“Happy birthday, Famke,” Nyx shoved a box across the table.
Famke opened the package and took to laughing. “No way.”
“Is that my face?” Royal asked his eyebrows meeting in the middle.
“Remember when you went to the doctor, and you were complaining how the mood swings aren’t getting better despite the medication adjustments and sometimes you wanted to punch Royal in the face for breathing loudly? Now you can.” Nyx was proud of herself as Famke showed off the children’s version of a stand-up punching bag, she’d specially ordered with Royal’s face on it.
Royal took the box from her and grinned, “it’s saying something about my ego isn’t it, when I’m proud of the fact I’ve been made into a toy?” The table laughed at his comment. “You don’t need this, baby girl. We can duke it out anytime y
