Four Of A Kind - Chapter 173: [3.75] An Angelo-Valentine Breakfast

Chapter 173: [3.75] An Angelo-Valentine Breakfast

I dragged myself downstairs at 7:43 feeling like something the Valentine family cat had murdered, then regurgitated on expensive carpet.

Sleep? Who was she? I’d never met her in my life.

The dream kept replaying. Purple eyes. Wine-red hair. Four different voices all saying the same thing.

Baby.

Nobody called me that. Ever. Yet dream-girl had breathed it like she’d been practicing for years.

My feet carried me toward the informal dining room on autopilot. The one Harlow preferred because it had windows facing the rose garden and “good morning energy.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

Voices filtered through the doorway. Multiple voices. All feminine except one that pitched high with excitement.

Iris.

I rounded the corner and stopped.

The entire table was loaded. Like, obscenely loaded. Chef Laurent had apparently gone full French breakfast mode before disappearing for the weekend. Croissants arranged in golden spirals. Pain au chocolat still steaming. Bowls of fresh berries that probably cost more per pound than most people’s grocery budgets. Yogurt parfaits layered like modern art. Fresh orange juice in crystal glasses.

And sitting around it all like it was completely normal were four identical wine-red heads and one smaller dark-haired one bouncing in her seat.

Iris looked up. Her entire face lit up like I’d just told her Christmas came early.

“ZAY!”

She jumped from her chair so fast she nearly knocked over Harlow’s orange juice.

I caught her in a hug. Breathed in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. The one I’d bought three weeks ago when my first Valentine paycheck cleared. The fancy kind she’d been eyeing for months.

“You’re awake,” she said against my chest. “Harlow said you sleep like the dead and I shouldn’t knock.”

“Harlow was correct.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Good morning, munchkin.”

Iris pulled back. Grinned up at me with those dark eyes that matched mine. “I already ate two croissants and they’re better than anything we’ve ever had at home and Harlow says Chef Laurent comes three times a week and I could eat like this every day if I lived here.”

She said it with such pure joy that something twisted in my chest.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” She hugged me again. Harder. “I already texted Sarah that I’m eating fancy butter and real maple syrup.”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it. “How many food photos did you take?”

“Twenty-seven. And a video.”

“Of course you did.”

At the table, Harlow made this little whimpering sound.

I looked over Iris’s head.

Harlow sat with both hands stretched toward me across the table. Her purple eyes huge and pleading. Her twin tails secured with those star clips again.

She wore pink pajamas. The fuzzy kind with cartoon rabbits. Her bottom lip stuck out slightly.

“I want a good morning hug too,” she announced.

Cassidy, who’d been demolishing a pain au chocolat with the intensity of someone taking revenge on carbohydrates, choked on her bite. “What?”

“He gave Iris a hug.” Harlow’s hands made grabby motions. “And a kiss on the forehead. So I want one too. It’s only fair.”

Vivienne set down her teacup with more force than necessary. “Harlow.”

“What?” Harlow turned those purple eyes on her sister. Innocent as hell. “I just want a good morning hug from Assistant-kun. Is that weird?”

“Yes,” Vivienne said flatly.

“No,” Harlow countered. “It’s emotional support. For. The day ahead. We have so much to do today and I need. Good vibes.”

Sabrina turned a page of whatever Gothic novel she’d brought to breakfast. “She’s not going to stop.”

Vivienne glared at Sabrina like this was somehow her fault.

Cassidy wiped chocolate from her mouth with the back of her hand. “This is so stupid.”

“You’re just jealous,” Harlow shot back.

“I’m not jealous of your clingy bullshit.”

“Then why are your ears pink?”

Cassidy’s hand flew to her ear. “They’re not—”

“Totally pink,” Iris confirmed. Helpful as always.

I released Iris and walked around the table toward Harlow. Might as well get this over with before she started crying or something equally dramatic.

The girl practically vibrated out of her chair.

I opened my arms.

Harlow crashed into me like I was the only solid thing in a world made of quicksand. Her arms locked around my neck. Her entire body pressed against mine from chest to hips with zero concept of personal space.

“Good morning, Assistant-kun,” she breathed into my shoulder.

“Good morning, Harlow.”

She squeezed tighter. “You smell nice.”

“I showered.”

“No, like. Under that.” She pulled back slightly. Looked up at me with those huge eyes. “Like you.”

My brain offered zero useful responses to that.

Vivienne cleared her throat. Loud. Pointed.

I patted Harlow’s back twice. Professional. Appropriate. “Okay. Good hug. Time to eat.”

“Five more seconds.”

“Harlow.”

“Three.”

“Harlow.”

“One.”

She let go. Sort of. Her hands trailed down my arms before releasing completely.

Then she smiled. That sunshine smile that could power Manhattan.

“Thank you,” she said. Sincere. “I feel better now.”

She skipped back to her chair. Literally skipped.

I stood there wondering what the hell just happened.

Cassidy was staring at me. Her purple eyes narrowed. Calculating. Like I’d just revealed a weak point she could exploit later.

Vivienne’s jaw looked tight. Her fingers gripped her teacup hard enough I worried about the porcelain.

Sabrina turned another page.

Iris grinned at me like I’d just confirmed her wildest theories about my romantic life.

I walked to the empty chair between Cassidy and Sabrina. Sat down before anyone could demand additional good morning physical contact.

Iris bounced in her seat. “So breakfast is always like this?”

“No,” Vivienne said. “Usually it’s quieter.”

“And less touchy,” Cassidy muttered.

“I like touchy.” Harlow reached for another croissant. “Life should have more hugs. Studies show that hugging releases oxytocin which reduces stress and—”

“Harlow.” Vivienne rubbed her temples. “It’s seven forty-five in the morning.”

“Prime hugging hours.”

I grabbed a croissant. Still warm. Flaky layers that practically dissolved on contact. Chef Laurent knew his business.

Iris loaded her plate with berries, yogurt, and what looked like half the chocolate pastries. “Can we eat here every day?”

“You don’t live here,” I reminded her.

“I could though.”

“No.”

“But—”

“Iris.”

She sighed. Dramatic. “You never let me have fun.”

“I let you have plenty of fun.”

“Name one time.”

“Yesterday. Blanket fort. Harlow’s room.”

Iris pointed her fork at me. “That was Harlow’s fun. I want mansion fun. Every day.”

Cassidy snorted into her orange juice. “It’s not that great.”

“You live in a house with a swan pond.”

“They’re aggressive.”

“You have an aquarium. With a manta ray.”

“He’s boring. Just swims in circles.”

“You have actual maids.”

“Mrs. Tanaka is the housekeeper,” Vivienne corrected. “Not a maid.”

Iris threw up her hands. “Fine. You have a housekeeper. Who brings you breakfast. Made by a French chef. In your mansion.”

Silence fell.

Then Cassidy shrugged. “Okay yeah. It’s pretty good.”

Harlow laughed so hard she nearly spilled her juice.

I ate my croissant. Let the conversation wash over me like white noise.

The dream kept flickering at the edges of my thoughts. Her hips moving. Her mouth on mine. The way she’d asked which one I wanted.

My stomach twisted.

I needed to not think about this.

Vivienne set down her teacup. “Isaiah.”

I looked up.

She studied me across the table. “You look worse than yesterday.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I’m being serious.” Her purple eyes swept over my face. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Some.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

Vivienne’s expression said she didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to push. Yet.

Cassidy leaned back in her chair. Crossed her arms. “He’s probably stressed about tonight.”

“Tonight?” Iris perked up.

“Launch party,” I said. “For Vivienne’s new collection.”

“You’re going?” Iris’s eyes went wide. “Like. To a party? With rich people?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s so cool.” She turned to Vivienne. “Can I see pictures?”

“No photography is allowed during the private portions,” Vivienne said. “But the red carpet arrivals will be posted to the Valentine Holdings social media accounts by ten.”

Iris pulled out her phone. Started typing furiously.

I grabbed another croissant before she could monopolize the conversation with questions about designer dresses and celebrity guests.

Harlow bounced in her seat. “Oh! I should help you pick a tie.”

“I have a tie.”

“You have one tie color. Isaiah. One. That’s. That’s a crime.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s sad.”

Vivienne actually nodded. “She’s correct.”

I looked at Vivienne. “You’re agreeing with her?”

“Even I recognize that one tie color is insufficient for varied formal occasions.”

“See?” Harlow pointed at Vivienne. “Even the ice queen agrees.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop being cold.”

“I’m not cold. I’m practical.”

“You color-code your emotions.”

Vivienne’s face went slightly pink. “I do not.”

Sabrina flipped another page. “You do though.”

“Sabrina.”

“Red is anger. Blue is disappointment. Yellow is cautious optimism. Green is—”

“I will fire you,” Vivienne said to me. “Just to spite her.”

I held up both hands. “I’m Switzerland.”

Cassidy leaned forward. “What color is whatever you’re feeling about Angelo right now?”

The table went silent.

Vivienne’s face cycled through three separate shades of red in under two seconds.

“Purple,” Sabrina said. Calm as death.

Harlow gasped. “What’s purple?”

“Attraction,” Sabrina supplied. “Obviously.”

I choked on my croissant.

Vivienne stood so fast her chair scraped. “This conversation is over.”

“But we haven’t established—” Harlow started.

“Over.” Vivienne grabbed her tablet. “I have emails.”

She walked out.

The door didn’t slam. Vivienne would never slam a door. But it closed with enough force to communicate her feelings perfectly.

Cassidy grinned. “That was amazing.”

“Poor Vivi,” Harlow said. Not sounding sorry at all.

Sabrina turned another page.

Iris looked at me. “So. Purple?”

“Eat your berries.”