Shaking her head disapprovingly, Mia pushes off the desk and goes back to the alcohol cart. Without looking back, she grabs a glass and pours some, then brings it over to me.
“Oh, thanks, Mia. You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her.
“Maybe I don’t need a new maid,” Mateo remarks as she walks back that way. His eyes are on her, dancing with amusement and mischief as he says, “Should I order you a costume, Mia? I bet you’d like costumes.”
She looks back toward the door, checking for Vince, then gives him a completely insincere glare.
He winks.
I sigh. Working for him has to be taking years off my life in more ways than one.
By the time Vince comes back, Mia’s ready to climb onto his lap and make believe she wasn’t flirting with Mateo while he was gone. Which suits the rest of us, because Meg’s on bed rest after taking a bullet for him, and we have to try to like the son of a bitch.
We’re all a bunch of liars.
I shouldn’t have brought Elise here. I don’t want her to get swept up in Mateo’s shit.
Throughout the rest of drinks I think about that, solidifying the thought in my mind. Then we head to the dining room for dinner, and Elise comes out with my salad, beaming like she’s doing something she actually enjoys.
“Thank you,” I say, as she puts mine down in front of me and takes a seat to my left.
Smiling, she nods. “Of course.”
I glance down at the opposite side of the table where Mateo sits. Mia is just placing his salad in front of him, then putting down Vince’s. Vince looks quite unimpressed, glaring at Mateo’s salad plate while Mia takes her seat between them.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Elise murmurs, oblivious to any mounting tension down by Mateo.
I watch Vince stab a grape tomato, probably envisioning Mateo’s head. “Yeah. Nice,” I mutter.
—
I tell Elise her mom and dad moved.
I hate lying to her, and I shouldn’t lie for Mateo, but I really don’t want to tell her. Since she agreed to go with him for their safety in the first place, I can imagine how it would make her feel to know it had all been for nothing.
So, they live in Florida. I looked up her father’s business, put together enough of a story about them relocating and opening up shop in Destin, and just like that, Elise’s parents are doing okay. It seems to please her, the idea that they’re doing all right. I hate agreeing with Mateo, but I can’t figure out why she would wish them well, either. When she left her father’s house that night, he had to have assumed she was heading for a life of constant rape and abuse. What kind of man would let his daughter go through a thing like that to save his own skin? You’d have to kill me twice to put my daughter through that kind of shit—and even then, my ghost would probably come for you.
I decide Elise’s homework for the next day will be that—asking if she wants kids. What kind of life she’d like to have, whether or not she wants a family. She seems to have accepted that she’s mine, and even though I’m not positive she’ll end up staying (I can’t even make myself kiss the girl) I guess I should consider it. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about seriously, since kids weren’t exactly in the cards, given my lifestyle. But Elise may want kids, and if I do end up with Elise… well, that’s worth knowing.
I guess it might be kind of nice. An image of a little girl with blond pigtails rockets to the forefront of my mind, standing at a kitchen counter with Elise, learning how to make muffins.
Ouch. Goddammit. I rub my chest, feeling an actual stab of some fucked up emotion. Don’t have the time or inclination to deal with that right now.
“I’m so tired,” Elise tells me, turning and pulling her hair over her shoulder. “Will you unzip me?”
“Do you want kids?”
I don’t mean to ask, but I can’t get that little girl out of my head.
Spinning around and meeting my gaze, she says unflinchingly, “Yes.”
I nod, but I’m not even sure why I’m nodding. It feels presumptuous, and I suddenly want to tell her I didn’t mean with me, but didn’t I? I keep my mouth shut, because nothing good can come from opening it. I just keep nodding, like a busted bobble-head doll.
“Do you?” she finally asks, after what feels like an hour.
I stop nodding. My palms sweat. Jesus, why is this apartment always so hot?
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I never really thought about it before.”
She nods, turning back around, since I didn’t unzip her. My fingers awkwardly find the zipper as she continues, “I want a little girl. Candace.”