This surprises Adrian most of all. He stares at her. “Really?”

She nods. “I mean, it wouldn’t have ended well, because Mateo, but sure.”

“She would’ve corrupted you,” Mateo states, glancing back at Adrian.

Mia scoffs. “Yeah, I’m the corruptor in this group. Definitely.”

“Huh,” Adrian murmurs.

The line finally moves. I contemplate how hard it would be to get rid of Elise and fix Adrian up with Mia. Ultimately it seems like a lot of work, and I’m not convinced Mateo would allow it, so I stick with the sister wife serenity.

Mia’s commitment to her cause wanes a bit when we get inside the theater. It’s gorgeous, and Mia’s never even been to anything like this before so she gets starry-eyed, taking in every beautiful inch of the interior. Mateo takes advantage of her momentary happiness to wrap his other arm around her waist and she doesn’t resist. Now it no longer looks like we are on a double date. Now it looks like what it is—we’re both his, and Adrian is just here to keep guard.

This all feels pretty much normal to me at home, but it’s a bit jarring now that we’re in public. Mostly people are involved with their own lives, but we still catch some odd looks. I’m just pregnant enough that I’m not drawing much attention, but Mia is a 19-year-old knockout at her physical peak and all dolled up in a skimpy, backless dress; she gets more than a few once-overs from more than a few men. She doesn’t seem to notice (which is so annoying). Mateo does, but he doesn’t care. He’s not Vince-possessive, and he probably doesn’t mind showing her off, anyway. I’m amused by the guys who watch long enough to make it past Mia’s sexiness, past Mateo with his arm curled possessively around her, and then on to pregnant little ol’ me, his other arm wrapped around me. That’s when the eyebrows jump. That’s when the confusion registers.

It’s fun. It’s really fun. We need to go freak people out in public more often.

I lean in to tell Mateo, “People-watching is fun.”

He smiles, perceptive enough to pick up on the same things I’ve been picking up on. “Isn’t it?”

“I think we should do it more often,” I tell him. “Let’s go to sporting events. I don’t like sporting events, but there are lots of men there. We can put Mia in a white tank top and short shorts and parade her around. It’ll be great.”

Mia leans forward now, hearing her name. “What?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” I reply.

Mia wrinkles her nose up at the endearment, and a man walking past bumps into Adrian in his attempt to look back at Mia’s ass. Adrian is not amused. The man turns red and starts paying attention to where he’s going. Mateo smiles and gives me a little squeeze.

Yes, the theater is fun.

The show’s pretty good, too. We’ve got good seats up front. Mateo bought out the seats around us, because Adrian hates people and Mateo likes privacy anyway. It’s a pretty full show, so we look like major assholes. We kind of are though, so it is what it is.

I steal glances over at Mia from time to time, on Mateo’s other side. Once the theater goes dark and the show starts, Mateo takes her hand. She lets him. So he starts running his fingers over the sensitive skin on her wrist. Judging by the rise and fall of her chest, he’s turning her on. I take this to mean he is not coming to our bedroom tonight.

When the show lets out, Mia and I are both pretty pumped. She rattles on about her favorite parts, and I share in her excitement. The men don’t join us for this conversation, they just let us tire ourselves out as we walk back to the car.

Impulsively, since we’re walking ahead of them, I grab Mia’s hand. She seems surprised for a split second, then shrugs and starts swinging it.

“We should go out on the town more often,” she tells me.

“Just wait until we’re in Paris,” I tell her. “We’re gonna have to take someone to stay at the hotel with the kids in the evenings so we can all go out at night.”

“Paris, huh?” she asks, reluctantly pulled in.

I nod, grinning over at her. “It’ll be great. We can go shopping during the day and stop at cute little cafes. Go to the Louvre and the opera house. Have a picnic with the girls—they can blow bubbles in front of the freaking Eiffel Tower. Get pumped for this.”

“That does sound pretty great,” she admits.

I nod, still swinging her hand. “Mateo’s been there before with Beth, so I’m sure he knows some good stuff to do. And then when our little ones are all tucked away in bed, we can go out with Mateo. I’m pretty sure the French will be more open-minded about our whole thing we’ve got going on here, but I’m not going to Paris to people watch, so who even cares?”