Chapter 4

Elia Carter

I stood at the sink, hands deep in suds, rinsing the last of the dinner dishes. The clatter of the TV and faint laughter floated in from the living room where the rest of the family was gathered.

Then I heard footsteps—lighter, familiar. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Need a hand?” Ash asked, already grabbing a towel and wiping a plate with unnecessary flair.

“Maybe if you could keep your hands on the dishes instead of on me,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him over my shoulder.

He chuckled, low and warm. “That’s quite the challenge, darling.”

And before I could respond, I felt his arms snake around my waist from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, his warmth pressing against my back.

“This,” he whispered, “feels better than any first-class seat on that flight.”

His hands, instead of staying politely at my waist, began to wander with suspicious curiosity. One brushed against my chest, and I flinched.

“Hey! Watch what you’re touching!” I snapped, trying to sound stern—failing miserably.

His grin was absolutely wicked. “Are you that sensitive, sweetheart?”

“You’re abusing my weakness!” I accused, elbowing him lightly.

“Mm, no no,” he purred, voice velvet-smooth, “I’m just collecting interest. For all the teasing you did earlier.”

Then, with almost infuriating slowness, he moved my hair aside and pressed a kiss to the nape of my neck.

And just like that—my knees nearly buckled.

His lips lingered, dangerously soft, his breath hot against my skin. One kiss turned into another, then another, trailing from my neck to the curve of my shoulder, and up toward my ear. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was tasting every inch of me.

“Ash…” I whispered, my voice trembling with both warning and longing.

“Shh…” he murmured, grazing the shell of my ear. “Let me make up for three weeks of loneliness.”

I swallowed hard, biting down a gasp. His lips were relentless, dragging fire along my skin with each kiss, and the heat pooling inside me was near unbearable.

“We can’t… not here…” I whispered again, already breathless.

His hand gently covered mine on the edge of the sink, squeezing softly.

“Then let me just hold you for now. Just for a little while.”

That sentence—so simple, so intimate—cut through the tension like a balm.

And for a moment, the dishes didn’t matter. The noise outside didn’t matter.

Only his arms, his heartbeat against my back, and the way his lips whispered love in the language of silence.

Just then, right when I was about to melt into his arms again, a tiny yet commanding voice rang through the hallway.

"Daddy! Our tea party is still remaining!"

Ash groaned—audibly. The sound vibrated against my neck like the exasperated cry of a man who had faced assassins and warzones but found his greatest weakness in a five-year-old’s tea party.

I giggled, unable to help myself. “It’s funny for you, isn’t it?” he muttered into my ear, sounding absolutely betrayed. “Watching me suffer like this?”

Poor man looked so painfully drained from all the restraint. And the frustration on his face? Almost adorable.

“Well,” I teased, barely keeping a straight face, “what can I say? It’s not exactly in my hands, is it?”

“Still…!” he whined softly. Then his tone dropped low, conspiratorial. “At least I’ll have you tonight. And I swear, I’m not letting you sleep. We’ll do it on repeat.”

My jaw dropped slightly, and I smacked his arm. “You’re shameless!”

“When it comes to you?” He grinned proudly. “Yes. Proudly, yes.”

I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn’t stop the blush creeping up my cheeks. This man…

“Okay, okay,” he sighed, straightening up dramatically. “Duty calls. If I don’t go now, Princess Mila might revoke my knighthood and exile me from the kingdom of Glitteronia.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, warm and sweet. “But tonight…” he whispered before pulling away with a wink.

And then he was gone, striding off with the solemn resolve of a man walking toward a battlefield—one paved with plush toys, feather boas, and an unreasonable number of tiaras.

I already missed his warmth. The way his arms wrapped around me made the cold kitchen feel like summer. His intoxicating kisses, the way his hands wandered like they had a mind of their own—God, that man still knew how to drive me absolutely crazy.

Sighing, I wiped my hands and stepped out into the living room.

There they were. My beautiful little circus.

Ash was now seated on the carpet with a pink scarf around his head, a stuffed unicorn under one arm, and a plastic teacup delicately balanced in his hand.

Mila stood tall—well, as tall as a five-year-old in plastic heels and a feather boa could—chin up, plastic tiara slightly askew.

“All of you must bow down before me,” she declared with all the grace and authority of a child who had watched far too many princess cartoons.

Ash, bless him, immediately dropped to one knee with theatrical flair. “At your service, Your Majesty,” he said, lowering his head dramatically.

Luca, on the other hand, blinked up at his sister like she had spoken in alien tongue. And instead of bowing…

He dumped a full handful of glitter right on her head.

“LUCA!!” Mila shrieked like she’d been mortally wounded, frozen in horror as sparkling pink dust rained down her royal curls.

Ash leapt into action, muttering a curse under his breath as he dusted the glitter off Mila’s hair as gently as if she were made of porcelain. “Careful, careful—don’t rub your eyes—Ellie! Grab me a wipe!”

I dashed over with a packet of baby wipes, biting back laughter. The sight of this cold-blooded government assassin frantically cleaning glitter off his daughter’s head like a bomb technician was almost too much.

Mila sniffled dramatically. “My hair is ruined. The Queen is ruined!”

Ash pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Nonsense, Your Majesty. You are the most radiant Queen the Kingdom of Sparkleland has ever known.”

Mila’s eyes glistened. “Really?”

“Absolutely. We shall declare glitter as the royal crown from now on.”

She smiled, satisfied. “Very well. I’ll allow it.”

Luca, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d caused, had now found a sock puppet and was speaking in growls, pretending it was a fire-breathing dragon. He stomped across the floor roaring, “RAWWRRR! I eat tea party!”

Ash looked at me, eyes wide. “Ellie… I think we’re under siege.”

I grinned. “Good luck, brave knight.”

“This is not what I signed up for,” he muttered as he picked up a pink wand and pointed it at Luca. “By the power of sugar cookies and bedtime stories, I banish thee, foul beast!”

Luca roared in defiance and tackled his dad, sending them both tumbling into a pile of cushions. Mila squealed in laughter, clapping her hands.

I leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, just watching them. My heart swelled.

Home.

Chaos.

Love.

All wrapped up in plastic crowns, glitter explosions, and toddler shrieks.

And my deadly assassin?

Still on the floor, covered in pink feathers, battling a sock puppet—playing princess like a pro.

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