Page 52 of Twisted Prince
I’m wound too tight after my encounter with Gleb. Pressing a hand to my heart, I turn around to find her standing in the dim entryway. All the lights are out already, the other girls are home, and the children are asleep.
“You’re later than usual,” she observes, her arms crossed over her chest. And while I know she doesn’t judge the girls who choose to spend time with men outside of work, she’s also not interested in being a babysitter past her designated hours.
Guilt twists my stomach because I’ve kept her far later than our two o’clock curfew. “I’m so sorry, Kieri. There was an incident at the club tonight. Mr. Kelly pulled me aside to speak about it.” It’s not a lie, but it still feels crummy because I know that’s not what kept me late. Still, I can’t bring myself to talk about Gleb. Not to anybody. Just thinking about him makes my chest throb horribly.
“You’re one of the few girls who never needs to explain yourself. I know you wouldn’t keep me waiting unnecessarily,” Kieri says gently. “I was just getting worried, is all.”
“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again,” I promise.
“You okay?” she presses, peering up at my face with genuine concern now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her observation is eerily accurate, and if I couldn’t feel the very real evidence of Gleb’s existence in the ache between my thighs, I might not wonder if tonight were some kind of haunting dream.
“I’m fine,” I promise, offering her a smile. “Was Gabby good for you?”
“An angel as always, though she woke up asking for you about ten minutes ago.”
Heart breaking to think my little girl was looking for me, and I wasn’t here. I head straight for the nursery, where Kieri puts the children to bed at eight o’clock every evening.
The room holds four bunk beds and three cribs. Only a few of the higher bunks are occupied now by two of the older children, who likely didn’t want to wake up to move when their moms got home. Normally, the younger ones are collected and brought back to their mother’s quarters when the girls get home from work.
Gabby’s the youngest one left tonight, and my tiny two-and-a-half-year-old lies with her eyes open and fixed on the door. A thumb is tucked comfortingly between her lips. But as soon as I enter, she removes it to sit up.
“Mama?” she asks, her tiny voice sad. “I had a bad dream.”
“My sweet girl,” I murmur, shoving my bag behind my back so I can scoop her into my arms. Giving her a honi, I hold her close and inhale her sweet baby scent. Then I carry her quietly toward the nursery entrance so we don’t wake the others.
Her tiny fingers curl around my hair as she tucks her head sleepily against my neck.
“Do you want to tell me about your dream, keiki?” I offer as I climb the stairs up to the second floor.
She shakes her head no, undoubtedly halfway asleep now that we’re headed to bed.
Rubbing soft circles over her back, I soothe her gently. It always makes me feel bad to wake her in the middle of the night. But she’s not old enough to sleep downstairs by herself yet. The few times I’ve tried, she’s woken up crying. So, to make up for it, I try to let her sleep as late as I can in the mornings. But my little bundle of energy rarely sleeps in. I don’t mind, even if it means I only sleep a few hours. Every minute I get with my daughter is precious to me.
Turning the handle to our room, I slip quietly inside and shut it behind me. Then I pad softly to Gabby’s twin bed tucked into the corner of the room. Pulling down the blankets, I ease her onto the soft mattress. But she’s not quite asleep. I know because her tiny fingers fist around my hair, a clear sign that she doesn’t want me to leave.
“I’m right here, keiki,” I promise, leaning close to brush soft kisses over her round face. She might have Gleb’s striking green eyes, but she has my prominent cheeks and pointed chin that give her an adorable heart shape.
She smiles, her eyelids drooping sleepily. And as I tuck the blankets firmly around her, Gabby’s breathing grows more steady and deep. I linger even after I can disentangle her fingers from my hair. Tracing her delicate features with a light touch, I peer down at her. And my heart brims with loving devotion.
This is what it should mean to give your heart to someone.
And my little girl has stolen mine completely.
I would do anything for her. Without hesitation.
She’s the only thing that matters, my reason for being.
If all love could be like this, I would gladly trust my heart to a man. Being a mother is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done—far more meaningful than my dream of modeling could ever have turned out to be. And though Gleb’s mention of it tonight brought back some long-buried aspirations, I don’t need any of that to be happy.
All I need is Gabby.
The rest of it is just what I do to protect her. To take care of her.
In the faint moonlight that glows through our single window, I study her innocent face, the way her lips form a soft O as she sleeps. God, she reminds me of Gleb in so many small ways—her ability to read my emotions so easily, the way she watches people, reading situations, and thinking before engaging. She’s quiet like him, too, and so serious for a girl her age—just like Gleb, always cautious.
Tears burn the back of my throat as a lump rises there. I swallow hard, fighting down the unexpected wave of emotion. I’ve spent so long trying to forget about Gleb, and after seeing him tonight, it’s like a dam has broken in my heart, releasing all the pent-up feelings I have for him.
