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I couldn’t even begin to imagine the internal destruction the acid had caused. Constance was a strong, no-excuses kind of woman—and it managed to defeat her.
She took a seat, gave me a smile, and then picked at her salad with her fork. “I like it when you cook. You’re a lot better at it than I am.”
“You’ve gotten better.”
She chuckled as she kept her eyes on her food.
“What?”
“You don’t sugarcoat things—I like that.”
I watched her eat, watched her enjoy my company like I was charming and interesting, when I absolutely wasn’t. “Most people don’t like it. Think I’m an asshole instead.”
“Well, they don’t get you.” Her eyes remained down on her food, keeping the conversation casual. “I do.”
Whenever I sat down to eat, food was my priority, and I scarfed it down as quickly as possible. It was a quality I’d picked up being a single father because there were few opportunities to eat in between the cries, the feedings, the blowouts. If you didn’t eat as quickly as possible, it would grow cold, and you might not even get the opportunity to eat again for a couple hours. But now, I didn’t eat. With my elbows on the table, I stared at her instead.
She finished a couple bites because she felt my stare. She raised her chin and met it head on, not intimidated like she used to be. The barrier I forced between us was long gone, and she quickly felt like Bleu or Bartholomew…because that went to shit. She was someone I trusted. She was someone I cared about. But she was also someone I wanted to fuck—and that was a first.
When I didn’t say anything, she went back to eating.
As if I didn’t need to say anything.
“Where’s Constance?” Claire sat across from me at the dining table.
“Asleep.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, sweetheart. Just tired.” When I’d gone to grab Constance for dinner, she was asleep, so I’d let her be.
“I remember Mom used to be sleepy for days…” She pushed her food around with her fork, playing with it rather than eating it, which always ticked me off, but I wasn’t in the mood to scold her right now.
“She’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Okay. I miss her.”
“She misses you too.”
She finally started to eat, dipping her fork into a small amount of mashed potatoes before she got it into her mouth. “I like it when she picks me up from school.”
“And you don’t like it when I do?” I kept my tone playful, but there was definitely a note of jealousy there. I’d never experienced jealousy in my life before, not for a woman, and not for Beatrice with Claire, but I felt a sharp intake of it now.
“No, I do. But she usually takes me shopping with her.”
I liked to do all my errands while Claire was at school because it was much easier than taking a seven-year-old everywhere.
“She lets me pick things out. And then we talk and stuff…”
“What do you talk about?”
She shrugged as she pushed her potatoes around again.
“You can talk to me about anything, sweetheart.”
“But we talk about girl stuff…”
“Girl stuff?” I asked, cracking a smile.
“Yep. Like boys…”
“You like a boy, Claire?”
“No!” She gave me her angry eyes. “Not me.”
“Then Constance likes a boy?”
Now she grinned.
I knew who that boy was, and he wasn’t a boy at all, but a man.
“She told me something…but I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Then you shouldn’t tell me.”
“I know, but it’s hard…”
“If someone entrusts you with a secret, you should always keep it.”
“Even from my daddy?”
“Well…in some cases.”
“Is this one of those cases?” she asked.
“Depends. Is anyone hurt? Or in danger?”
She shook her head.
“Then no.”
She dropped her head and looked at her food again. The fork swirled through her potatoes then she brushed it over her chicken like she was plastering a new construction.
I assumed the conversation was over.
She looked up at me and grinned.
I met her look as I chewed a bite.
“She said she loves you.”
I chewed my bite as if nothing happened.
“Are you going to get married?”
I’d never imagined we’d have this conversation, that my daughter would interrogate me about my love life. I should be the one interrogating her. “Someday, maybe.”
“So, you love her too?”
I took another bite.
“You can tell me. I won’t tell her.”
I chuckled. “I’m not falling for that.”
“Dad, come on.” She hit her palm against the table.
“That’s between me and her, Claire.”
She stuck out her tongue and grabbed her fork again.
I was in a playful mood—so I stuck out my tongue back.
The rain pelted the windows as we moved together in my bed, her lithe body underneath mine, her ankles locked together, her nails anchored into my flesh. We breathed in sync, swallowed each other’s moans, rocked together just enough to work up a sweat. The headboard was close to tapping against the wall, but I was careful not to make contact. This had become our nighttime ritual, my body dominating hers against the sheets, slow and steady, keeping our inferno contained.
