Page 63 of Twisted Prince

“I’m Gleb. I’m a friend of Mel’s and was hoping I might catch her before her shift at Pearl’s.” The casual knowledge drop about Mel’s schedule will hopefully put the woman at ease and get her to let down her guard.

“You know Mel?” she asks, her eyes scanning me up and down and seeming to assess me as a potential for trouble. She shifts the door closer to her voluptuous frame, giving a subtle sign that I’m not welcome.

And while I appreciate her instinct to protect Mel, I’m reaching my wit’s end.

“Yeah. We’re old friends,” I confirm, flashing a smile.

“Oh, well, she’s not home right?—”

The woman cuts her sentence short as a tiny human slips past her leg and toddles onto the front porch. The beautiful little girl can’t be more than two years old. And she’s so petite, her heart-shaped face so perfect and symmetrical that she could almost pass for a porcelain doll. Her raven curls and naturally tan complexion create a stunning contrast to her seafoam green eyes. And my heart skips a beat as she looks up at me with complete trust and innocence.

“Gabby, no—” the woman gasps, bending to try and collect the little girl before she can wander off the steps.

But her protest dies on her lips as Gabby stops in front of me and raises her arms in a silent request to be picked up. Usually at a loss when it comes to children, I reach down to scoop the little girl into my arms. A warmth floods my body as she continues to study me with those wide green eyes, somehow seeming perfectly at ease with me.

Her tiny hands press against my cheeks, and my heart—the one I’ve often questioned whether I even had—melts inside my chest. Leaning forward, she presses her forehead to mine, joining our noses in what might be the most tender and intimate display of affection I’ve ever experienced.

And though I have no clue who this little girl is, thick emotion clogs my throat. I swallow hard and close my eyes to ward off the unfamiliar stinging sensation as moisture floods them. She takes a big breath, and I mirror the behavior without thinking, taking in her sweet scent.

My heart breaks into a sprint as I detect the hint of lemon and vanilla beneath her baby shampoo. And suddenly, I know exactly who Gabby belongs to.

Why wouldn’t Mel tell me she has a daughter?

Stomach in knots, I open my eyes as little Gabby leans away to level me with a devastating smile. And with every passing second, I know with more confidence that this is Mel’s little girl. She’s a mirror image of her mother.

“She’s never so forward,” the woman breathes from the doorway, and my attention snaps back to her.

I’d almost completely forgotten about her for a second there. And now she stands with her palm on her chest, like she’s just witnessed nothing short of a miracle.

“Yeah, well…” I clear my throat, struggling to regain control of my emotions—another clear indicator that this little girl belongs to Mel.

“You see Mama?” Gabby asks, her tiny fingers wrapping around the zipper of my jacket.

“Oh, right,” the woman’s face flushes, as if Gabby’s question has brought her back to my reason for knocking. “Um, Mel already left for work. Said she had a few errands to do before her shift started. I’m sorry you missed her.”

I nod, frustration churning in my gut. But I keep my expression passive. “Thanks. I’ll try and catch her another time.”

Carefully, as if handling a fragile package, I pass Gabby to the woman, and she smiles with relief at having the little girl safely back in hand.

“We’ll tell her you stopped by, though. Won’t we, Gabby?”

The little girl nods, tucking her head into the curve of the woman’s neck as she looks at me shyly now.

“Thanks for your time,” I rasp, taking a step down from the porch.

“Of course.” The woman’s behavior toward me has taken a drastic shift in the last few moments, and I can only attribute it to my interaction with Gabby.

I wonder if it was as earth-shattering to watch as it was to experience. And as my feet carry me toward Pearl’s once again, I feel as though I’m lost in a haze of emotion.

I checked out of my hotel room before coming down to meet Mel early this morning. My bike sits on the curb outside of the burlesque lounge, waiting for me. So, I have nowhere to go until I can slip back into the club to speak to Mel once more.

Instead, I walk through Boston Common, trying to sort through my tangle of emotions. I need to get to the bottom of Mel’s flighty behavior. I suspect Gabby might be at the root of it, but as the hours pass, I’m less confident in my assessment of the little girl’s connection to her.

She looks a lot like Mel, but she doesn’t have those dark eyes. And the woman I assume is Kieri, never actually said she’s Mel’s daughter. Could she have been Kieri’s, and I just jumped to conclusions?

I need to stop guessing and get answers, so as soon as the sun sets, I’m back at the red-carpeted stairs leading up to Pearl’s. Despite the warnings Both Mel and Sascha have given me, I’m going back in once more.

Tonight, I find a group of single guys in line to make friends with. I chat them up, finding commonality in the fact that we’re all in Boston, visiting from New York. By the time we reach the admission desk, they’re calling me one of their bros and inviting me to sit with them at their table.

---