Page 36 of Make You Mine

He’d have to have me then and there. He couldn’t keep his hands off me?—

“What are you doing?” Willow squeaks out of nowhere.

I nearly drop the bloody perfume bottle. A sharp little yelp escapes me as I fumble to get it back in place, heart thudding like a warning bell in my chest. My face burns hot, flushed with the sudden panic of being caught red-handed.

“Willow, darling,” I say, turning with what I hope passes for a warm, maternal smile. My voice comes out sickly sweet. “Didn’t I say to call for me if you needed something? I didn’t hear you.”

“I finished my homework,” she says simply.

But the way she’s looking at me—those wide, clever eyes tracking my every move—makes my stomach coil. She saw me in her mummy’s bathroom, fiddling with things I shouldn’t be. She saw me spritzing her perfume like I fancied myself the lady of the house.

The little madam’s more astute than most five-year-olds. That much was clear from the moment I met her.

Still, I don’t let it show. I smile softer, tilt my head, and reach for the bottle again. If I can’t erase what she saw, I’ll twist it into something more palatable.

“Between me and you, Willow… can you keep a secret?” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.”

Her eyes grow round with curiosity, exactly as I knew they would. She leans forward like she’s about to hear a bedtime story with a wicked twist. “What is it?”

“Your mum’s so beautiful, isn’t she? So elegant and graceful. I suppose I just… wanted to be like her. I saw her earlier getting ready and thought maybe, just for a second, I could try a spritz of her perfume. Silly of me, really.”

Her forehead scrunches like she’s turning it over in that clever little brain of hers. “Like when I tried on her lipstick?”

“Exactly like that,” I say, beaming. “You understand.”

She lights up, all pride and innocence. She’s the spitting image of Amerie in this moment, save for the copper tint to her curls that’s clearly Declan’s. The perfect little blend of them both.

“My mommy’s really pretty,” she says matter-of-factly.

“She is. Would you like a spritz too?”

She practically bounces on the spot. I raise the bottle but pause, letting my voice go hush-hush. “But remember, sweetheart… this is just between us, alright? I don’t think yourmummy would be pleased if she thought we were using up her nice perfume.”

Willow nods eagerly, holding out her wrist. I give her two dainty sprays and then tuck the bottle back where it belongs.

“Right then,” I say, herding her gently out of the room before she starts asking more questions. “Let’s get on with our movie night.”

We curl up in front of the telly for hours, bathed in flickering light as the night draws on. Willow insists on starting with that newLilo & Stitchfilm she hasn’t shut up about all week—the one with the little blue menace who looks more like a koala bear than an alien. Still, I don’t mind. It’s sweet, really, watching her giggle at the chaos, her fingers sticky with chocolate buttons and crumbs all over the throw pillows.

Willow’s quite the little chatterbox. She goes on about school while curled beside me under the blanket, babbling about her lessons. Maths being her favorite. She prattles on about the two new friends she’s made, and how her teacher, Ms. Barber, can be moody sometimes.

“Only two friends?” I say. “A sweet girl like you? You ought to have a hundred, at least.”

Her nose wrinkles with a frown. “Some of the boys are mean, Chels. One told me I’ve got cooties. I said nuh-uh, but he said I do.”

My hand stills on the popcorn bowl. “Did he? That’s not very kind. Did you tell your teacher?”

“Yeah… but she said it was only a joke. That Henry always says that.”

“Well,” I murmur, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “that doesn’t sound very funny to me. Maybe we’ll have to get that sorted.”

We return to the movie we’re watching with me making a mental note to look into her classmate Henry.

They’re gone for ages. Out there somewhere, the two of them. Dining by candlelight, sipping wine, maybe feeding each other bites of dessert. The very thought sours in my stomach like spoiled milk. That should be me.

Itwillbe me.

Eventually, Willow dozes off beside me on the sofa, her little head dropping against my arm, curled up like she’s used to with her mother. Emmett’s already down for the night. I tucked him in myself, watching his tiny chest rise and fall.

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