Many minutes pass before Emily finally notices me. She falters the moment she does, her arms lowering just a little,like she’s been caught doing something wrong instead of teaching a three-year-old how to point her toes.
Her cheeks flush pink, and this woman has no idea what she does to me. No fucking clue that she’s capable of knocking the air right out of my lungs with a single look.
“D-Dominic,” she breathes, tripping over my name slightly as she moves to silence the music spilling from the Bluetooth speaker.
“D!” Peach squeals, bouncing in place and clapping her little hands. “Look … I rina!”
“You’re the cutest little ballerina ever,” I agree, crossing the room to scoop her up.
She squirms in my arms when I bury my face in the crook of her neck and blow a raspberry against her skin. “No, D!” she shrieks, laughing.
“Again,” Lil’ Peach says through a yawn as I reach the end of her new book.Again.I release a small grunt. I’ve already read this fucking thing twice tonight, and my brain is starting to leak out my ears.
Emily bought it for her today, along with the ballet gear.
The book is calledTina the Ballerina. It’s about a little girl who loves to twirl everywhere, in the kitchen, at the grocery store, even while brushing her teeth. Then she gets her first pair of ballet slippers, and they turn out to be magical.
Whenever Tina gets nervous about a tough move or about people watching her, the slippers start to glow. But the day before her first recital, the glow disappears. Tina freaks out and decides she can’t dance without the magic.
With help from her teacher and her friends, she figures out the glow was never from the slippers. It was her allalong; the light was coming from within. On recital day, she steps onto the stage and learns that courage is something you build from the inside.
I didn’t hate the story the first time around. I can appreciate the message behind it. But I already know this is about to become Peach’s new favourite, which means I’ll be reciting it word for word soon enough, like all the others. And that part pisses me off.
Thankfully, by page three, Peach tightens her grip on her teddy, sticks her thumb in her mouth, and snuggles into my chest. That’s my signal. In a few seconds, she’ll be out like a light.
A couple of minutes later, I close the book, get up, and cross the room. I press a kiss to the top of Lil’ Peach’s head before setting her down in the cot. She’s only going to be in this thing a few more days, until her pink, frilly bed arrives. I’m not sure how I feel about that. She’s growing fast. Too fucking fast if you ask me.
Soon, she’ll be starting school, and that’s when the real fun begins. Intimidating every little prick who even thinks about looking at her sideways isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but I already know I’m going to do it.
I exit her room, softly closing the door behind me, and feeling all kinds of messed up.
As I’m walking past the bathroom, the door swings open and Emily comes barrelling out. Her head is down, so she doesn’t see me until she runs straight into my side.
My arms fly out on instinct, grabbing her small shoulders before she ends up flat on her arse.
I jerk her body towards mine until she’s pressed against my chest, but now she’s too damn close. Her hair is damp, so I know she just washed it, and instead of smelling like a cupcake, she smells like the whole damn patisserie. It makes my cock jump in my jeans.
“Easy there,mia tortina,” I say, taking a step back andputting some much needed distance between us, but when she lifts her head and looks at me, I jerk back. “What the fuck is that on your face?”
Her eyes widen, and all I can see are those big baby blues and her pink fucking lips. The rest of her face is buried under some white paper thing, but I know she’s blushing underneath it.
“It’s a face mask,” she squeaks.
“A face mask?”
“It’s for my skin.”
She looks ridiculous, like a marshmallow with eyes, or a plump-lipped ghost. “Is that why your skin is so soft and … dewy?”
A smile curves her lips. “You think my skin is dewy?”
I clear my throat and run my hand over my hair, briefly looking away. I can’t believe I even said that. When my eyes meet her again, I jut out my chin. “You do that often?”
“A couple of times a week.”
“Why haven’t I ever seen you with one of those on before?”
“Because I usually hide away in my room until it’s time to take it off.”
