At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

My hips sway seductively, and I add a little bend in my knees as I run my hands down the front of my body and over my hips, just like Tiffany did earlier in the afternoon. I picture all of the things she taught us and try to emulate what she did as best I can, not even caring that I probably don’t look anywhere near as sensual as she did.

I feel alive. I feel like I can do anything. I have all of the power in the palm of my hand, and I can make whatever decision I want about my future without anyone telling me what to do.

I’m not just a housewife. I’m an intelligent woman who can provide for her family and will do whatever it takes to make sure we’re okay, and PJ Charming can go . . . do something really awful to himself.

My hands slide back up my body until I’m holding them above my head as I continue letting the music take over and dictate how I should move, knowing that nothing can stop me now.

“Mom? What are you doing?”

The most unladylike scream soars past my lips as I drop my arms and whirl around to find Anastasia standing in my bedroom doorway, staring at me and looking like she might throw up at any moment.

The feeling is mutual.

I quickly race over to my bed and grab my phone, pausing the music, laughing nervously as I toss the phone down and smooth back a few stray pieces of hair that escaped my low bun.

“Oh, that was nothing. That was just . . . for a talent show thing the PTA was thinking about putting on,” I explain with a wave of my hand. “Don’t you have a science test to study for? You should probably get busy with that. Would you like me to make you some flash cards? I’ll go get some highlighters and notecards. How about a snack? I can cut up some fruit slices.”

I try to reign in the chirpiness in my voice but it’s no use. Everything I just said to her grew increasingly higher in pitch until I was one more word away from shattering the glass in my bedroom.

“I already studied, and I already had a snack. Are you really thinking about stripping for a PTA talent show? I mean, all the teenage boys in my school would totally vote for you, but you might want pick better music,” Anastasia informs me.

“Stripping? What are you talking about?” I laugh nervously again before narrowing my eyes at her. “How do you even know about stripping?”

“Mom, I’m thirteen. I know about a lot of things.”

She moves into my room and flops down on the edge of my bed, and I suddenly remember the things Ariel said to me the other night. About how even though I’ve tried to shelter my daughter from what’s going on, she most likely knows. And I feel like the worst mother in the world for not talking to her about it. With a heavy sigh, I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my skirt and sit down next to her.

I take a few minutes to stare at her profile, silently thanking Ariel when I see she’s no longer wearing all that dark makeup around her eyes. She’s still wearing a black sweater, black skinny jeans, and black Converse on her feet, but it’s a start.

“When you say you know about a lot of things . . .”

I trail off, wondering what the best way would be to start a conversation like this. Do I ease into it or just rip it off like a Band-Aid?

“You mean, do I know about how dad was screwing my old babysitter, took all of our money, and also stole money from Grandma and Grandpa and has most likely fled the country?” she asks.

So, Band-Aid it is then.

“Are you sure you don’t want a snack?” I ask, trying to make light of the situation when all I want to do is curl up in the middle of the bed and cry.

Anastasia shakes her head no, looks down at her hands, and starts picking at her nail polish.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

She shrugs.

“It’s fine. I get it. I’m just a kid. I couldn’t possibly understand, right?”

I shake my head, reaching over and gently grabbing her chin and turning it to face me.

“That’s not it at all. I promise. From the day you were born and they first put you in my arms, I swore that I would never, ever let anything happen to you. That I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe and make sure you were happy. That I would sacrifice everything so you’d never have to worry. I just didn’t want you to worry. I thought if I kept everything to myself, that all of our problems would just disappear, and you’d never even know we had problems,” I explain.