HELENA POV
The twins had turned the bedroom into a battlefield of discarded toys, overturned cushions, and suspiciously damp socks, and for some reason Trish still insisted we get ready in here instead of locking ourselves in the bathroom where no toddler feet could reach us. She stood behind me with a curling wand in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, her eyes narrowed as she attempted to tame my hair into something reasonably presentable for a date night.
I sat on the little vanity stool, trying not to flinch each time one of my sons launched himself across the bed like he believed gravity was optional. Trish’s eyebrows pulled together in concentration while she twisted a strand into place.
"Hold still," she muttered. "If you move again I am shaving your head and telling Maxwell
