Daddy's Little Princess on AO3
Daddy's Little Princess on TWCS
Six Years Since the Birth of Elizabeth Renee Cullen
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” squealed my favorite voice. The pounding of her little feet alerted me to her arrival. I was barely out of my car when my perfect angel threw herself into my arms. “Daddy! I missed you!” she said, kissing my cheek.
“Bethy,” I breathed, hugging my baby girl. “I was only gone for a few hours.”
“I know, but summer is soooooooooooooo boring when you’re at work,” Bethy said, giving me a wicked smirk. “When are we going to Italy with Papa?”
“Two weeks, Princess,” I said, adjusting her on my hip. “Where’s your mom?”
“She’s working on her climax,” Bethy answered. My eyes bugged out slightly, but then I realized that Bethy was probably describing Bella’s book. She was the queen of erotica with a suspenseful twist.
Our story, Il Principessa del Mafioso, earned Bella nearly five million dollars and a movie deal. She was now working on the third novel in a trilogy based on the Irish Mafia.
“Was Mommy writing all day?” I asked as I carried my daughter into the house and set her on her feet once inside.
“No. Auntie Ro and Uncle Emmy came over with the new baby this morning,” Bethy smiled, skipping to the fridge. She pulled down a picture that was new. Bethy was sitting on my recliner, holding a tiny pink bundle, wrapped in a blue blanket. Rose was smiling softly and Bella was caressing Bethy’s hair. I assume that Emmett was the one taking the picture. Bethy did not look amused.
“What’s the baby’s name?” I asked, crouching down to her level while I loosened my tie.
“Gavin,” she said. “Gavin Charles.” Bethy scrunched up her nose. “He was smelly, Daddy. He pooped all over his butt. It was gross.”
“I hate to break it to ya, Princess, when you were his size, you did the same,” I snickered, tugging on Bethy’s reddish brown pigtails.
“Did not!” she said, putting the picture back on the fridge.
“Did so, baby,” Bella laughed. “It was my one request, bambina, and you didn’t do it. All of those cute outfits, ruined by poop.” My wife of seven years glided over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Hi, amore. Good day at the office?”
“Better now that I’m home,” I said, kissing her soft lips. “Hmmm, another one.” Bella giggled, nipping at my mouth before dancing out of my arms.