"You're hovering again," I said without looking up from the cake I was decorating.

Aiden stepped back, hands raised in surrender. "Sorry. Force of habit."


Two months had passed since our confrontation with Elder North. Two months of careful rebuilding, of tentative steps toward reconciliation. We weren't living together—I'd kept my apartment above the bakery—but Aiden had become a fixture in my daily life again, helping with pre-dawn bread preparations, attending doctor's appointments, assembling nursery furniture with more enthusiasm than skill.

"The doctor said your blood pressure was elevated," he reminded me. "You should be resting, not standing for hours decorating wedding cakes."

I piped another perfect rose onto the three-tiered masterpiece. "The doctor also said moderate activity is fine. This is my biggest commission yet, and I'm not letting Mia handle it alone."


He sighed but didn't argue further—progress, considering the old Aiden would have simply commanded me to rest, expecting immediate compliance.

"At least sit while you work," he compromised, sliding a stool behind me.


I accepted the gesture, my seven-month belly making standing for long periods genuinely uncomfortable, though I'd never admit it aloud.

As I worked, Aiden moved around the bakery kitchen with surprising familiarity, restocking supplies and cleaning equipment without being asked. He'd learned the rhythms of my business, respecting it as an extension of me rather than a hobby or distraction.

"Elder North called again," he said casually, though I caught the tension in his shoulders. "She wants to host a baby shower at the main house."

I nearly dropped my piping bag. "A baby shower? She hates me."

"She hates that she couldn't control me through you," he corrected. "But she's pragmatic. You're carrying the next North Alpha. She's adjusting her strategy."

"So I've gone from unsuitable mate to valuable broodmare? How flattering."

Aiden winced. "That's not—"

"I know," I sighed. "Pack politics. Always pack politics."

He set down the mixing bowl he'd been washing and came to stand beside me, careful not to crowd. "We don't have to accept. I told her I'd discuss it with you and that the decision was yours."

Another change—Aiden deferring to me on matters involving his family, acknowledging my right to set boundaries.

"I'll think about it," I promised, adding the final touches to the cake. "There. What do you think?"

He studied the elegant creation with genuine appreciation. "It's beautiful. Like everything you make."

The compliment warmed me more than it should have. I was still guarding my heart, still wary of falling back into old patterns. But moments like this—when he saw me, truly saw me and valued what I created—made resistance increasingly difficult.