*Xander*

Seven Years After Their Wedding

“No,” I said firmly as I shrugged off my jacket. I tossed it over the side of one of the chairs in the breakfast nook nestled in our private kitchen, which was currently full of cooking smells, toys, and screaming children.

Lena arched her brows as she stirred a pot of stew, her hair tied in a large, messy bun on the top of her head.

“What do you mean, no?” she replied with a smug laugh, her eyes ...