Ivy Forrester személy
Don’t call me that.” She looked down.
I tipped her face back up. “What?”
Shit. I called her baby?
“Why not?” I asked. I was supposed to tell her she’d been hearing things. That grief was making her cuckoo.
“Because I like it.”
“Braeden James Walker!” Ivy intoned, putting her hands on her hips. “What have you done to my daughter!”
His [Braeden] eyes widened, and he glanced down. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She is not!” Braeden insisted. “What kind of father do you think I am? No daughter of mine will be showing her girly bits to all the world.”