goli is the family expert on children. But Adam is also protective of his sister and already tries to teach her the words for things. It's so cute. I love being a mother.
    "He's nodding off," Aza whispers. "Do you want me to carry him up to his bed?"
    "Don't forget to turn his monitor on." Even though she smiles, I realize that sounded ridiculous. We
always
turn on the monitors when the kids are in their rooms. Why do I feel the need to tell her every damned time? Why is she so patient with me?
    Mia Grace doesn't even open her eyes when I buckle her in the baby bouncer in the great room. As Jalal enters from the garage, I shush him. He sets a bag carefully on the kitchen island and then freezes while I walk over to him. "Did you already eat lunch?" I ask before I catch the scent of the food he's brought home. "What did you get?"
    "Your favorite hot and sour soup."
    "Sometimes I love you." I try to kiss him, but he holds me back.
    "Sometimes is not enough, Renee." He looks so serious I blank on a response. Then the corner of his mouth quirks, and he pulls me to him. We're still kissing when Aza comes back downstairs.
    "Oops," she

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