I was in my shop, unpacking the latest shipment of ribbons and packaging materials. I had 45 minutes before opening, and over 30 bouquets were already prepared, along with a few dozen for upcoming weddings. I was eager to work, as it was nearly unbearable to be home. Damon and the Salvatores were so stressed about Mariella, they snapped at me, trying to control me. However, I wasn't in the mood to be told what to do.
I had finished making the bouquets with help from Wulfe and Adam, but Adam had gone back to work for two weeks, followed by a week off. Wulfe was also working, and I assumed the Salvatores were occupied with Mariella. Little did I know about their weekend plan for her. They planned to keep her sedated for two days, then allow her to be awake for a few days, followed by rest.
This would free them up to help me. I was also a dividing factor among the Salvatores. Numbers five, four, nine, and ten refused to worship Mariella, and I needed support as well. Their feelings for Mariella were diluted, and they either snapped at her or avoided her altogether, preferring to be with me. Despite this, number one had blackmailed them into assisting Mariella, so they reached a consensus that would allow them to help me.
Not that I was asking for help, I had plenty of energy. I was enjoying my time, and I loved doing things on my own terms. My next appointment was in a week, as I was already in week 25. My Saturday was fully booked, so this being Monday, my appointments would be every other week: 26, 28, 30, and so on, as long as these five little wiggly ones stayed inside me.
I was ready to give birth, and a C-section wasn't necessary. However, my doctor advised against it. I would have a special scan at the end of this week, before my next scheduled scan, to check the babies' positions, cords, and placentas. Medical technology had advanced to the point where scans were safe for pregnant mothers, and this was routine for multiple births.
My babies were now considered to be in the "safe zone." Medical advancements meant that once a baby reached 23 weeks, its chances of survival outside the womb were over 80 percent, thanks to artificial wombs, gels, and other innovations. My doctor would monitor me very carefully, and the babies would be delivered at the first sign of contractions.
Mariella, being one week behind me, had fetuses that were small due to her preeclampsia, which hindered their growth. Her pregnancy was higher risk than mine, at least medically, and this was just one more stressor for Damon. I had no idea if Damon knew any of these facts, as I had been at the appointment alone, and I planned to go alone next week as well.
I would tell Wulfe most of the facts, but not all of the doctor's warnings. If he knew the little fact that my doctor had recommended that I not lift anything heavy, as it put pressure on my womb and cervix and could trigger contractions, he might stop me from working. Each day I worked, my benefits increased with my earnings. My doctor had promised to write a statement for me, meaning I could take my maternity leave early, but I didn't see the need for it yet, another fact I wouldn't tell Wulfe.
I was making a few more arrangements or suggestions for the wedding. I had about 80 dark red roses, 50 light orange roses, big bunches of pink and white baby's breath, green chrysanthemums, hot pink carnations, blue thistle, several shades of hydrangeas, tall grass, leaves from several varieties of hostas and palms, all arranged on my table.
The sponge was pre-wet, and I had different vases ready. I also had about 60 stems of two-toned spray roses, alstroemeria, eucalyptus, and orchids. There was a lot of stuff, but it made this fun. First, I put everything ready, meaning taking leaves out, cutting them slightly, and keeping them in water before starting to work.
The shop smelled wonderful, filled with the heady scent of my flowers and the aroma from my little coffee shop, or "coffee pit" as I called it. Freshly baked goods arrived this morning, the result of an all-night baking session to prepare everything. I had sweet buns, scones, wheat buns, miniature focaccias, and mini pizzas (without tomato, which I didn't allow), but with alternative options. There were also salty muffins and mini chocolate cakes.
Five coffee varieties were available, and I would have a few ready for customers to sample, having ground the beans myself. The large windows let in the spring sun, warming the shop even with snow still on the ground. The sun made the crystals glitter in one window, and I felt certain this day would be perfect. Yet, life often held surprises.
Wearing stylish, dark blue maternity pants and an off-white, long-sleeved angora shirt, I also sported my bright pink apron. My long red hair tumbled down my back in large curls, unkempt as I hadn't bothered to style it. Though a hairband did keep it somewhat in line. Unlike Mariella, who was always primped and primed, I had no nail polish on, and dirt was visible under my fingernails, a testament to the few cuttings I'd just potted from my recent shipment.
Humming softly, I'd almost finished preparing everything, and the fun part was about to begin. I glanced at the clock; opening time was fast approaching. I still had time. I'd neatly arranged my new ribbons and wrapping materials on the new shelves I'd installed last week. My little shop, which was expanding, wasn't so little anymore, but I'd kept my prices the same.
I'd used my profits for expansion, and since the pack had done most of the work, I didn't need to pay extra. The girls had also been helping, but right now, over half of our pack was focused on Mariella, which suited me perfectly. My belly was active as ever; it was the babies' awake time, and I didn't bother trying to figure out who was kicking whom. It was an intense feeling, not yet painful, but I felt it very clearly.
When I opened my shop, I was surprised to see Numbers One, Two, Four, and Nine walk in, staring at me steadily. Fine, I kept my expression neutral, even though I was annoyed. I didn't need anything.
Number One, of course, was in doctor mode and said, "Come on,Mimi, to the back room. Show me your ankles. We'll see if you'll be standing at the end of the day."
I rolled my eyes and waddled to the break room, sat in my high chair, and removed my roomy shoes. My feet weren't too swollen, but Number Four walked in, tutting under his breath.
Number One then said, "And a urine test is next. Don't even try to make excuses. Those are swollen, you've probably got preeclampsia, and I'm not having you crash because you're keeping a secret."
His voice was tight, geez, overreacting much? My phone rang, and I answered it.
It was my client who wanted four large centerpieces for her granny's 80th birthday and was going to pick them up later.
"Hi," she said. "I was wondering if you have time to do two more? My cousins are coming with their whole brood, so we need extra table arrangements. They have allergies, so nothing too scented, but flashy."
Damon snatched my phone and said in a cool, friendly tone, "Oh, hello, this is Damon, Mimi's husband. Sure, we can make two more. Let's see what you're targeting."
He walked away, holding my phone and discussing the extra arrangements. Number Four handed me a specimen cup; they had a handheld analyzer for my piss. I rolled my eyes. Fine, I had to go in anyway.
After confirming my pee sample was normal, I walked towards my table. Number four, noticing me, brought a chair. I was meant to be sitting, not standing. I began my first floral arrangement, but hadn't gotten far when number one entered. He took some of my flowers and vases, starting to craft the central pieces that had been ordered.
While number four was occupied talking with customers, I had already prepared an arrangement, carefully checking and slightly adjusting its prices. There was now also a large sign displaying the prices of individual stems, allowing customers to get a better idea of the cost.
I was focused on my arrangement, which was taking time as I first inserted hosta leaves, a few palm fronds, and eucalyptus, before starting to build from there.
I was just about to add the roses when number nine approached me and said, "Come on, break time. There's a meal ready for you. Let me help you up."
I could have gotten up on my own, but before I could, he grabbed me under my armpits, causing me to instinctively grab him as he lifted me. He then ensured I was settled on the breakroom sofa with my legs elevated, eating a large meal.
I truly hoped this was a one-time occurrence. If they were going to keep Mariella sedated for two days in a row, it meant their focus of care was shifting to me, and I wasn't in the mood to be the recipient of that attention
. I was independent, just pregnant, not infirm. However, I was unsure how to convince fourteen husbands, who were already worried about me due to Mariella's situation and were in a frantic mood, of this. I wasn't feeling particularly cooperative at that moment.
As I was finishing my meal, Number Four entered. He placed his hand on my belly, attempting to feel the babies' movements and determine their positions.
He asked, "Have they moved today?"
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and replied, "Yes, they have. Now they're sleeping. They have a schedule, you know. They'll be active in the morning and later in the afternoon."
Number Four grunted. His expression, so familiar and reminiscent of my Damon, ached my heart, knowing he belonged to Mariella, not me. Despite his presence being a result of my loss, I found it easier to think of him as Doctor Damon, not mine, because he wasn't.
He crouched beside me and requested, "Can you get them awake? I need to feel them moving."
Fine, I thought, rolling my eyes. I closed my eyes, knowing my little ones were empaths. They thrived on positive feelings, so I recalled our trip to India with Wulfe: how we sang, how we walked, and how he loved to haggle. Soon, a fluttering began in my belly. Number Four grunted, feeling their activity.
"Plenty of activity here," he observed. "What did you do? Send them threats?"
I answered patiently, "Nope. My tiny empaths love good memories. I just recalled our trip to India with Wulfe. They love Wulfe; they already recognize his voice, so he's something they like, an easy way to get them to react."
Number Four fell silent, his jaw clenching. Not my problem. Actions, choices, and consequences. I was no longer the little Mimi who patiently waited for scraps from him or Number One. I now found my happiness where I could get it, and the best source was Wulfe, whose love for me never wavered. He truly loved me and these tiny kickers inside me.
After I ate and Number Four helped me up, satisfied with the activity with my little ones, I walked back to the shop. There, I met Greta, one of the crones.
She smiled at me and my belly, saying, "It seems you have an abundance of husbands here today, lucky girl."
I just hummed and asked, "What do you need?"
She replied, "Well, my plants need a change of pots soon, and I was wondering about suitable fertilizer."
I nodded and said, "Well, come on, let's see what I have got. Now, do you have flowering plants or just green ones? It pays to have different fertilizers, you know."
She nodded and said, "I have both; I have over 200 plants in my house, but about 30 of them need new pots. I ought to buy a few new ones as well, as my old ones are cracked."
Meanwhile, Damon was making arrangements, Number Four was serving someone who had bought some coffee and baked goods, and Number Nine was making sure my crystals were displayed correctly, ensuring there were no wrong energies.
I showed Greta our basic fertilizers: a liquid form and a few stick forms, both suitable for flowering and green plants. She saw just perfect pots on my lower shelf, but she had a very bad back, which had been fused, so she couldn't bend.
She looked at my belly and said, "Oh dear, should we get one of your hubbies to give me those?"
I smiled and said, "No need, I'll get them."
I took a slightly wider stance and crouched down. As I had kept my muscles firm, I grabbed about six large clay pots and lifted them. A sharp pain hit my lower belly briefly, as pressure felt, but I didn't let it show, or feel, or at least I thought so.
Number Two was next to me and picked the pots out of my hands, smiling at Greta, and said to me, "Why don't you go and check on your arrangements? You can do it later; I will help this lovely lady."
His tone was sharp, and he telepathically said to me, "You are crazy! I just saw what your doctor warned you about, and you felt it, didn't you? Do you want your babies to drop on the floor when you have no reason? Number One is not happy about you not telling us."
I wasn't going to argue. I simply smiled at Greta and began preparing my arrangement.
Number One was already working, and he said tersely, "Sit down and listen, and listen good. Just because Mariella occupies most of my thoughts doesn't mean I've forgotten about you. That little stunt...oh yeah, Number Two snatched that little warning your doctor gave you. No more lifting anything from the floor or crouching, as it puts pressure on your cervix. It makes me want to put you under sedation and keep you and those five wigglies in your belly safe, but so far there's no medical reason, baby."
"I said 'so far'," he continued. "Keep this up, and there *will* be a medical reason, and then it's not a negotiation."
I sighed and said, "Sure, I've learned my lesson. I still have a lot of time to go. I'm just a little over the halfway point, so there's no need to worry. I'm huge, but I can function."
He grunted, "Limitedly, very limitedly."
I could feel him burrowing into my mind, and he did find the fact that we were in a safe zone, meaning over an 80 percent chance of recovery. This didn't help at all, as he knew me well enough to know it would boost my stupidity and encourage me to keep doing my little stunts.
Of course, a part of me realized he had deep feelings for me, too, but Mariella was the one making him worry, and it came so clearly through our bond. But it didn't stop me from doing what I wanted.
He was checking on all my new ribbons and wrapping materials, muttering, "Did you have to blow all of your profits on damn ribbons? Less is more sometimes, you know?"
I didn't bother to reply, as I had just gotten my next set of flowers: blue poppies, white roses, yellow tulips, bright red little berries, and a lot of greenery. I was taking the leaves out of the roses and making everything ready. It was part of my work when Damon came. He noticed my roses and my flowers and started to arrange my selection.
I snapped, "Take your own flowers! I'm not just some assistant, putting them ready for you!"
He looked at me so fucking steadily that my blood pressure shot up, and a headache bloomed between my eyes. My teeth clenched as I got angry, and I snatched a jar from the nearby shelf. I had them scattered everywhere, so I bit through the lid and I let out a good dose of very potent velvet, making Damon smirk infuriatingly.
"Oh, baby, I don't need that, well, not right now, after all, I have all of these wonderful stems to be used."
Argh, he could be so damn smug. I clenched my fists, my brow furrowing, my whole body tensing. I kept my expression somewhat neutral, trying to curb the urge to shout at him as I worked. I walked to the bathroom to take a piss, again, as my five loved to roll around and press my bladder into a cube. At least I wouldn't have time to take water out of my piss since I had to empty myself almost hourly. I walked out of the bathroom, now composed and cool.
I went to the shop floor and started arranging my flowers a little differently—houseplants, that is, as I had gotten a new shipment. I had kept them quarantined for a day or two to make sure there were no pests, so I brought them in on a cart.
Now it was time to put them on the tables and add price tags. There were a few rarities too, and new novelties. I had also taken cuttings from some of my plants, which I sold if someone found a whole plant too expensive.
I was just getting ready to lift my saint paulias from the lower shelf of the cart when Number Two walked to me and said, "Don't crouch, let me."
Again, oh my god, I was just pregnant, and it wasn't so low. I took a breath as Number One walked up to me, too, looking at my plants and cuttings. They took a marker and began writing fancier nametags, as well as price tags, hiking the prices up a bit.
It was weird, as I thought clients would surely notice, and it seemed somehow a little wrong to raise my prices, but then again, my plants sold, and there were no mutterings about my prices anywhere.
I walked over to the orchids in my cooler to check on them. I was planning a fun, small arrangement and had gathered three huge white hydrangeas, two bright pink vandas, one stem of vanilla (a rarity), and blue thistle. This combination would result in a high-priced arrangement.
Humming under my breath, I heard the door chime. Sheila and Harold soon entered. I walked over to greet them. Sheila smiled smugly as she noticed several Salvatores working in my shop.
"Hello, dear," she said. "I was thinking we need something special. My sister-in-law is coming from Europe to visit, and she's always so damn snobby."
Her sharp eyes took in the details of what the Salvatores had done that day. Number One, hearing this, glided over to me.
He placed his hands over my belly and felt the kicks. "Well, let us see what we can offer. I believe my beloved was crafting something pretty fancy here; come and check."
I had to tell myself, "Take a fucking deep breath and just go with the flow," as irritation flooded my mind.
Damon, of course, felt it, making his smile even more syrupy. He then brought Harold and Sheila to see my little arrangement, which was just starting to take shape.
Damon plucked a vanilla orchid and told Sheila, "This is vanilla, true vanilla, and this is a flower which gets pollinated, and the seedpod is actually a vanilla pod. It is pricey but a specialty."
Sheila nodded and said, "Let's use it; we have money."
Harold grunted, then said, "Oh, I'm all in. Our esteemed guest always looks at me like I'm some dockworker, and it's not that there's anything wrong with being a dockworker, but, you understand?"
Damon nodded.
As the smell of baked goods filled the air, Harold added, "I guess I'll have a cup of coffee and some buns."
Sheila, already impatient, gestured for him to move away; she was watching me work on the arrangement. I was adding more stems to my fancy bouquet, making it slightly taller and wider, when Damon came up behind me. He plucked a stem and placed it, acting like we were madly in love. I wasn't in the mood, but I went with the flow, feeling Damon's smugness through our soulmate bond and seeing it on his face.
It seemed my life wasn't going as planned, not entirely, but surely, once Mariella was a more coherent little princess again, my so-called entourage wouldn't be coming to work with me. I wasn't in the mood for "bring your husband to work" days.
It wasn't easy being pregnant with five babies, married to fourteen men, a pack leader, business owner, and a triple alpha female who valued her independence and didn't want to become Mariella 2.0. It seemed that at least this day would be a test of my patience and limits, as these Salvatores seemed to be everywhere at once, never letting me focus on my job, even if I was just behind the register.
There was always a Salvatore next to me, helping me, being the perfect husband. What could I do? Scream at them in public? Nope. I just had to bear it and grin, even though it wasn't easy, but I hoped like hell that time would come for me to be alone, as my alpha side was active as hell, and this little snowball wanted to roll, gather momentum, and not be under some damn husband.