Alessandra
“Erica, I told you, we can’t go outside until your brother is done eating,” I say, lifting another spoonful of orange goop to baby Ben’s lips. Veggie medley, I think.
Erica groans and throws herself on the floor, ever the drama queen. I do my best not to roll my eyes and focus on feeding the baby.
All right, Alessandra, nine hours down, one hour to go. There’s a big plate of pasta and a hunky millionaire waiting for you at the end of this hell of a day.
Ben pulls his head away from the spoon, his tiny lower lip quivering with frustration. I try the old airplane trick one last time, trilling my lips and making the spoon look like it’s flying, only to be met with another head jerk from the baby.
“Come on, Ben, open up,” I croon, bringing the spoon to his lips again.
But the
