Page 66 of His Relentless Angel

Isaiah laughs. “So why didn’t you?”

“Because that’s not what a mature woman would do.”

“And is that what you are? A mature woman?” His eyes crinkle in the corners with his ribbing.

“Sometimes I am.” I roll up on my tiptoes in my white heels with satin bows tied around my ankles. “And sometimes I’m not, Papi.”

“Fuck, B.” Isaiah shouts to the quartet to play the song yet again since he has to hide his now rock-hard dick against my dress while everyone is watching us dance.

“Sorry, Papi,” I say with a laugh, my eyes finally dry so that I’m able to bask in the experience of my dream wedding with my dream man without tears blurring my vision.

Epilogue - Part One

Isaiah - 4 years later

Bailey is the first to answer the front door with the arrival of our next guest, but I’m right on her heels, momentarily distracted by her round ass bouncing in her neon orange, slightly see-through swimsuit cover up.

“You made it look so easy,” she says hotly. “Lies. It was all lies.”

Shayla steps back into James, startled by Bailey’s accusations, and almost drops her tin foil-covered platter of the ham and cheese sliders she promised to bring to our end-of-the-summer pool party. “What did I lie about?”

I gently grip Bailey’s bare upper arms to move her out of the way so James, Shayla, and their herd can make their way inside. The kids take off for the backyard with their beach towels, already dressed in swimsuits and goggles, and James mouths, “What is going on?” to me over Shayla’s shoulder. Shayla hands him the platter and shoos him off to follow the kids.

“You’re nothing but a dirty rotten liar,” Bailey says to her sister after I loosen my hold on her shoulders, and she crosses her arms under her delicious tits that I know have to be busting out of her bikini top.

Shayla, wearing a similar pale pink cover up, sets her hands on her hips. “Seriously, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You said it would get easier once they were out of the toddler stage. All lies,” she hisses in a low voice. “They have two modes—they’re either getting into things they shouldn’t, or they get real sneaky and quiet, hatching some plan to get what they want out of me. It’s three against one.”

Shayla laughs and loses her defensive posture. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that.”

Bailey drops her arms. “You’re sorry?!”

“Yeah, I just said that to make you feel better. It never gets easier. Just different.”

“Ugh!” Bailey stomps her bare foot on the hardwood.

“And hey! It’s three against two, not one,” I say, taking offense. Outside of when the girls are at their preschool and Bailey is at work at the brick-and-mortar boutique she and Starlight opened after Bailey went into partnership with her to expand the business, the two of us have always been together, tackling this whole parent thing as a unit.

“You’re a rotten liar too, you know,” she says, rounding on me and backing away. She sets her hands on her hips, but not in the flirty way I love. “They’ve got you wrapped around their stinking adorable little fingers, and you damn—dang—well know it.”

I huff. “They do not.”

Talia, Nina, and Mali come tearing down the hallway, their brightly colored pony beads swinging and tinkling together at the ends of their black hair styled in thick twists. The only way we could tell them apart when they were newborns was to paint their pinky toenails a different color. Never orange, though, since it’s our favorite color, and we didn’t want them to grow up thinking we picked a favorite child. Now that they’re three years old going on four, we don’t need the polish to tell them apart, but the color system stuck. They try to trick us by switching colors, but we’re onto them.

I can’t help but melt when the three girls hug their Auntie LaLa before she disappears into the kitchen, then crowd my legs. “Daddy,” they all say at the same time in their little angelic voices, asking if they can each have one of the homemade sugar cookies Nana brought. I silently waffle with my answer, my lips parting, but say nothing.

“Liar,” Bailey hisses, giving me an I told you so look.

The girls turn on her and say in unison, “Pretty please, Mommy?” They blink their big, dark chestnut eyes up at her. Talia’s lower lip wobbles like Bailey’s does when she gets upset, and Nina puts her little hands together like a prayer.

“You know the rules. You can have your dessert after lunch,” Bailey says in a firm but kind voice, crouching before them.

Mali hugs Bailey’s neck and tips her head back, blinking rapidly. “You look really pretty today, Mommy.”

Bailey cups her cheek and presses a kiss to Mali’s forehead. “That’s so sweet, honeybee. Thank you,” she says with a smile. “You and your sisters”—Bailey pulls all three into a bear hug—“are even prettier. But the answer is still no.”

Talia stomps her foot just like Bailey, and Nina whispers something in Talia’s ear. Mali joins in, and the three giggle before spinning in their color-coordinated swimsuits with big ruffles on the straps, running back toward the kitchen. “Nana!” they all shout, having run into my mom stepping inside from the backyard, crowding her legs next.

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