Page 22 of Power Play

Oh.

Heat rushes to my face, pooling in my cheeks. “Thanks.”

She squawks, upset at being ignored, and I pull my niece into my arms, giving her a quick snuggle. Although I suppose she’ll be my daughter now. Stepdaughter. Does it matter? She’ll be mine, and that’s all I care about.

Al clears his throat. “We’re getting ready to go.”

“Okay. I’ll change her.”

“She’s clean. I just did.”

“I got her an outfit.” One singular baby dress shouldn’t cost over a hundred dollars, but if he and I are getting dressed up, so should she.

His eyes soften. “You did?”

“She’s part of this. Hell, she’s the whole reason we’re doing it.”

I squeeze into the doorway and he takes a step back, letting me pass. His cedar-and-firewood scent lingers in the air as I enter her room, and he stands in the threshold, watching while I pull out the light purple dress. It’s frilly and full of taffeta, and I anticipate she’ll hate it—she hates most clothes—but it has delicate embroidery that coordinates with my dress. I even found little ballet slippers.

Emmy whines as soon as I take off her onesie, and she is definitely not happy to wear the dress. She kicks her feet and screams while I struggle to put on her shoes.

But when I scoop her into my arms and deposit her into Al’s, suddenly she’s happy as a clam. She grabs at his beard and he chuckles, kissing her palm before tucking her more securely against his broad chest.

“My princess,” he murmurs into the top of her head, and my heart squeezes, filling it with warmth and reaffirming my decision to do anything to protect her. Even if it means the death of my dreams for love. Her happiness comes first—always.

We make our way downstairs and into the car. He has a top-of-the-line SUV, sleek and black, with a car seat already installed in the back.

“Where are your siblings?” I ask as Al gets Emmy situated.

“Cari drove them, since we don’t all fit in here.” He rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat beside me. “Any news on your car?”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know if it’ll survive a trip out here.” I bought it from a guy I used to work with, and it had already been through a few owners. “I guess I should find a new one. With my savings, I should be able to afford it in a few months.”

I still have to figure out what to do with my apartment. All I have with me is a few days’ worth of clothes. Most of my singular suitcase was packed full of baby things, as I certainly wasn’t planning to move here last week.

Al grunts. “I’ll get you a car.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Riley, you’ll be my wife,” he says, turning to glance at me before focusing on the road again. “What’s mine will be yours. But more importantly, you need a way to get around, and to get Emmy to doctor’s appointments and the park or wherever you want to go. You shouldn’t be trapped at the house all day, every day. That’s a surefire path to a breakdown.”

Uncomfortable, I force a laugh. “We take walks with the stroller.”

“Great. Still buying you a car.” He clears his throat. “I ordered a credit card for you, and I trust you’ll be responsible with it. Household supplies, groceries, formula, diapers, whatever you need… Most of my meals are organized by a dietitian, but if you want Tyler to make you meal prep, too, just let me know. I’ll ask him for his menu. I know he has a special offer for his athletes’ partners so you don’t have to eat the same healthy slop we get.”

There is a stack of glass containers in the fridge, but for some reason, I thought he prepared them. It makes sense they come from a dietitian, though. He doesn’t exactly get a lot of time off to cook.

We arrive at the courthouse and, of course, Emmy has fallen asleep, so I pull out the stroller while Al wrangles with the car seat. He clicks her into place and then takes the wheel.

Cari, Tony, and Viv meet us inside. I still can’t believe Viv Gallagher is at my wedding. They’re dressed up for the occasion, and I’m suddenly glad I chose to buy a new dress rather than wear jeans and a T-shirt.

After what feels like forever, we’re called back to the judge’s chambers. Al squeezes my hand, then grabs hold of the stroller, and Emmy stirs, looking around with her wide brown eyes.

Judge Alexander McCall is younger than I expected, maybe in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kindness in his expression. He’s wearing one of those robes you see on Court TV, and as he stands from behind his desk, he shakes both Al’s and my hands.

He flicks through the packet of paperwork I hand him, then says, “Everything seems to be in order. Let’s get married, shall we?”