Guarding Her: A Secret Baby Romance by Lexi Whitlow (33)

I look at Skye. Her body is pale and luminescent in the moonlight that filters in through the window. Her breasts are round and heavy, nipples pink and stiff. She’s no longer shy about her body since I’ve taught her the things it can do. And fuck, I’m not even done showing her yet. I haven’t wanted a drink since I met her, and I haven’t even looked in the direction of another woman.

I move to Skye and push her down on the bed. She draws her breath in sharply and lets out a little moan. Her eyes widen, and I lower myself down on one elbow, kissing her hard and putting my hand to her sweet, delicate neck. When my fingers press down ever so slightly, she sighs, and she brings her legs around my waist, trying to pull me into her.

“Not yet,” I say. I keep my body positioned above hers, letting my hand wander over her breasts, cupping them, rolling the nipples until she groans in frustration. “But soon. Very soon.”

“When?” The word comes out as a whimper.

I slide my body down on top of hers and place my cock at her entrance. Instead of slipping it inside, I rest it against her folds, covering it in slickness, stroking myself as she moans and pushes her body up to meet mine. I bring myself to the edge again and stop, moving my fingers instead to Skye’s pussy, this time slipping three inside. She cries out, but I stop again before she comes.

Bringing my lips to her collarbone, I kiss her there. My tongue finds one nipple and circles it. I bite down gently, and I listen to that wanting sound that Skye makes, the sound that makes me know I can do whatever I want to her. Any time I want to.

“Tomorrow. After we’re married,” I say. I pull away from her body and stroke my cock, watching her, thinking of her coming for me. All the times she has, all the times we still have together—before she leaves for good. “I want you to walk around in that white dress, knowing that it’s your last day as a virgin. After you say, ‘I do,’ I’m going to take you wherever I can get you alone, lift up your dress, and fuck you until your legs are shaking.” I take her hand in mine and kiss it, and I place it against her slippery sex.

“Oh God,” she whispers, hips lifting in pleasure.

“After you come tonight, you’re going to shave your pussy for me. I want you completely bare, nothing underneath that dress. I want you to feel every step you take tomorrow. You’ll be so wet when I fuck you.”

“I can’t,” she whispers. “I’ve never shaved before.”

“You will tonight. For your wedding. Tonight, I want to watch you make yourself come, thinking about how I’m going to take your virginity. How it’s going to hurt to take my cock—” I start stroking myself again, closing my eyes for a split second to imagine it. “And then it’s going to feel so fucking good that you’ll be begging for it. Begging me to come inside of you.”

Skye’s breath catches in her chest again, and she slides her fingers inside of her pussy, fucking herself, her ass lifting in the air.

“You want me to come inside of you, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking at me with those deep, dark eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her eyelids flickering up and down. “I want to feel you come—” She closes her eyes, and she lifts her fingers to her clit, bringing herself higher, closer.

“In your mouth. Your pussy.” I pause, stroking myself until I feel like I’m going to burst. I pull her into me and bite down gently on her ear lobe. “Your ass. All of it’s mine.”

Skye groans, her body tensing and releasing. “Fuck,” she moans. “Oh fuck.” Her eyes open. “Yes, yes—I want it all.” She cries out and comes for me, hard. Her body shakes, hips arching skyward.

Finally, I let go, my balls growing tight and releasing. I lose all control, unable to suppress the sudden urge to show her that I own that perfect, fuckable little body of hers. I come hard, on her pale body, covering her with my hot cum. On her pussy, between her legs. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—and I’ve marked her. Showed her exactly who she is.

“All mine,” I say again. “Tomorrow. Whatever I decide to do.”

Skye nods. Her lips purse together. It looks like she’s about to say something, but instead, she takes my hand and pulls me up. We go to the shower together, letting the hot water roll over our bodies.

Skye is the first woman I didn’t fuck on the first night I met her, all because of a hunch. I touch her body, let the soap bubbles roll over her supple curves, kiss her as the water streams over us.

If I was anyone else, this would be a beginning—the first night in my new apartment with my fiancée.

Instead, it feels like it could be an ending.

The future presses down on us like a ghost. There’s so much I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth closed. Instead, I use it for other things, tasting her, bringing her to the edge again and again beneath the hot waterfall of the shower.

And tomorrow, we have our very own, very fake, and according to my mother, very big—wedding.

Chapter Twelve

Skye

The church in Queens is big, old, and fully intimidating. Because everything happened so fast, I never stepped inside of it until the morning of the wedding.

“You’ll go down the aisle starting right here.” The woman, some aunt of Liam’s, gives me a bored look and points down the center aisle of the church. “And you’ve got how many bridesmaids?”

“Just one,” I say. “She’s back in the gathering hall in one of the rooms.” I shift uncomfortably. Even though Rhiannon put makeup on me in a tasteful, measured way, I still feel weird. I’m wearing one of Liam’s old t-shirts and his gym shorts, and my hair is pulled back into a bun with tendrils framing my face on either side. The hairspray Liam’s cadre of aunts used on me feels like it’s stuck on my skin as well as in my hair. The whole look is completely uncomfortable, and I keep wondering what Liam’s aunt thinks of me.

“That’s fine. Not everyone has as many brothers as Liam does.”

“How many exactly?” I clamp my mouth closed when I say this. I’m supposed to know everything about the man I’m marrying, right?

“How many what?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Brothers? I keep forgetting how many brothers Liam has.”

His aunt gives me a pained look. “Tell me honestly. Is this a shotgun wedding?”

I blush. “Oh, um. No, it’s not. I just… forgot what Liam said about his brothers.”

“Three. Damian, Finn, and Malachy.” The aunt sighs. I’ve already forgotten her name. She checks her watch. “You need to get going. The ceremony is going to start in an hour.”

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” My heart starts pounding hard, blood rushing in my ears.

The aunt ushers me back to the gathering hall, where Rhiannon waits for me in one room. Liam is somewhere else. With his brothers, his father.

I think of what he told me last night, and I’m suddenly terrified.

Liam’s aunt turns to me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Back in my day, we didn’t get to try on the shoes before we bought them.” She gives me a wink. “But you know what you’re getting into. You’re living in the same apartment! Your wedding night won’t be a surprise like mine was. The size of these men in this family! My sister-in-law—she married Padraic, Liam’s uncle—and she ended up in the emergency room the day before she was supposed to go on her honeymoon. Couldn’t walk straight for a week.”

She looks at me knowingly, and I turn as pale as the white dress I’m supposed to be wearing. The one Liam told me to put on without panties underneath.

I still have my panties on right now, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll obey him—my soon to be husband.

I think about that poor woman, in the emergency room, some thirty years ago—maybe she had one of Liam’s uncles sitting next to her. I wonder if he was hanging his head in embarrassment—or worse, if he was proud.

“I, um. I ought to go get dressed.” I hurry off, avoiding the aunt’s stare. There’s a burning warmth between my legs when I think of Liam. The fear that it might hurt—that he could be too much—only makes my desire for him more intense.

“Good luck, honey! You’ll do fine!” The aunt’s voice follows me down the hall, where I find Rhiannon waiting for me outside of one of the choir dressing rooms, just beside the big hall that’s been done up with a dance floor and a stage.

I guess that Liam’s mom had no problem buying the idea that we were getting married after only knowing each other for a couple of weeks. In fact, I’d wager she was actually glad one of her sons was finally getting married, whether or not it was for real.

Maybe she hopes it is.

“Get in here!” Rhiannon pulls me in the room and straightaway starts stripping me out of my clothes. Before I can even respond, she has me strapped into the corset-like strapless bra I’m supposed to be wearing with my dress. I have to contort my body to even fit into it—but the result is splendid. I turn to a mirror that leans against one wall, and I see a different person when I turn to look at myself.

My breasts are prominently on display, and my waist looks tiny. My hips jut out just like they always have, but today they look even more beautiful. I see myself how Liam sees me. I touch the curve of my hip, appreciating it.

“Here, put these on, too.” Rhiannon puts a pair of high heels—higher than I’ve ever worn—into my hand. I step into them, and my red toenails peek through.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk in these.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You can take them off after you walk down the aisle.”

I wonder as I stand there if Liam will want me to keep them on while he’s fucking me, and a thrill runs through my body. Signing the wedding certificate, lying to every guest here, faking what I always thought was a holy sacrament—it might be worth it if I get to lose my virginity with Liam fucking me in my wedding dress.

Rhiannon interrupts my reverie and brings the dress over to me, helping me pull it over my head. I close my eyes while she zips the dress to the top, and my breath catches in my throat. The bodice is tight and restrictive, but the full skirt feels like velvet against my legs.

“Wow,” Rhiannon breathes. “You look incredible. I mean, I know this isn’t like, the real thing. But still, you pulled it off. Where’d you even find this dress?”

“It was vintage. Found it on Etsy. It was like thirty bucks. Good deal huh? I was going to look at the thrift store near the apartment, but I didn’t have time. We had to set up the apartment and get it ready for Brie.”

“The apartment? You mean the one you’ve lived in for three years—the one in Brooklyn? Or the new one, with the tattooed boy with the dreamy eyes?”

I blush. “The new one.”

Rhiannon sighs. “This all worries me a fucking lot, for your information. Like, FYI, you shouldn’t do any of this.” She hands me a lipstick—bright red to match my toenails. “But you will look super fabulous doing it. I hate you for roping me into this, but I truly can’t resist weddings. Fucking hell.” She sighs dramatically.

Outside the door, there’s a voice. “You ready, little librarian?”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “You can’t see her! It’s bad luck—even though everyone knows this is a damn fake-ass shenanigan!” She says it loudly enough that I’m sure Liam hears her through the door.

“Don’t say that too loud. There are certain people here today that are counting on it being fake as fuck. So, we need to make it seem real.”

“I know,” I say, walking up to the door. I put my hand against it, like I can feel him on the other side, waiting for me. Waiting to marry me. Take my virginity. Maybe break my heart. “It’s going to look real.”

“I’m not worried about you, Skye. It’s your friend in there. Tell her to keep it cool. Marta is here with the kid—and she’ll be taking notes while she’s in the pews, no doubt.”

I gulp. I don’t want to be the one who ruins this custody battle for him.

“I’ll keep extremely cool,” Rhiannon says. I know she will.

“See you out there,” Liam says.

I don’t hear him walk away, and my hand is still pressed against the wooden door. “See you out there,” I repeat.

He walks away, and I’m left to do touchups on my makeup and put on the bright red lipstick. When I look in the mirror, I see a different person—one more confident and capable than the girl I knew only two weeks ago. Liam, for better or worse, has changed me. And surprisingly, I like what I see.

When Rhiannon walks out to the church, she squeezes me tight. “I’ll see you in five, babe.”

Before leaving the room, I shimmy out of my panties, shoving them in the bag I brought with me. I’m smooth, and I’m already wet for him, waiting. Wanting. The garter is the only thing I have on beneath my dress. Like Liam said, I feel every step. I anticipate every move, every touch of his skin against mine. I’ll change forever today, no matter what.

I wobble slightly on the heels as I walk out the door and down the hallway, passing through the empty halls to find my father, waiting for me. He hugs me awkwardly and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll never understand why you decided to do things so quickly,” he whispers, as we walk to the foyer that leads to the aisle. My stomach is full of butterflies.

“We’re in love,” I say automatically, though I’m not sure if the words mean anything. “We knew it was meant to be. We don’t want to wait anymore.”

These all sound like things a bride would say, if I were a real bride.

And I want him to fuck me. Be his for a little while. Do what he tells me, make him want me every day while I have him.

My dad takes my hands in his. “You do look sensational, honey. But tell me again. Just assure me—you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Not a chance,” I say. “There’s definitely no chance of that at all.” I smile, and my blood starts to buzz like it did when I used to get high with my friends in college. It could be the bra cutting off circulation to my brain, extreme anxiety, or a combination of the two, but I sort of feel like I’m tumbling forward. The music starts up, and just like that, my father is walking me down the aisle on my wedding day.

The side of the church that’s supposed to seat my guests is mostly empty. There are a few cousins who came on short notice, and my mother is there, looking shocked—but pleased. After Charlie and my withdrawal into myself, I think she decided she’d given birth to a spinster, dried up at the age of twenty-four. There’s a few girls from my dorm, and Mariella, my boss. Since she’s a romance writer, she thinks the whole thing is wickedly romantic—and she gave me the week off work. When I pass her by, she gives me a thumbs-up.

The Dougherty side is filled with perfectly made up women and their husbands, each of them prepared to come to a wedding on short notice—kind of like this stuff happens all the time around here. My stomach drops at the thought.

A pawn in a game. That’s what I am. Maybe. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Liam turns and sees me for the first time since this morning. When his eyes meet mine, I feel every movement of my body, all working together in tandem, building to the moment when he takes me into his arms tonight.

My father kisses my cheek again and goes to sit in the pew with my mother, who has tears in her eyes. Tears of shock or sadness, or maybe relief that her daughter finally got over the boy who broke her heart. I think that’s the real reason my parents are here—they were both so disappointed when I split with Charlie. And when I announced to them just days ago that I was getting married, they seemed surprised—but their voices sounded lighter the next day, like they had been wanting this. A real, true, religious wedding in a church. They didn’t even seem to mind that Liam is Irish Catholic. He’s a man for their daughter to have and hold—a real man for their pure, innocent daughter.

Little do they know.

As I walk, there’s a searing sensation like lightning striking through my core. My virgin sex is bare for him, and ready for the night I’ve been waiting for.

My father and mother look at me with pleased, if somewhat shell-shocked, expressions on their faces.

And then I turn to him. He’s standing next to his brothers, each tall and broad shouldered, wearing gray suits in slightly different shades. Liam’s tux makes him stand out, and he looks even bigger than each of them. His smile is broader, and his muscular frame more prominent.

Even if it’s all a ruse, it’s worth it for today.

This wedding can be practice. And I’ll lose my virginity on my wedding night, just like I had wanted. Just like I’d dreamed. But instead of the fear and pain I imagined in my younger years, Liam will give me pleasure—even if he can’t give me love.

I step up to Liam, and he takes my hand in his, and brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently. I’m wearing the tiny diamond he gave me. It occurs to me, when the priest starts speaking, that I’m not sure if he has a ring. For some reason, my heart beats hard when I think of this, like it will make it more real, one way or another.

One of his brothers reads from Corinthians, a passage I’ve heard a thousand times at all the Protestant weddings I went to with my parents. It’s sweet and simple, but the words say nothing about me and Liam. When he looks at me, I don’t feel pure love. Instead, I feel his eyes roaming over the swelling orbs of my breasts, down to my skirt that hides the treasure waiting just for him.

There’s nothing pure about what I want right now, even though he’s made me live by the letter of the law.

It’s not what I would have chosen.

But it’s what Liam wants, what he’s told me I’m going to do. Give myself to him fully, tonight.

Another brother reads the passage about a woman being a helpmeet to her husband. And then, the priest is talking again, and we repeat our vows. They’re just empty words here, not holy ones.

“Through sickness and health,” I repeat. “Until death do us part.” My face feels numb when I speak, and I can feel myself growing pale, my hands cold. But Liam grabs my fingers, and the warmth returns to them.

“I will stand by this woman,” he says. “I will be next to her in sickness and in health. In rich times and in poor. Until death do us part.”

“Do you have the rings?” The priest asks, his voice creaky.

One of his brothers—Damian with the dark hair and crystal blue eyes—hands two small gold rings to Liam. I know better than to ask where they come from. It’s an answer I’m sure I don’t want to know when it comes to the Dougherty family.

Before I can blink, Liam is slipping a ring onto my finger.

I look into his changeable, hazel eyes and swallow hard. Yellow and green and brown all at once. Like the mountains in the autumn.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, like he knows the line by heart. I guess he’s said it before—or I’m not sure. I don’t know if he and Tabitha were ever married. My heart leaps. How can I marry a man that I know barely anything about?

Before the thought takes hold, I find myself placing the ring on Liam’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

We turn to the small crowd in the church.

“Is there anyone here who objects to this marriage? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

My blood buzzes with nervousness. I look over to my parents, and back to Liam’s brothers. Everyone is silent, for now. Even Marta sits quietly, hands in her lap. Brie beams at us, even though Marta refused to let her be the flower girl. That awful woman gives me a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. I resist the urge to sneer at her. After all, this is partly for her.

It feels like forever, but there are no objections. I start to step down from the altar, nearly stumbling over my heels. But there’s more—I forgot. We never rehearsed, anyway.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest adds, as if it’s an afterthought.

Liam takes me by the waist and dips me down, his hand traveling over the nape of my neck. When he kisses me, I sense his deep, waiting hunger. His tongue finds mine, a welcome invasion. And I let myself melt into him, my body relaxed and calm as he kisses me in front of our family and friends.

Liam and I walk back down the aisle, music surrounding us, rose petals falling over us like spring rain.

We’ve gotten away with it.

And we’re man and wife.

Chapter Thirteen

Liam

Skye is holding onto my hand, knuckles white, when we walk into the gathering hall behind the church. Her friend, Rhiannon, is glaring at me, just like she was the other night. But she gives Skye a huge thumbs up when she sees her, and something tells me Rhiannon can’t resist a big event. I can see why Finn is looking at her, too. She’s a firecracker, exactly his type.

Still holding Skye’s hand, I gesture to my brother, Finn. “Get her a drink,” I mouth to him, gesturing to Rhiannon. “And keep her happy.”

The last thing I need is that redheaded girl to remind me that this wedding is the last thing she wants for her friend. I get it—I do. And I respect a person who’s loyal like that.

But the truth is, I’m not planning on hurting this woman. Not today—unless she wants it. I look down at Skye. Her curves fill out that sweet little dress perfectly. She looks sweet and innocent, while still giving off that vibe. The one that makes me know for sure that she wants me—and she wants me badly.

But she’ll have to wait longer.

As we head into the heart of the hall, we’re greeted by our families, staring at us. A great whoop of cheering and yells comes from my relatives and the few friends who could make it on short notice. I look to Skye’s parents and the conservative girls who roomed with her at Columbia University. Two of them are wearing white cardigans, and three others look like they might die of embarrassment from being in the same room as my boisterous, tattooed brothers and cousins.

I watch as my brother Malachy walks over to them, balancing four drinks on his massive arms, carrying a fifth in his mouth. He’s got his eyes on at least two of them—the man likes a challenge, just like me.

“This is weird,” Skye whispers. “I didn’t think we’d actually go through with it.”

I shrug. “We’re married. It’s no big deal. Not with the contract we signed.”

“That’s not exactly what I need to hear right now, Liam.” She croaks the words out, like the very thought of it all terrifies her.

“Hey, no.” I take her hands and lead her over to get a drink. The crowd parts for us. “Give the bride here a drink, man. Something strong. She needs a bit of loosening up.”

The bartender obliges, and I lead Skye around to the members of my family, while she clutches her drink and tries to take graceful sips occasionally. As the drink starts to disappear, I feel her grip grow lighter. She wobbles slightly on her heels, and I catch her by the waist, letting my hand roam a little lower and cup her juicy ass. I don’t feel any panty lines, and I look to her with a raised eyebrow as I lead her on the dance floor.

“It’s time for the bride and groom to share their first dance,” my cousin Josh shouts to the audience, and I gesture for Skye to finish the rest of her drink.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she hisses at me. She’s trying to sound angry, but I can tell that she’s nervous instead. “We didn’t practice a dance. We didn’t have time.”

Her voice is panicked, but I take her into my arms and feel her calm. The lights go down, and the music begins.

“We use the same wedding song for every Dougherty first dance. It’s tradition. No big deal.”

Etta James’ rich voice comes to life, filling the dance hall. Skye’s drink has worked enough on her that I’m able to pull her from her motionless stance into something that resembles dancing.

At last, my love has come along. The notes float through the dance hall. I might be the only Dougherty brother to ever get married. And this might not last. But with the beer I had earlier, I have the thought that it might not be all bad if it did last.

I look down at her. She’s a good half a foot shorter than I am, even in heels. Her eyes are dark and searching in the dim light.

“It’s easy to dance to,” I whisper. “Just move your body with mine. Like you’re going to do later.” I lean in closer, my voice even lower when I speak. “When I fuck you for the first time.”

Skye cracks a smile for the first time since she saw me at the altar. “Thought you’d forgotten about that with all the excitement around here.”

“Not a chance in hell I’d forget.” I tangle my fingers in her hair and kiss her hard again, like I did in front of everyone in the church. When my lips meet hers, it’s like there’s no one else in the room. The cheers of everyone around us, the sultry love song in the background—it all fades out. There’s nothing but the sweet taste of her, the soft touch of her fingertips at the back of my neck, the swell of my cock pressing against her thigh. I break away and speak low into her ear. “You’re not wearing panties, are you? I’ll be disappointed if you are. When I grabbed that fine ass before, I didn’t think I felt anything underneath.”

She blushes deep red, contrasting against her wedding dress. Like a rose against snow. A rose that I’m about to pluck.

“No, there’s nothing under there. Just the garter.”

I twirl her out and back into my arms. It comes naturally, like we’ve been practicing this for weeks—like we meant every word of the ceremony. Like this reception celebrates something true. For now, maybe it does.

The song ends. The dance is done—the dance that our relatives can witness is, anyway.

We stand in the middle of the floor, fingertips linked together, touching. There’s a low hum of anticipation in my body, but it’s not just the idea of finally knowing Skye’s body fully. It’s something else altogether, and I don’t know if I could put a name on it. There’s something blocking it, deep inside. I push it down and let Skye’s fingertips go. She’s immediately surrounded by a group of her friends and a few of my cousins, all chatting about her dress and her hair, and why exactly the wedding was on such short notice. Skye is a champ, and doesn’t mention a thing about the hearing. Instead, she gives our story about a secret courtship and true love that sprang up after only a couple of months.

More like two weeks. Or has it been three? I’ve lost track of the time.

I watch Skye for a second. She’s absorbed into the small crowd of women. I can’t help wishing it were just the two of us, right here. Right now. But we promised everyone here a wedding—or a scandal—whatever they think this is.

I turn and scan the crowd for Brie. She’s standing stiffly at Marta’s side, holding onto her skirt, but when she sees me looking at her, she comes running across the floor. She does it before Marta can catch her and hold her back. That woman is always pulling that shit, keeping Brie from hugging me. From seeing me. Making excuses for her not to come on her supervised visits. Sick days, dentist appointments. All for control, or revenge, or some sick possessiveness that I don’t even understand. When I see them interact, it’s like she doesn’t even like Brie.

And when my little girl comes rushing into my arms, there’s no way I can imagine a person treating her that way.

Don’t worry baby girl. Daddy’s going to make everything okay.

I lift her into my arms and spin her around the dance floor when another song comes on. Marta scowls at us, but my brothers come in and join us, and we dance together until the song is done. Maybe it will make up for Marta not letting Brie be in the wedding because it was ‘too soon,’ and she ‘didn’t know Skye well enough.’

“Hey Princess,” I say to Brie. “What do you think about all of this?”

“I like Skye,” she says simply. “She’s got a really pretty dress. And she’s nice to me when I see her. She got me a donut after we went to the park. She’s nicer than Marta.”

I laugh. “Are you calling her Marta now? That’s not respectful.” I walk Brie to the other side of the dance floor, away from her grandmother, who is probably itching to take her home. If her lawyer hadn’t told her to be here, I doubt she would have even come.

“She sucks.” Brie looks up at me with her wide, sweet eyes.

I try to stifle my laughter, but it comes anyway. I kneel to her level. “Let’s not use that word, okay?”

“Okay.” Brie shuffles her feet and looks afraid for a second, but when she sees my face, it’s like she remembers it’s me.

“But between you and me, she absolutely sucks.”

“Can I come live with you?” Tears form in her eyes as she speaks, and it’s like there’s a dagger going through my heart. “I think I’d be a really good part of your new family. Marta says—” She stops.

I balk at that. It sounds like Marta has gotten in her head. “Skye and I got that place in Queens so that you could be there with us. Did Marta tell you something different?”

She nods. “She said you were getting married so you could start a new family without me.” She takes my hand. “But I didn’t believe her. Skye was nice to me, and she gave me a hug when she saw me today. And you’ve always said I’m number one.”

“You are, baby. And yes, Skye and I—we’re trying our hardest to make sure everything is in place so that the judge will let you come stay with us. And then maybe live with us, too.” I realize I’m saying ‘us’ when I talk about Skye. Like that’s the natural way to think of her. She’s a part of me, a part of ‘us.’

“Why can’t a judge make it happen right away? You’re my dad. I’ve been waiting forever.”

“It’s only been a year since the judge said you had to live with Marta. Since then, I’ve been saving all sorts of money and planning so that I can be the best dad possible.” I try to remind myself not to insult the courts or the judges or even Marta. Rise above. That’s what my lawyer tells me. “They were just giving me some time. Making sure I could do all those things. And Skye is helping me even more.”

“And she’ll be with us forever? I think I’d like that.”

I pause for a second. Always be honest. “I don’t know, Brie. I know she’s with us right now, and she wants me to be with you.”

“Because it makes her happy?”

I cock my head to the side and look at my daughter. She’s so much taller than she was when she was five, and she seems so much more like a big kid. “What do you mean by that?”

“Teacher Andrea said at school that when you love someone, you want them to be happy. So, if she loves you, she wants you to be happy. And you’ve always said that I’m the thing that makes you happy, even when everything else sucks.”

I crack another smile. “When did you get so smart?” I kiss her on the head, tamping down that same feeling that sparked inside of me before, after the dance with Skye. “And don’t say ‘sucks,’ please. I don’t care if Marta doesn’t like it, but Ma isn’t going to like it. Best to get out of the habit, especially around Gramma.”

“Okay,” she says, giving me a kiss on my nose.

I pull her up onto my hip and take her over to Skye, acting more on instinct than anything else. “I thought you might want to see Skye again tonight.”

Shy, Brie buries her face against my neck, but then she looks at Skye. “I think your dress looks pretty.”

“Thank you. You look beautiful too. Like the princess in Beauty and the Beast. What’s her name again?” Skye’s eyes sparkle when she speaks, and she runs her fingers through Brie’s hair.

“Belle.” Brie smiles big, and I put her down between the two of us. Skye kneels, taking off her heels in the process, and I watch as the two of them talk together. I have the sudden sensation of deja vu, like I’ve seen all of this before, witnessed it happening. But that’s insane—it’s probably the chill in the room, or the feeling of the song that’s playing now.

When I turn around, the sensation breaks. Marta is standing in front of me, and she’s looking at the three of us with her permanent expression—a nasty sneer. “The girl and I have to leave. She’s going to get confused about where she belongs if she stays too much longer.”

I look at the time, and it is Brie’s bed time. Rise above, I think. I can’t help but get one solid dig in. “The only one confused about where Brie belongs is you. Wait until the twenty-eighth. We’ll make sure Brie is with us from then on.”

“I’ll be interested to see you try.” She steps closer to me and whispers harshly. “This whole fucking thing is a total sham. It’s as scammy and trashy as you are.” She makes a scoffing sound, looking over at Skye. “And what girl would marry you? Certainly no one fit enough to raise my grandchild. Like she’ll stay, anyway. You using your savings to pay her off?”

“Those savings are for Brie. And you won’t get your hands on any of it,” I say. I try not to snarl in front of my child, but it’s hard to prevent when it comes to Marta.

“Come on. We’re going,” Marta says, snatching at Brie’s hand.

“Do we have to go?” Brie looks up at us.

“Yes, child. We’ll be going shortly.” Marta snatches Brie’s hand. Before she goes, she gives me one last look. “I’ll find out what it is—whatever you’re hiding. Whatever ridiculous history you have with this girl. And where you’ve got that damn money. And I’ll have evidence of it by the time we go to court.”

The old bitch has plenty of cash to hire private investigators and get everyone in Queens on her side. But she wants my hard earned cash too. Just so I don’t have it. And somehow, she’s gotten everyone to believe this frail old lady act.

Brie pulls away to hug me one last time, and she rushes over to Skye and embraces her like she’s a life raft in the midst of a stormy sea. “I’ll see you soon,” Skye says, smoothing Brie’s hair again.

Marta pulls her away, traipsing through the small crowd of people like she owns the place. I crack my knuckles in anger. Skye stands up next to me, holding her heels in her hand. When I look down, her red toenails glint in the light.

I want to growl, to scream. To tear this whole place down. But when she touches me, the feeling starts to fade. I turn to her, and I have that feeling again. The feeling like I’ve been here before, or like I imagined this a long time ago.

Maybe we could be a family. Maybe.

I kiss her lightly on the lips and look at the shoes in her hand. For an instant, I think of her bare feet, wrapped around my back as I thrust inside of her. When I look at her, taking her all in, it feels like years that I’ve been waiting. She’s still pure, still a sweet virgin. And with all the pent-up rage and frustration circling through my body, wild and ominous, I’ll take her this night and make her mine.

I grab my wife and dance with her again, speaking to our guests, reassuring every third person that this isn’t a shotgun wedding. I tell an uncle that she didn’t blackmail me into it, and I’m not sure he believes me. With each movement, each step, her body presses against mine. Now, her hip. Next, a soft brush of her breast. The faint outline of a stiffened nipple beneath her dress. My cock throbs. Her mouth, her pussy. Her sweet ass.

As people start to file out of the hall, I’m met with the overwhelming urge to make this woman come. On my cock, on my tongue. However I can, all fucking night long.

There are only a few people left, and they’re all drunk.

I catch her hand and pull her to the side.

“You’re coming with me, now,” I growl. “I need you, now.”

She looks at me, eyes wide. “But the wedding’s not over.”

“Close enough, my little librarian. And our apartment is just a block away. We could sneak off without anyone knowing.”

“It’s our apartment now, is it?” She gives me a coquettish look.

I put my hand around her waist and start moving her towards the door. “It is. And I’m taking my wife there.” I pull her by the hand and she laughs. We start running before anyone else can catch us and make us listen to their wedding stories or their questions about Brie’s school. We’re sprinting by the time we hit the street.

A light spring rain has started by the time we reach the door, and I hold Skye by the waist and kiss her as the rain drizzles over us, wetting our skin. I pick Skye up off the ground and throw her over my shoulder.

“Oh, my God! What are you doing?”

“Carrying you over the threshold,” I say, balancing her over one shoulder as I shove my way in the door. “And then I’m going to fuck you. All night long.”

I pull her into my arms and carry her over the threshold like a proper bride.

It might have all been a fake, but this part sure as fuck feels real.

Chapter Fourteen

Skye

The rain falls heavy now against the windows. The cherry blossoms have just started to bloom in New York, and the petals are everywhere, including the front courtyard of this tiny townhouse in Queens. I look over my shoulder and see that some of the crushed petals are clinging to the window outside.

It’s everything I had imagined for a wedding day—and yet, none of it was how it should be. It wasn’t real. It’s not like I cling to scripture or the Bible or any of that anymore, but I’d imagined true love. And I’d wondered what it would feel like to walk down the aisle with someone who wanted to be with me forever, someone who would put me first above everything.

But I look into Liam’s changeable eyes and realize that maybe this is better. Lust. Aching, sweet desire pooling in my sex, my mouth watering for his cock. My body desperate and hungry for his touch.

Because I’d waited so long for Charlie, I had no concept of desire like this.

This man—with his dark eyes, his traditional tattoo that ties him to his family, his impeccable physique—he’s the Harlequin romance pirate. He’s the one who takes the virgin down to the hold and tastes her for the first time, the one who rips her bodice and ravishes her until she’s screaming his name.

I always wanted that to be me. And now it is.

Liam sets me down gently after we cross the threshold. I’m not entirely sure where my shoes went, but my feet are bare and wet from running down the sidewalk from the Catholic church in Queens.

“You were supposed to keep your heels on.” His voice is gruff, but his eyes spark when he speaks, like he’s amused. “I have to punish girls who don’t do exactly as I say.”

“I knew you liked the heels,” I reply. “But you didn’t tell me explicitly to wear them here. I don’t think they’re essential here.”

“Don’t be saucy with me,” he says, kissing my neck. He nips me there.

“I’ll be however I please, husband.”

Liam brings a strong hand to my neck and grasps me there like he did last night. Flames lick over my thighs and through my core.

“No. You’ll do what I please. What I want. Are you ready for this, librarian?”

“I am. I think.” The blush rises from deep within my body. There’s a sensation deep inside of me—one of fire and rain and earth. Something deeply elemental. As if in response, the rain picks up, beating hard against the windows.

He kisses me hard, pulling me into his body.

I go to unhook the back of my wedding dress, hands shaking. “I need you to help me.”

“I said you were going to keep it on. And I’m a man of my word.” He cups one of my breasts, roughly, his hand kneading the fabric. The pressure, almost at the tipping point of pain, makes me gasp. I groan slightly, throwing my head back. “But I am going to do something about this hair of yours.”

His hands go to the bun, pulling out the long pins that hold it in place. My hair, always too straight to stay up for long, falls loose and messy around my face. I bring a hand to it. “It doesn’t look right like this—”

“Looks perfect to me.” His eyes bore into me, like he’s gazing into my soul. Like he’s undressing me and making me his all at once. Liam tangles his fingers in my hair, shaking it free. It brushes the tops of my shoulder, and I shiver.

I gulp. “Are we going to the bedroom or—” I glance around. The apartment is still mostly bare. We brought in one of my overstuffed chairs and an old couch his mother had in her house. Beyond that, there’s only a coffee table.

He laughs, and he brings his hand to my collarbone, tracing his fingers over it. “We’ll go wherever the fuck I want to take you.” His eyes are animal then—wanting, searching.

Liam grabs me by the waist and lifts my dress with his free hand, bringing his fingers to the folds of my sex.

“Oh—” I barely get out the sound before he slips a finger inside of me, exploring me. He carefully avoids my clit, instead slipping his fingers over my wetness and then inside me, tapping the ridged spot inside. The heat that’s been burning in my body all day starts to build to a crescendo of intensity. That’s when he stops, pulling his hand away.

He grins. “Thought I’d let you come that easily? I need you warmed up. Very warmed up for this.” He brings a hand to the pants of his tuxedo, stroking the outline of his hard cock. His fingers find the zipper and unleash its length.

I’ve seen it before, tasted it. But now, it’s supposed to fit somewhere else, and it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time ever.

I expect him to force me to my knees, take it to the back of my throat—like he did before. My mouth even waters for it. I want his taste in me, to be part of me.

Instead, he kneels before me and lifts my dress, bringing his fingers to the lace of my pink and white garter.

“Fuck, that looks beautiful.” His fingertips travel higher, touching the bare mound of my sex.

He brings his lips to my legs, kissing me on bare skin. He takes the garter in his teeth and pulls it down my leg, tossing it to the side of the room.

I shudder. I want him buried inside of me, his tongue on my skin, tasting me. He kisses up to the tops of my thighs, and I feel myself growing wet, slippery, ready for him even though he hasn’t touched me yet. The gauzy tulle of the wedding dress grazes the tops of my hips, and the corset-like bra holds me, tense and straight. Beneath the garment, my nipples stiffen, hard as pebbles. I moan—the need rising within me is something akin to pain. But I might like the pain. I might need it.

When his mouth is poised just before my bare sex, he breathes me in, looking up at me with hungry eyes.

“I need you ready, Skye. It’s your first time, for real. Isn’t it?”

I nod weakly, my legs trembling with desire. “Yes.”

“You’re my sweet virgin, and I’m going to teach you exactly what it takes to please me. Are you ready for that? For my cock?” His fingers find the entrance of my sex, teasing it, his thumb tapping lightly on my clit. A lightning bolt of need sears straight through me, to my very core.

That’s what he does to me. He shakes me to my core. Makes me someone different. A person I don’t recognize, standing in an apartment in Queens in a damn wedding dress. Married to a man I barely know.

Liam’s breath is hot against my sex. “Tell me what you want,” he says, panting.

“I want—” I still blush when I try to tell him these things, but my need is overwhelming, pulsing through me like waves crashing against the shore. “I want your tongue on my clit. I want it.” I shudder when I say the words, and I hike the billowing skirt of the wedding dress higher.

Liam doesn’t hesitate, nearly growling with his own need as his mouth finds me. Before, he was slow and methodical when his tongue met my sex—but now, he devours me, thrusting his tongue inside of me, grabbing my hips with his hands. His fingers dig into my skin as his tongue circles my clit, his lips pulling against it. I’m shaking with need, hips bucking against his face. If it weren’t for his hands gripping my ass, I’m sure I’d fall in an embarrassing heap of lace and crinoline. But he holds me up, eating me, tongue thrusting inside of me like a man starving.

I come, shaking against him, closing my eyes, transported. My consciousness seems to flicker out for a moment, and from a distance, I hear myself moaning, crying out. The orgasm is so intense that I feel disembodied, absent from myself. The pulsing, throbbing intensity of it takes over every pore in my body, every cell.

And strangely, it leaves me unsatisfied, longing for more, even as I pant and writhe with his mouth against my bare sex.

I was always told wedding nights were reserved for love. But I never imagined it quite like this. Then again, this isn’t an ordinary wedding night.

I nearly collapse against him, but he brings me down to the floor with him, pulling me into his arms and kissing me hard. “You taste so fucking good, baby. I could live on that taste. Goddamn.”

Liam stands and lifts me again, like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the bedroom and placing me on the bed. When he undresses, I can see the bulge, pressing against the fabric of his tux, straining to be let free. I’ve tasted him, taken him all the way back to my throat, let him come. But this—this makes me nervous.

His cock is huge and thick, and he strokes himself. There’s a bead of precum at the tip, and he groans slightly as he brings his hand over the head of it.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he says, staring at me intently. “Spread your legs, and show me your pussy.”

“Do you want the dress on—”

“Yes. Keep it on. And just do as I say. No talking back.”

I bring myself forward, heart pounding, spreading my legs, feet planted on the floor.

“Now touch yourself for me.”

I do as he says, spreading my lips apart, finding my clit. I slip one finger inside.

And then he comes to me, pulling my dress away from my shoulders while I’m still touching myself. The bra falls, and my breasts are exposed above the white lace. He roughly cups them and pinches my nipple, sending yet another wave of arousal to pool between my legs.

And then he tears at my dress, ripping it across one shoulder. He falls in bed next to me, palming my thigh and sliding his fingers up to my sex. Two fingers slip roughly inside of me, palm pressing against my clit, kneading it over and over until I’m breathless, panting, simmering close to the edge again.

He covers my mouth with his, his tongue meeting mine, rough and searching. Taking my wrists in his hand, he pulls my arms above my head, pushing me down into the bed. It’s just a mattress on the floor of a run-down old townhouse in Queens, but it feels transformed now.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” He kisses me again, nearly bruising me with his animal strength.

“Yeah,” I say with a moan in my voice. “I want you inside of me. Now.”

His fingers find me again, pulling circles of wetness over my clit. “Are you wet enough for me?” He gives my pussy a little smack, sending vibrations through my clit, bringing me closer to the edge of insanity. I’ve already tipped over the edge once tonight, but it feels like I might be close to losing my damn mind.

Just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, Liam pulls my body to his and places the head of his cock at the entrance of my pussy. He presses against my slick folds.

The head of his cock slips inside of me. He’s huge—thick—and even this small intrusion hurts more than I had imagined, stretching me beyond the point that his fingers or mine had ever taken me before.

“Liam—be—slow—” I whisper the words, arching my back against the bed, hips rising to meet his. All at once, I want him inside of me, and yet, my body wants to draw away from him at the same time, to make the pain and discomfort end.

His hand finds my neck, warm, firm fingers against my skin. My breath hitches in my throat—the power of his body is apparent in his movements, even in the flick of his tongue over my exposed nipple. He holds the head of his cock inside of me, moaning slightly as he begins to thrust, ever so gently, pushing himself further inside.

“Don’t resist,” he says, groaning. “God, you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight.” He slips himself in a tiny bit further, and I feel myself opening for him. I shiver, goosebumps rising over my flesh from the tops of my shoulders, down to my curling toes.

“Oh God,” I moan. “I didn’t think it would be this—this thick.”

As he pushes in further, the pain starts to give way to pleasure, and the two sensations mix. I whimper, and Liam grunts, obviously holding himself back. “I’m not going to stop, little wife. You’re going to take my cock tonight. I’m going to claim you, make you mine.” He brings his hand to my hair and pulls it, making my neck arch back as he thrusts further inside, filling me nearly to the hilt.

I gasp. The feeling of his cock takes my breath away, and my vision goes blurry, nearly black. He pulls back and pushes himself inside of me again, filling me up entirely this time. The base of his hips meets my clit, and he grinds against me, bringing that pleasure back. The intensity rises, flames licking over my thighs, heat rising in my core to that tight coil at the center.

There’s been a place inside of me, dormant for years—a place no one else ever accessed. Bit by bit, Liam has been wearing it down, peeling away its edges. Perhaps that’s why I’m here right now—why I’ve stayed, why I found this place for him, why I moved in here with no questions asked.

“You like this, don’t you? You wanted this. A walk on the wild side with a bad boy. Someone you wouldn’t take home. Your thrill ride.”

He thrusts inside me, falling into a steady rhythm and bringing my legs to wrap around his waist. Each movement brings me higher and higher, and I know I’m reaching that point again, the place where my brain tips into oblivion.

“Yeah, I like it,” I whimper.

“What did you want when you first saw me?” His thrusts are even faster, meeting my clit each time, filling me like I’ve never been filled before.

“I wanted—”

“Say it. Tell me what you wanted.”

“I wanted you to fuck me.” I cry out, and he grunts, filling me repeatedly. My legs start to shake, and my toes curl in response. “I wanted you to make me—make me yours—”

“You are.”

“Yes. I am. Fuck me,” I whisper.

His body tenses, meeting mine over and over. I dig my nails into his back, and he growls. “You’re going to come for me. Come on my cock. I want to feel you do it.”

He whispers in my ear, the sound harsh. The vibrations of his voice seem to echo through my blood, and I’m a whimpering, babbling mess. The heat builds to overwhelming heights, and I come again, legs wrapped around him, welcoming him inside of me. I let out a long, low, animal moan, pussy swollen and pulsing, aching with pain and desire, all wrapped together in one.

“I own you, little girl,” he says, slowing for a moment before flipping me onto all fours. “You’re all mine. Every part of you.”

My voice fails me, and I can’t respond. Liam takes my hips in his strong hands and fucks me harder, riding me through the tail end of my orgasm. Another climax builds inside of me, and I close my eyes and let it come. Light and sound and energy swell into one powerful moment, centered between my legs. His cock invades me, impales me—it opens me like I’ve never been before.

My body shakes with the pleasure of it, and Liam picks up his pace. My pussy throbs and clenches around him, and I cry out, my voice echoing through the apartment.

“So fucking wet—my God—” He grunts and thrusts one final time, coming deep inside of me and filling me with his hot essence. I vaguely think that we should have used a condom, but I know as he falls against me, pulling me down to the bed, that I wouldn’t want anything between us.

We face each other on the bed, and Liam brings his lips to mine, kissing me long and slow. “Fuck, that was good.”

I feel his cock start to stiffen again against my leg, and I smile. “So soon? I thought that wasn’t possible—”

“You’re a special case, Skye Williams.” He kisses along my jawline. “Skye Dougherty when you change your name.”

When. Not if.

Before I can say anything, he lifts the skirt of my dress and pushes his cock inside of me again, shuddering. “You’re already so wet from my cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I say, the word a desperate whimper.

He fucks me hard and fast, with abandon this time. I’m sore, and I know I’ll be unsteady tomorrow, but I want him again—I want him inside of me, to come inside of me.

“I’m going to fill you up again,” he says. He holds me tight to his chest, thrusting into me and grunting hard. He comes again in one final motion, and I sigh. The waves of my own pleasure take me over, and my heart beats hard in my ears. I shake against him, legs wrapped around him. When he kisses me, my heart pounds.

Perhaps it shouldn’t.

I know I never should have fallen into any of this.

But after I’ve tasted it this once, I know I’ll want it again—and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop wanting it.

He helps me peel out of the dress, and we fall to bed, laughing and tired.

Once my part of the deal is filled and his daughter is his again—where does that leave me?

I don’t linger on the thought. Instead, I opt for sleep. The next week will bring our visit with Brie.

Maybe I’ll know my own heart better by then—but as I rest in his arms, I’m not sure if that’s true or if I’m fooling myself like the little girl that I am.

 

Chapter Fifteen

Liam

Our days pass by in a haze, in a bubble of exploring each other’s bodies. It’s our honeymoon, such as it is. With Skye working at home and Finn giving me time off from the bar, we’ve built a little life that almost feels real.

And Brie is about to enter that life—for her first overnight stay.

I’ve been awake for an hour already, just watching Skye sleep. Her chest rises and falls, and her eyes flutter open.

“It’s today,” Skye says with a frantic breath, sitting bolt upright in bed, holding the sheet to her breasts like a woman in a movie. “Is everything where it’s supposed to be? The twin bed in her room? Do you have the nightstand?”

“I’m putting it together this morning.”

“You should have done it last night.” She pales. “I’m sorry I said that. You were putting the bookcase together last night, right?”

I put my hand to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Skye. Everything is okay.” I’m quiet for a second. It occurs to me that she’s taken this crusade on as her own. And, why wouldn’t she? It’s become her life. She wakes up here each day, works here, and she falls into bed with me at night. She’s been doing it for two weeks now—and finally, Marta has granted us an extended visit with Skye. More than our outing at the park—and more time than I’ve had in years. It’s probably more for fact-gathering, probably to bring us down.

It doesn’t matter.

There’s no way I’m letting this opportunity escape. I want, more than anything, to have Brie here. And Skye feels like a part of that. Something tightens deep in my center when I think that she’ll decide to leave after all of this—after the documents are signed and Brie is officially in my custody.

I won’t let it on, not now, not after all she’s done for me.

I’ll stay silent.

I don’t know, sitting here next to her, if I can bear another loss. But when I think of the years I invested with Tabitha, I know I’d go insane if she stayed any longer than she’s planning to. If she does—if I invest the years into the two of us, hell, the three of us as a family—it’ll be that much worse when she does leave.

These past weeks have made me realize who I really am. With Skye, I’m sober—truly sober for the first time. It leaves me to think too much, and I’ve started to understand that I’m a fuckup of the highest order. She’s not one of the girls I bring home after the bar closes. She’s more than that, and I won’t hold her here with any stupid confessions.

She leaps out of bed, her curvy frame illuminated against the light of the window for a second. She’s far more comfortable with her body now, like she’s become accustomed to her own skin. “I need to get the kitchen cleaned. You do the nightstand. And I’ll make sure the bathroom is how it’s supposed to be—”

She starts pulling on clothes from the pile in the center of the floor. Without thinking, she picks up one of my t-shirts and pulls it on over her naked frame. It covers her body down to her hips, and her nipples are still stiff beneath the fabric.

“You should get back in bed,” I say. My cock has already started to swell, and I bring my hand to it, watching her. I stroke myself, and her eyes are drawn to it. She’s come to crave my cock—like a drug. An addiction.

She smiles, but her eyes don’t move. “We can’t. We don’t have time.”

I look over at the clock. It’s still on the floor next to our mattress.

There’s time. I’ll make time for this.

She steps closer to the bed, and I catch her hand, pulling her down onto the bed with me. I cup her breasts through my shirt. Roughly, I pull her on top of me. I grab the flesh of her thighs, maybe too hard. I like to see my bruises there each morning. I grunt, pressing my cock against the hot folds of her pussy.

“You’re wet. You want it. Give in.”

“There’s so much to do,” she says. But she’s already brought her hand to her clit, fingers circling it. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she starts to move against me. Using me for her pleasure.

“You want to please me, don’t you?”

“Mm hm,” she moans. Slowly, she moves forward and lets my cock enter her. She’s just as slick and hot as the first time.

Her legs straddle mine, knees on the mattress. My cock is buried inside of her, filling her to the hilt. She moans softly and starts moving on top of me, and I can barely stand the pressure, the feeling of fitting with her body so perfectly, so fully.

“Lean forward, baby,” I say, my voice coming out in a low growl. When she does, I take her breasts in my hands and push the shirt up further, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. She cries out, a little strangled sound from her throat.

She likes it like this. Impaled on my huge cock, her clit grinding against my skin. Skye starts to ride me, finding her rhythm, and she pushes her body against mine, hitting me hard each time. I bring one hand down to her sex, my fingers finding her clit and pushing on either side of it as she slams down on my cock, riding me faster and faster.

Her pussy swells and tightens against me, and I can see the ridges of muscle in her abdomen growing tight. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s needs this cock, and I never fail to make her come right away. All her words are mere teasing. I know how to play this woman like an instrument.

“Oh fuck, baby, I’m going to come,” she sighs, bringing one hand to her exposed breast and gripping my arm with the other.

“Good,” I whisper. “I’m not going to wait much longer.” I feel the familiar tightening in my balls, the feeling before release. I’ve felt it thousands of times, with plenty of other women—but nothing compares to this. Skye is the first girl since Tabitha that I’ve fucked bare, and the first in years that I’ve been with fully sober.

“Fill me up,” she cries. “Come inside of me.” She opens her eyes and looks down at me. “Please.”

“You want to come with me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, baby, I do.” Her voice is raspy with need. She’s desperate for it. “I want to feel you come when I do.”

The feeling rips through me like a tidal wave, bold and unstoppable. “Unngh,” I moan, pushing up inside of her, filling her with my hot essence.

She’s fucking me in a frenzy now, her clit hitting my fingers with each movement. She cries out, her body tensing and releasing, shaking as she comes with my cock deep inside of her. Skye rides me through wave after wave of her orgasm. Each time another peak hits her, it seems like she’s reaching greater and greater heights.

“Oh God. Oh God,” she moans, though the sensations in her body have nothing to do with the Lord. Her pleasure has everything to do with how I work her body, and she knows it. I release one final jet inside of her, and she falls against me, finally satisfied.

We stay that way for a while. The seconds bleed into minutes, and our bodies are a tangled mass, like we’re one person, made whole. That’s how it has been since our wedding night. I’ve thought, again and again, that maybe this is how it should be—this feeling of wholeness.

But that’s a dangerous thought to have.

Even so, I kiss her on her forehead, tasting the salt of her perspiration. I run my fingers through her hair and shift in the bed so we’re eye to eye.

“We need to get moving,” she says. She yawns. I know she hasn’t been sleeping well since Marta told us we could have Brie for a night. Like me, she knows that this could mean failure for us—for me. We’re like a green card couple, waiting for the interview, hoping we answer the questions right. “You need to put together—”

“The night stand.” I smile. “I’ve put together a fucking hundred pieces of Ikea shit like that before. I won’t have a problem. I’m always the one that my brothers call when they need stuff like that done. I’m a master with the Allen wrench.”

She laughs, snorting slightly and then drawing in closer to me. “And I’ll get the Moana DVD from RedBox. Has she seen it?”

I shake my head. “Probably not. Marta doesn’t let her do much except for homework. All the cute, happy pictures she posts of Brie on Facebook—that’s all fake. It’s like Brie’s some kind of prize that she won, something she’s showing off so her friends will think she’s something more than an angry old woman.”

“Isn’t she friends with a bunch of other angry old women?”

I shrug, still holding Skye close. “I don’t know. I know that she’s told me she loves to post pictures of Brie because she’s so beautiful, and everyone loves her girl.”

Skye scrunches up her nose. “That’s sick.”

“She’s a sick person. A narcissist. She shouldn’t be allowed around any child. Not after what she did to Tabitha and her brother.” A cold weight sits in the bottom of my stomach when I mention Tabby and Michael.

“What—what did happen?” Skye pulls the covers tight around her. “You don’t talk about it.”

The weight grows heavier. “She overdosed.” My voice is more clipped than it should be, but that’s how it happens when I talk about Brie’s mother. “And Michael—Tabitha’s brother—he killed himself a long time ago. Before I knew Tabby.”

“And you think it was Marta—”

“She wasn’t the one who killed them. They took care of that part.” My throat threatens to close. I can almost taste the tears coming, but they remain dormant for now. It’s been that way for years—the memory of Tabitha sits knotted inside my body, angry and awful. “But she put them down at every turn. She made sure they feared her, that they feared the world.”

“You were married to her, right? Tabitha?” Her voice is quiet, but searching. A question she’s been too afraid to ask. I told her I never talk about Tabby, and I don’t. But the words spill out now.

“We were. She was pregnant with Brie, and she’d gotten clean for the hundredth time at the beginning of her pregnancy. We thought we’d give it ago, make it happen for the kid. We both wanted her. And she was beautiful from the day she was born. Smart. Smarter than either of us.” I stop. The lump in my throat grows, but I swallow the pain. “We weren’t meant to be a pair. I doubt I was meant to be a pair with anyone.”

I don’t meet Skye’s gaze after this. Instead, I’m silent. I roll away from her, and her arms let me go reflexively. I walk into the bathroom without a pause. I know I should stay, explain myself. But I had to take my four-year-old girl to her own mother’s funeral, and then I proceeded to fuck up my life for the next two years.

I step into the shower and let the water run over me. I let it get as hot as I can stand, and I just stay there. The steam fills the bathroom. I barely hear her enter, but there’s a slight change in the water pressure when she goes to brush her teeth.

“I wish it had all been different, Skye.” I say it halfheartedly, hoping she can’t hear me clearly. I hear the water turn off, and a shadow approaches the clear shower door.

She pulls the door open and steps inside, wrapping her arms around my body. The shirt is gone, and there’s nothing between us. She doesn’t speak, and we stay together, bound by our arms, for a long time. When we get out and dry off, we don’t spend any more words on the past. My brother Finn—he might say that we should keep talking. But Skye doesn’t push. I almost wish she would.

Instead, I hear her scrubbing in the kitchen while I put the nightstand together. In Brie’s room, we have a twin bed with some expensive sheets and a quilt my mom ordered from Pottery Barn Kids. There’s a lamp, too, that matches everything else. I get this nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, hoping she’ll like it, hoping it’ll make the kindergarten year from Hell way better than it has been. And hoping that it’ll be in use—expensive sheets washed every week, for years to come.

I smooth out the quilt and look around the room. It’s small, and the walls are bare, but when I turn on the light, it looks warm and pleasant, like it’s a nice room that a little girl could make her own. I sit down on the bed and sigh.

When I look up, Skye is standing in front of me, dressed in a conservative green dress with little sleeves and a full skirt. She absolutely looks like she’s ready to go sort through books at the local library, and I give her a grin.

“Don’t say anything. It’s for show.” She smiles back. “But it is one of my favorite dresses for work.” She’s holding something behind her back.

“What do you have there?”

“It’s nothing much. But she told me she liked fairy tales, like the old-fashioned kind. So, I got her some stickers for the walls in here.” She shows me the rolled-up mailing tube she has behind her back.

“It’s like beech trees and some fairies and a castle. So, it’ll be like a little dream world in here.” She blushes. “It’s what I would have wanted when I was little. But my parents wouldn’t let me put anything on the walls. It always felt kind of bare to me. I thought she might want to put the stickers up with you. You know, something fun to do.”

“Yeah, she’d like that,” I say. Skye is standing in front of me. I’d say it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time, but I think I’ve seen her all along. It’s just that all the pieces are fitting together now, like a puzzle I’ve only just figured out. The light from the kitchen windows filters in behind her, showing off her silhouette. But she’s more than that. Tabitha was too busy getting high for most of Brie’s life that Brie doesn’t even have a memory of her—I was the parent she knew. And Marta ain’t exactly a mother figure. It might be nice if there was someone real. “You know, Skye. I’ve been thinking—”

“Yeah?”

I swallow hard. “It’s nice—” Nice. That’s not the right word. “It’s good, I think, having you here—”

She puts up a hand. “I got what I came for, right? An adventure and a good fuck. I mean, a really good one. Excellent, even. The best.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Stop. Don’t get weird about this. I really like your little girl. I know what it is to have a shitty childhood. My parents were fine—but restrictive. No boyfriends, no sleepovers, bedtime at seven. No books besides the Bible in the house. I get it.

“I want her here with you. I’m happy to do it. It’s an adventure. And my boss likes the gossip. She might make it into a story. Says there could be an option for a movie. Who do you think would play me?” She flips her hair to one side. “Maybe Jennifer Lawrence. With dark hair.”

“She might be able to pull it off,” I say. “But Skye—”

There’s a knock at the door, and we both look at each other for a second, totally silent. Maybe she’s waiting for me to say something else, but I’m not entirely sure what it is that I want to say.

We can table that talk for now, but as it is, we’ve got a little girl who needs to see both of our smiling faces at the door.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Skye

I walk to the door with a flustered feeling. All the shit that Liam just told me—and the shit he implied on top of what he said—is making my head spin. We'll need to talk about all of that later. It gives me a growing pit of anxiety in my stomach, but I know I need a proper, prim face for Brie. Or at least for Marta.

My hand goes to the knob, and I freeze. Liam comes up behind me and puts his hand on mine. It calms me—and I hate that it does. It means that he’s getting to me, that he’s already in my head. He owns my body—I can’t consider giving him anything else. Not with the way things stand between us.

I force a smile as Liam pulls open the door. Marta is standing there, her hand on Brie’s shoulder. The child’s hair is pulled tight into two dark braids—so tight that it looks like it hurts. And she’s dressed in her Catholic school attire, even though it’s Saturday.

“Brie didn’t do her own laundry, so she got to wear her school clothes today.” Marta gives a sly smile. I admit I don’t know the woman well—but I’m guessing she’s trying to get a rise out of Liam. If I looked hard at the cars parked along the sidewalk, I’m sure I’d see someone from the law firm she’s hired or some creepy guy with a camera. Just waiting to watch Liam blow up.

I take his hand in mine. “That’s just fine. As long as we’ve got pajamas for movie time. We do, don’t we?”

Brie gives me a big grin, her face lighting up. “We get to watch a movie?”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate for Brie. She’s not ahead of her grade level in reading, like she ought to be. That’s where Tabitha always excelled, you know.”

Liam grips my hand hard. I can feel that he wants to say something. Instead, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. “We’ll make sure she reads with us tonight and tomorrow morning.” He glances over at me. “Skye got her some books from the library. Magic Treehouse and—”

“The Princess in Black,” I say. “It’s about a little girl who fights monsters.” I let go of Liam’s hand and bend down to Brie’s level. “She’s a princess, too. What do you think about that?”

Brie reaches her arms and wraps me in a hug. A tight lump forms in my throat. It might have been my sense of curiosity—or adventure, or pure lust—that drew me into all of this. But when I look up at Marta and see her nasty, hateful expression, I know it’s my sense of justice that’s making me stay.

When we walk inside the house and close the door behind us, I wonder if that’s all it is. Brie runs to her room, tugging Liam behind her. When she’s with him, I see his entire body change. Instead of tight and aggressive, he’s open and calm. When he’s with Brie, he’s the type of man a woman might fall in love with.

Another woman. Not me.

I listen to them in the back bedroom—Brie’s room—as they put the vinyl decals up on the wall. When I walk back there to go check on them, the trees are up, and they’re working on the castle sticker, putting it up beside the bed. I watch as Liam smooths the pieces out, making sure there are no bubbles that might destroy the picture they’re working together to create.

Placing my hand gently against the door frame, I open my mouth to say something, but I think better of it. There’s something sweeter about just watching—seeing Liam in what I imagine is his normal state. With women—grown ones—he’s always on guard, not able to say what’s truly on his mind. Or perhaps he’s just that way with me.

Brie turns back to me and smiles. “Thank you for the stickers, Skye.”

I smile, and my heart beats a little faster. I can’t help but be enchanted by this kid. She talks to adults like they’re her peers, and she’s spent the past two years in such a miserable place. When they’re done with the castle, she clings to her father, not wanting to let him go. Liam turns and looks at me, an unreadable expression on his face. They sit together on the floor, father and daughter, an impenetrable tribe, facing the world together.

I know Brie might welcome someone like me in her life—but would Liam? Would he start over? Where will I be after he decides it’s all over?

“Dad said we can stay up late and watch Moana.” Brie looks over at her dad and puts her arm around his neck. Liam turns his head and gently kisses Brie’s hand. “Is that okay?” Brie asks, looking over at me. “Staying up late?”

“I don’t see why not. I was planning to make popcorn. Did you already have dinner?”

“I had some bread,” Brie says. “That’s all.”

Liam’s face grows slightly red. It’s hard not to read too much into everything she says, but it’s seven in the evening now, and she should have eaten more than that.

“Sweetie,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is that what you asked for? Or is that what your grandmother gave you?”

“That’s what she gave me. I get bread and water when I’ve asked for snacks too many times that week.” She says it simply like it’s an aspect of her reality that she’s come to expect.

Liam looks like he’s about to explode, but I catch his eye and shake my head. We don’t need a single word coming out about Liam losing his cool. Not that Brie would tattle on us—but six year olds have a way of letting things slip.

“Well, I’m not too great of a cook, but I think we can whip up some tacos from the things we have in the fridge. Do you like tacos?”

Brie nods, and she stands up slowly. When she does, I see that she’s all knees and elbows. Somehow, she seems skinnier and more fragile than I remember her from the wedding. I could just be imagining it.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll make a big batch of chicken for the tacos. With tomatoes and lettuce and all sorts of healthy stuff. And then we can pig out on popcorn.”

“Yeah,” she says, giggling and taking my hand. “We’ll make like a thousand pounds of popcorn. Or a hundred.”

“The most popcorn ever.” I start walking with her to the kitchen, and I can feel Liam’s eyes on my back as we go. “I like to put M&Ms in my popcorn. And put a little extra salt, so it’s super sweet and super salty all at once.”

“Whoa. I’m not allowed to have chocolate,” she says, her voice rising in amazement. I brush aside the feeling of anger that rises quickly. Mr. Donnelly, Liam’s lawyer, keeps telling us we need to assume goodwill and not put ideas in the kid’s head. After all, lots of parents don’t allow tons of sweets. Maybe it’s normal. But the bread thing—that’s definitely not.

“Well, we will. For tonight. It’ll be a fun secret, right?”

Brie nods, and I pull a stool from a corner of the kitchen, setting it up at the counter so she can help me. She cuts lettuce with a butter knife, and pulls apart cooked chicken while I search the cabinets for tortillas and salsa. When we’ve spread our feast out on the kitchen table, Liam finally joins us. He looks tired, more tired than I’ve seen him.

I remind myself again that I might be doing too much. But it’s too late to stop any of it now.

But there’s no room for thinking like that when you’re already so far in.

After dinner, we crowd into the living room together and set up in front of the TV. It’s after eight now, and I can see that Brie’s eyes are tired. But she’s so happy, stuffing her hand into the bag of popcorn mixed with M&Ms and shoving fistfuls of it into her mouth.

“I think this is my favorite movie,” she says, snuggling between me and Liam. The three of us are leaning against the couch. He puts his arm around both of us, his hand resting on my shoulder. I almost flinch away, with everything we’ve been talking about. With the uncertainty that rests over us like a dark cloud.

“I thought Tangled was your favorite movie,” Liam says.

“I like this one better,” Brie replies. “The princess gets to live on an island and swim all the time. I’d like that. And she has her mom and dad and grandmother, and they’re all nice to her. Even Maui is her friend.”

I glance at Liam, but he’s watching the movie and eating popcorn.

The movie ends, and Brie is asleep against her father’s broad chest. Her features are so like his. There’s no mistaking them for part of the same family, the same blood running through their veins. I can’t quite define the feeling I have when I see them together because one word doesn’t sum it up. Rhiannon would say—in fact, she has said—that this is all way too heavy for a fake bride. Someone who was supposed to be temporary.

But like she said, too, he never put a time limit on it. The expiration date isn’t set. I’ll just be sitting here in this house, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’ll happen suddenly.

Maybe that’s best, like pulling off a Band-Aid.

Later, when he carries Brie to bed, I stand back and watch him again. His strong arms lift her like she barely weighs a thing. He’s gone for a while, and I think I hear him singing softly. Something I’ve never heard from him before, even though I’ve known him for the better part of a month.

When he walks back into the living room, his face is heavy again. “I can’t believe she has to leave after lunch tomorrow. She’s going to cry. She hasn’t stayed over at my house since I got out of prison, but she’s kept up this crazy hope that we’d be a family again.”

“You will.” I say it with certainty. “There’s no doubt in my mind that Marta doesn’t take good care of Brie. Someone has to see that.”

Liam runs his fingers through his hair and sits down in the chair. “Yeah, and her family is connected as fuck. That’s how it is with old New York families. Her mother grew up with the family court judge who helped train the judge who’s working there now. And so on. You get the picture.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean there’s no evidence that you’re a better parent than that woman.”

“We need solid evidence. None of this bread for dinner stuff. That’s… shitty. But I can’t prove it’s abuse.” He sighs, letting out a quick, harsh breath all at once.

“We’ve got the stable household. You’re the biological parent. You’re gainfully employed. You’ve got a good place for her to live. It’s even closer to school than Marta’s place, right? That stuff is in our corner.”

Liam laughs. “Our corner? You’re invested in this too, huh?” His voice is clipped when he says it, and it stirs up that anxious, helpless feeling inside of me—the one I get when I think about him and Brie.

I don’t know if he’s looking for a response or not, but I don’t give him one.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, and I walk back to the bedroom, stripping out of my green dress. Even though it’s made of soft cotton, it feels tight and uncomfortable after all of this.

Liam comes in after me, even though I’m not sure I want him to. I’m turned to the window, and he’s watching me as I undress.

“I thought I was a part of this,” I say. “I’m not just a tourist in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m not one of those women.”

“No, you’re not,” he responds. “You wouldn’t be here if you were. None of them would have agreed to this. None of them would have been like you are with Brie. And none of them could get me to move to fucking Queens.”

“That was sort of a stretch for you.” I can’t help but smile. I turn to him, and I realize he’s lured me in again. “You’ve got to admit that it’s not that bad here.”

“It’s not that bad because you’re here,” he says, stepping closer to me.

I raise my hand, even though I can almost feel the heat of his body against mine. I want him to fill that gap between us. But he needs to hear this first. “I think we might be confusing things for Brie.”

“We’re not,” he says. “You’re my ace in the hole. Two incomes, two parents. A woman to do all the mom shit the judge thinks you’re doing. When we actually know I’d be packing the lunches and making the beds. Brie will understand when you—when we decide—” He stops.

“When we decide what?” My heart beats faster. “You just asked if I was invested. Like you thought I wasn’t.”

“I can’t tell what you are or not. I’m saying if you want in, it makes our case stronger.”

“I am in, Liam. I’m as far in as I can be. I want that little girl to be with you, but the deal was that we had an end date. And now it doesn’t seem like there is one in sight.”

“What? You want there to be some kind of end?”

“Yes. There should be. For Brie. For you and me—for use to move on after this. I’m not your real wife.”

“Documents are all signed and file. You’re as real as they come.” Liam walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “It’s more than most marriages are based on. A lot of them, anyway.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that—” He purses his lips together. “That you can stay as long as you want. I like having you around.”

As always, my body feels lit on fire from the inside when this man is close to me. But his words don’t match the moment. Even if I don’t know what I want to hear, it’s probably not that. I try to pull away, but Liam puts his arms around my waist and draws me into his body, my skin pressed against his shirt, a thin layer between us. I can feel the heat rising off his skin.

“Come on, Liam. Let me go.”

“That was hard for me to say,” he whispers. “I don’t do commitment. You know that. This is as close as I’ve gotten. Do you think I would have taken a chance on just anyone? Moved out of my apartment?”

“You did all of this for Brie. It’s pretty clear when I look at the two of you together that you’re a family.”

He brings a hand to my hair and pushes a lock behind my ear. It falls back over my face. “I haven’t been much of a family guy in the past two years. For Brie, yeah, I am. But she hasn’t been living with me, and she and the bar have been my only concerns. Now, maybe, there’s room for something else.”

My heart rate increases. Liam Dougherty is a man I shouldn’t get my hopes up for, but here I am. In this apartment, living with him. Married to him. Making popcorn for his kid. “Like what?”

“Like us. Maybe this is something that can work. For longer than a few weeks.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. Instead, he kisses me hard and pulls me down to the bed.

When he touches me, my thoughts become unclear. Everything is foggy, lost in a haze of lust.

I don’t realize that I’ve fallen asleep, only that I’ve awaken, and it’s day. Liam isn’t in bed, but I can hear him in the kitchen.

I go to the window.

The sun is shining, and green is starting to come in on the trees.

And two women who look like they shouldn’t be working on a Sunday—they’re headed right for our front door.

“Liam!” I shout. Suddenly, last night’s conversation seems to fade into the background.

I can say with certainty who sent them, but I have no way to predict what’s coming next.

 

Chapter Seventeen

Liam

I speed over to the front door, trying not to scream curse words at the top of my lungs.

Whoever Marta sent probably doesn’t think a steady stream of “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” is good for a little girl’s ears. I look over my shoulder to the little girl in question. Her hair is undone, and the braids have made her hair into a mass of crimped-looking curls. It’s all tangled in the back from how she’s been sleeping. In front of her, I have a giant plate of waffles with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

“Shit,” I mutter. I look over my shoulder to see Skye frantically pulling on the dress she was wearing last night. No panties, no bra—normally I’d like that kind of thing. And her hair—it looks like sex hair. There’s a wild piece of it sticking up in the back. “Skye—” I hiss. “Get into the bathroom—put on a bra—and brush your hair—”

Her mouth hardens into a straight line. My stomach tightens into a knot, but there’s not much I can do about Skye right now. After dodging every question last night and throwing her into bed to get out of actual conversation, yelling at her to look proper is probably the last thing I should be doing this morning. But I have a sneaking suspicion I know who’s at the door.

When I open it, my worst fears are confirmed. I hear the door to the bedroom shut, and the shower turns on. They can’t fault my wife for taking a shower—can they?

“Good morning,” I say. I try to make my voice sound cheerful, and I plaster a fake grin on my face. I’d wager it looks more like a grimace, but it’s the best I’ve got at eight on a Sunday morning. Two women stand in front of me, both of them wearing black pantsuits with white button-down shirts. The older one has dyed red hair and holds a coffee in her hand like it’s a lifeline. The other one looks like she’s maybe twenty years old—and she has no idea what the fuck she’s doing here.

“We’re here to speak with Mr. Liam Dougherty, and his wife, Skye Williams.” The older one digs in her bag and pulls out several sheets of paper, looking through them frantically like she’s searching for something she can’t seem to find. “Looks like Ms. Williams hasn’t gone through the process of changing her name yet.”

“We’ve already found Jesus, if that’s what you’re here for,” I say. I hope for a smile from either one of them, but none is forthcoming.

“Is Ms. Williams planning on changing her name, or is she not?” The older woman is still looking down at her papers. When she looks up at me, her rheumy blue eyes are blank and emotionless.

“It’s up to her,” I say through gritted teeth. “Now, I’m not sure I caught either of your names. Or what you’re doing at my place of residence on a Sunday morning.”

“I’m Donna Gunnis, and this is Amber Peterson. We’re from Child Protective Services, and we’re just here to see how you’re doing with Brie.”

“And you’re working on Sundays now? I didn’t think the state government paid enough for that.” They certainly don’t, I think. But Marta might have found a way.

“Yes, we work on Sundays when a little girl is having a first overnight with a known criminal and his brand-new wife who apparently appeared from nowhere several weeks ago.”

“We’ve been together for months,” I say, even though my heart is beating slightly faster. It’s a lie, but it’s the best I’ve got, and I’m fairly sure they can’t prove much of anything in that department. “And I’m an honest business proprietor. No longer involved with any criminal activities. My former parole officer can tell you all about it. He’s actually a friend of mine now—and he’s helping me get the record expunged. Felony knocked down to a misdemeanor.”

“That’s all good and well,” Donna says, trying to peer into the house over my shoulder. I see her make note of the tattoo beneath my sleeve. She takes out a small notepad filled with pencil markings and jots something down before looking back up at me with a strained smile. “But we’re going to need to come in and take a look around. Just to make sure that Brie is in an appropriate environment. Safe. Tidy. Nurturing. Healthy.”

I nod quickly and step to the side. I know from experience that trying to get these people to go away always fucking backfires. “We’ve just moved in. It’s not perfect—”

Donna and Amber push past me. It seems like Donna almost tries to bump into me with her shoulder, but I step to the side. Fists clenched, I watch as they start walking around and looking through the apartment. Donna keeps her notebook out and jots in it every few seconds. Her expression looks generally displeased, but I’d bet that’s just how her face is.

The younger woman, Amber, comes up to me, looking a bit like a deer in headlights. “Where’s the child, Mr. Dougherty?”

“In the kitchen, eating breakfast.” I say a silent prayer that she’s finished with her ice cream.

Amber pops around the corner, and I hear her voice change instantly to that sickly-sweet tone adults often use with children. Brie’s not that kind of kid—she’s smarter than most adults I know, and I cringe when I hear Amber speak.

“What do you have there, honey?” Amber’s voice sounds like a high-pitched squeak.

“Waffles.” Brie’s voice is caged and hesitant. I follow Amber into the kitchen and nod at Brie. Her eyes lock on mine. “Dad made bacon too. And we had fruit—fresh fruit.”

“Is that ice cream on those waffles, though, sweetheart? Looks like it’s melted a little. That’s a lot of sugar so early in the morning, don’t you think?” Amber turns to me with a sweet little smile that makes me want to punch a whole in the wall. Donna joins us in the small room, noting something in the small book, perhaps that I’ve given my child an inappropriate amount of sugar. Donna begins looking through the cabinets, noting a dusty bottle of whiskey and a mostly empty bottle of vodka. She opens a drawer and finds a few old cigars.

“Do you smoke in the house, Mr. Dougherty?” Donna looks at me quickly and writes something down in her notebook without waiting for a response.

I crack my knuckles and feel my face growing flushed. It’s impossible not to think about the millions of kids out there who have parents smoking meth or locking them in closets. Or smoking meth while locking them in closets. All I have is a felony on my record, and a mother-in-law who has some kind of narcissistic grudge and connections deep enough to get CPS out to Queens on a Sunday morning. I’m hoping the judge sees through her bullshit. Donnelly said it’ll be the guy who wanted me in a relationship—so we might have that on our side. Still, it makes me nervous. It’s supposed to unhinge me, this visit from CPS. I try to remain calm.

I cross my arms, and shift from side to side.

I have to bite my tongue. Marta wants me to fuck up. She wants me to fail.

If I stay in this room with them talking to my daughter for one more second, I might scream. Just when I think I’m going to reach my breaking point, I feel a cool hand on my shoulder. I turn, and I see Skye standing next to me.

“Hi there,” she says. The two women from CPS turn to see Brie, her hair dried and styled, wearing her green dress from the day before. She even has on flat shoes with little bows on them. “Would you like to see Brie’s room here? Liam worked on it with her last night. And then we read some books from the library.” She quickly catches Brie’s eye and winks at her. The women don’t catch it, but I do.