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That is a hell of a question, no pun intended. Lucy is incredibly mature, but she’s still just a child. It’s not fair of me to dump all my problems on her. My job is to protect her, not turn her into a therapist.
But she still deserves to know at least some of it. This affects her, too, so she should get a say in what happens next.
And I’m just so tired…
I force a smile. “After breakfast, okay?” That should buy me enough time to figure out what I’m going to tell her.
She frowns but doesn’t protest, instead going into the bathroom to get dressed and brush her teeth. With a huff, I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what’s going on in my own head.
These thoughts have become treadmills in my mind. They keep running and running and running but going nowhere.
I just feel so stupid. I thought – what did I think? That a leopard could change its spots? That a master manipulator wouldn’t manipulate me because I made him promise?
As a teacher at the orphanage, I took pride in helping kids approach the world with compassion and an open heart. When you’ve been abandoned, the pain of it makes you want to build walls. You see the worst in people so that it won’t hurt as much when they leave you.
There’s something miraculous about watching kids break free from their shells and learn to open their hearts to others again. When I first met Lucy, she had constructed walls of iron around her and refused to let anyone in. I watched her grow from an anxious and lonely child to the brilliant and brave girl I’ve come to love.
But have I just set her up for more pain?
Lucy emerges from the bathroom, and I take a couple of minutes to get dressed, losing myself in the motions of preparing for the day. “Ready?” I ask.
“Ready,” she replies, and we make our way to the continental breakfast. The waffle maker briefly distracts her while I make the strongest possible coffee from the coffee machine.
A few people are milling about, but Lucy knows not to push about what happened just yet. For that, I’m grateful. Not feeling particularly hungry, I grab a bowl of fruit and make my way to the table where she’s waiting with a sugary monstrosity.
Magic takes energy, especially magic performed by humans, so witches are attracted to things that will give them short bursts of it like caffeine and sugar. Lucy is still too young for caffeine, so she’s become a sugar fiend.
I pick at my fruit while she talks, so lost in my own thoughts that it takes me a moment to notice the waffle quarter in a bowl before me. It’s filled with chocolate chips and covered with maple syrup and whipped cream. Somewhere, a dentist cries out in agony, and he doesn’t know why.
“Try it,” she says. “It’ll make you feel better.”
I consider telling her that it’s not a great idea to eat your feelings, but I think better of it. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” I say.
She ducks her head at the praise. “I know it’s not really good for you, but sometimes you need to do things that make your heart happy and not just your head.”
I crack a genuine smile – the first since I’ve picked her up from her friends’ house – and snort. “That’s true. Though everything should be in moderation –”
“Including moderation,” she says.
Instead of responding to her, I take a bite of waffle. It’s almost cloyingly sweet, but she’s right. I do feel better. Hell, the simple and kind act of her giving it to me lifted my mood. “You’re right. I’m feeling better already. You’re a really smart kid, you know that?”
Lucy tosses her hair in a show of mock haughtiness. “I know.”
“And very humble,” I tease, finishing the waffle and my fruit. Once I take the dishes to the bin to be washed, that pit of dread returns to my stomach. I do feel better after food and coffee, but it was a momentary distraction.
I take Lucy upstairs like a criminal on death row walking to their execution. Because Lucy should draw her own conclusions, I’ll keep it neutral and to the point.
As soon as we get through the door, she stares at me expectantly. I take a seat on the bed and gesture for her to join me. She sits and leans against my shoulder.
“You know my relationship with Argoss is a bit different from most married couples, right?”
She looks at me dubiously. “Yeah, I understand that most couples don’t get engaged after meeting twice. You did it for me and the orphanage.”
I nod. “When we got together, one of the terms was that he wouldn’t lie to or manipulate us. Yesterday, I found out that he’d been lying to me the whole time about the reason why he wanted to marry me.”
Interest piqued, she sits up. “Why did he want to marry you?”
“He’s not here legally. His documents were forged, but if he and I were legally married, he couldn’t be deported for not having the proper documents.”
