Chapter 3

The sleek black car that pulled up to the curb looked expensive enough to belong to someone wealthy.

I stood there dripping mud from my clothes and I was still reeling from the shock of everything that had just happened, when a  driver dressed in uniform stepped out of the car before taking a step back, his expression, full of shocked horror.

"Mr. Hale, sir," the driver stammered, taking in our muddy state. "Perhaps we should—"

"It's fine, James," Derek said smoothly, though I could see him fighting back a smile at this, as he waved it away as if dripping mud was a daily occurrence for him and perfectly nomal.

 "Just grab some towels from the trunk, would you?"

James hurried to comply, producing an impressive stack of pristine white towels, that took me by surprise. 

"I'm so sorry about this," I mumbled as he carefully laid them across the leather seats. "We can walk, really—"

"Nonsense," Derek replied, helping me into the car with the same of attention and courtesy that was usually reserved for a queen.

 "A little mud never hurt anyone."

The twins had already bounced into the backseat, their energy seemingly unlimited despite—or perhaps because of—their muddy adventure.

They immediately began jumping on the cushioned seats, leaving small muddy handprints everywhere despite  Jame's's  careful arrangement to avoid this particular issue.

"Boys, settle down," Derek said mildly, sliding in beside me.

"But Daddy, we're too excited!" Jamal exclaimed. "We finally have a mummy!"

"About that," I began carefully, turning to face them, thinking I might resemble their real mummy, which caused this misunderstanding for them. 

"I think there's been some confusion. I'm not actually—"

"Oh, we know you're not really our mummy," Andre interrupted cheerfully. "We don't have one of those."

"But we made a deal with Daddy," Jamal continued, as if this explained everything, his hands positioned on both sides of his waist, nodding his head solemnly.

"If we found someone we wanted to be our mummy, and she was nice to us, then we get to keep her."

"And you were nice to us even when you were sad and covered in mud," Andre added cheerfully, like claiming someone was so easy and wasn't labeled kidnapping in the eyes of the law. "So now you belong to us!"

I looked helplessly at Derek, who was watching the exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read, both amused and also thinking about something.

 "You can't just... claim random people."

"Why not?" Derek asked, and there was something in his tone that suggested he wasn't entirely joking. 

"This is insane," I whispered, though something warm and dangerous was unfurling in my chest at his words—at the idea of being wanted, appreciated, claimed.

"Is anyone going to call the cops on me for punching your ex-husband?" Derek asked pragmatically.

I considered this. Stiles' pride had taken a massive hit today, but involving law enforcement would only draw more attention to his humiliation, which is something that I knew Stiles was going to avoid desperately. 

"No," I said finally. "He divorced me this morning. I doubt he wants to explain to anyone why he was watching his ex-wife get pushed into the mud for entertainment."

"Good." Derek settled back into his seat with the satisfaction of a man whose plans were proceeding smoothly. "Then we're all set."

"Mummy!" Jamal bounced higher on his seat. "Wait until you see our house! It's enormous!"

"Daddy says it has like a hundred rooms," Andre added, his eyes shining with excitement. "And there are so many staff people to help with everything, and you'll have your own room with a big bed and a bathtub that's like a swimming pool!"

"The gardens are huge too," Jamal continued. "With a maze and everything! And there's a library with more books than you could ever read!"

Their enthusiasm was infectious, and despite everything, I found myself smiling for the first time in months. 

These children—these strange, wonderful children who had appeared like guardian angels when I needed them most—were painting a picture of luxury and comfort that seemed almost too good to be true.

"It sounds amazing," I said gently.

The car began to slow down which signified that we were reaching out destination, and I looked out the window expecting to see iron gates and manicured lawns, that seem to extend for miles.

 Instead, we were pulling up in front of a rather run-down apartment building in what was clearly not the best part of town.

The twins' chatter died abruptly.

"Oh," Andre said in a small voice.

"Um," Jamal added helpfully.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at their obvious embarrassment, though something about their deflated expressions was actually endearing rather than amusing.

Derek cleared his throat. "Right. Well. This is... temporary."

"Daddy got kicked out of the big house," Jamal explained in a rush, as if ripping off a bandage quickly would make it hurt less. 

"Grandmother said he couldn't come back until he found a wife because he's irresponsible and she's tired of us causing chaos."

"She said we needed a woman's influence," Andre added solemnly. 

"Because Daddy burns everything he tries to cook and we've been eating pizza for breakfast."

"Pizza isn't a proper breakfast food," Jamal continued the explanation. "Even though Daddy says it has all the food groups if you get vegetables on top."

I looked at Derek, who was running a hand through his dark hair with obvious embarrassment. "Your mother kicked you out?"

"It's complicated," he muttered.

"She said we were 'wild heathens in desperate need of civilizing,'" Andre quoted with perfect mimicry of what must have been a very stern grandmother. 

"And that Daddy was setting a terrible example by being a bachelor at thirty-two."

"She's not wrong," Derek admitted ruefully as James opened the car door for us.

The apartment building had definitely seen better days, but it wasn't all that terrible—it was just in need of some care. 

We climbed two flights of stairs, the twins racing ahead of us, competing against each other while Derek and I followed more slowly.

"I should warn you," Derek said as we reached the landing. "We left in a bit of a rush this morning. The place is... well, you'll see."

He wasn't kidding. When he opened the apartment door, I was greeted by what looked like the aftermath of a tornado. Clothes were scattered across every surface, dishes were piled in the sink, and there were toys, books, and various unidentifiable objects covering every available inch of floor space.

"We were late for the park," Derek explained, stepping carefully over what appeared to be the remains of a fort made from couch cushions and kitchen chairs. "The boys couldn't find their shoes, I couldn't find my keys, and somehow everything just... exploded."

"Daddy's not very good at the cleaning thing," Jamal confided in me as we navigated through the chaos. "He tries, but then he gets distracted and starts doing something else."

"And then everything gets messier," Andre added. "It's like magic, but backwards."

Despite the mess, I could see that someone had tried to make this place a home. There were family photos scattered on the mantelpiece—Derek and the twins at various ages, always laughing or making faces at the camera. 

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Jamal announced, flopping dramatically onto the couch. "Can we have lunch?"

"And not pizza," Andre added quickly. "Please, anything but pizza."

Derek was already reaching for his phone. "I'll call Tony's. They have good pizza, and—"

"Wait." I caught his arm, and he looked at me in surprise. Walking over to the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and found exactly what I'd expected—a graveyard of pizza boxes. Sixteen empty containers were stacked haphazardly on every shelf.

"Derek," I said carefully, "how long have you three been living on pizza?"

"Define 'living on,'" he replied evasively.

"Oh my God." I turned to stare at him. "These children need actual nutrition. Vegetables. Protein that doesn't come with a side of grease. Dairy that isn't just cheese melted on bread."

"Mummy knows about nutrition!" Jamal cheered, bouncing up from the couch. "Does this mean you're going to cook for us?"

"Real food!" Andre added, joining his brother in what appeared to be a celebration dance. "With vegetables and everything!"

"We don't need Daddy anymore," Jamal declared happily. "Mummy can take care of everything now!"

"Hey now," Derek protested, but he was smiling. "I'm still useful for some things."

"Like what?" Andre asked with devastating eight-year-old honesty.

"Well, I..." Derek paused, clearly struggling to come up with an answer. "I can reach high shelves?"

"Mummy's tall too," Jamal pointed out. "And she smells better than you do."

"And she doesn't burn water when she tries to make tea," Andre added.

"I do not burn water!" Derek objected.

"You set off the smoke alarm making tea last Tuesday," Jamal reminded 

him.

"That was one time!"

"And Monday," Andre continued relentlessly. "And Sunday. And—"

"Okay, okay!" Derek held up his hands in surrender. "Maybe I'm not the best cook."