Allie sighs and gets that dreamy, far-away look she has sometimes. She loves to see the world through rose-colored glasses.
“Babe, I’m so happy for you,” she says.
“Oh my God, are you getting choked up, too? Are you two like both PMSing at the same time over there? We talked about that. Remember, we agreed to space out our hormones.”
Allie snorts. “We just love you, honey. And he still might be a douchebag to everyone else, but not to you, and that’s what matters.”
Madison sighs. “You’re the beauty to his beast.”
Allie elbows her. “You make it sound like he’s an animal.”
“Oh, girls, but he is,” I say, and we all dissolve into immature snorts of laughter like teens. I give them all the juicy details, and somehow rehashing it all with them makes me relish what happened even more.
“Alright, girls,” I finally say, pulling out my trusty notebook. “Now we have a case to solve.”
Michelle Soto disappeared only days ago, but it seems there were a string of times she went missing before that. Toni’s teachers report multiple instances of her not picking Toni up from school, and neighbors report knowing the little girl was left to her own devices. When questioned, Toni admitted this was all true, “But mom said I was grown up enough to handle things on my own while she worked.”
I have a suspicion I know what her work was, given the clothing we found in her apartment and the hours she kept.
Me: I think your brother hooked up with her as a one-night thing. Like a hooker thing. Prostitute. I think she was—is?—a prostitute. Gah.
Miguel: Figures. He’s always been a bit of a douche that way.
Me: Right. Well whether or not he’s the dad remains to be determined, but it looks like Michelle chose high-end clients. And I don’t buy that she’s gone for good or in any danger, like Toni would have you think, because I’ve managed to track down several active credit cards and another social media account.
Miguel: Is that so?
I can feel his anger through the phone. Why is it so hot when it’s directed at someone who’s fucked up someone he cares about?
Me: It is so.
I feel very official saying this.
Me: The last time she used a card was on Cape Cod, of all places. She hasn’t even gone far, but we have a strong case against her at this juncture.
Probably can’t go far if she’s got dedicated clients.
Miguel: I’ve got a place on the Cape. We could go, investigate, spend the night.
Me: Give me another few days to pull things together, and then we are so doing it.
Toni’s easing back into school. Miguel’s decided not to hire another nanny, because he actually likes spending time with the kid. Who knew he could get any better?
And it helps that I’m there. The girls and I fill in the gaps.
Prince spends the night more often than not, because she always sleeps better with him there. Prince obeys Miguel’s every command, so this isn’t a problem.
And, what the hell, I decide. I need to watch out for Toni and Prince too, right? It has nothing to do with the earth-shattering orgasms, or the way I like to make that grumpy wrinkle between his eyes melt away by making him laugh, or, better yet, moan.
I’m making progress but not enough headway on the case. We’re two weeks in when Miguel meets me at Yogasm. Allie’s got a bunch of clients lined up for yoga, and Toni joins them. She’s even wearing a little bodysuit.
“Did you get her all dolled up for this?” I ask him. Her hair’s braided and she’s wearing these cute little canvas sneakers with hearts on them. I’ve never seen her happier.
He shrugs, sitting on one of the stools. Something’s bothering him, I can tell.
“Madison suggested she join them for yoga, and she’s been begging me.”
“I love that you braid her hair.”
I come around the bar and sidle up to him. He slides a hand along my waist, pulling me closer to him.
“Could braid yours if you wanted,” he says, but he’s distracted, staring at his phone. I kinda wonder if we’ve passed the honeymoon phase of our relationship. I hate when people stare at their phones when you’re trying to talk to them.
“Something important?” I ask, a little haughtily.
He holds the phone in front of me. I freeze. Like, literally, because I feel like someone’s poured ice down my back. I shiver, and instead of drawing closer to him for warmth or comfort, I take a step back. I slowly pull his hand off of me.
“Babe,” he begins, but his voice sounds far away in the distance.
Notorious Bachelor Miguel Santiago Takes Another Mistress.
I don’t even look at the source of the article, to see if it’s some damn tabloid or gossip site or whatever, because that’s my face plastered all over the internet, that’s his hand right above my ass, and those are… not my words!