Page 68 of Faking it with the Billionaire
It might have to do with the fact that one of the other girls whacked her with the stick. It wasn’t on purpose, but hockey is a bit more aggressive than my Bristol is used to.
After that game, she preferred dancing with the hockey stick on the ice, which made her coach unpleased, and somehow, he thought it was my fault.
When hockey wasn’t such a hit, I suggested ice skating with other kids or competitive figure skating, and she stuck her tongue out at me and told me no.
I don’t believe in pushing her too hard. Some kids that works for, but not Bristol.
“Can Emmie come with us?” Bristol asks. She plops herself at the kitchen counter, waiting for breakfast.
I make a batch of pancakes, taking my time this morning, enjoying a bit of quality time with my daughter. It isn’t often enough that it’s just the two of us anymore. Not that I’m complaining. I enjoy having Em around a lot, and it’s nice Lia can help with some of the added stress and work that needs to be done.
“Emmie has plans for today,” I say, mixing the pancake batter while Bristol quizzes me.
The smile on her face grows. “Doing what? Is it a date?”
My stomach churns at my daughter’s question. “What makes you say that?”
“She’s pretty,” Bristol says with a shrug. “But aren’t you dating her, Daddy?”
I bite down on my tongue. Now isn’t the time to reveal to Bristol that Em and I are just faking this whole relationship for the world. But eventually, I’m going to have to tell her. I’m nauseous just thinking about the disappointment she’ll feel when she realizes the only reason Em is around is that I’ve paid her to be.
“Liam, at school, he said that Emmie is my mom. I told him he’s wrong, that daddies can have girlfriends.”
“Liam, as in Liam Moretti?” Isn’t this the kid whose parents we’re supposed to have dinner with, a meal that I’ve been avoiding? Thankfully, my schedule has been a good reason for not making plans, but I’m not sure how much longer that will last.
Bristol keeps jabbering on. “He’s the boy in school who’s stupid, who bullied me. He thinks that because his dad is big and tough that he can say whatever he wants. I told him he was a liar. Emmie isn’t my mom, but he keeps saying he heard it from his mom and dad.”
I exhale a heavy breath and turn on the stove, heating up the pan to make pancakes. How do I explain this to my kid without outright lying to her? Am I a shitty father for already hiding the truth about Em to her?
Fuck it.
I may not want to scare her regarding the threats, but I can’t keep up this charade. “Em isn’t really my girlfriend,” I say, hoping that Bristol can understand.
Her brow tightens. “Is she my mommy?”
“No, sweetie. Your mom lives in another city, far from New York,” I say. “But we may have told Liam’s parents that Emerson is your mother.”
Bristol’s eyes widen, and she gasps, covering her mouth with both hands. “You lied!”
She doesn’t seem particularly upset that Em isn’t my girlfriend. She’s more transfixed on the lie that I told.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. Lying is wrong.” I don’t want Bristol to think that it’s okay to fib.
Bristol points at the stove for me to remember to work on the pancakes. I drop some butter on the pan and then watch it sizzle before adding a few scoops of batter. “Can Em be my mommy? I like having her around. She’s really nice. I like Nanny Lia too, but Em is so funny. She makes me laugh until I pee my pants.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Is that why Lia has been doing extra laundry?”
“I’m kidding, Daddy. I’m not a baby.”
We finish up with breakfast, and I take Bristol to the ice rink. She’s been skating on her own since she was three, and she’s mastered skating backward and twirling with ease. She’s bundled in a scarf, hat, and thick parka. It’s not really that cold, but she insists on dressing for the rink weather.
“Does Em know how to skate?” Bristol asks as she gives me her hands and wants me to twirl her in circles as fast as I can.
How does she not get dizzy?
“I don’t know,” I admit. I had asked her that question and then had brought her onto the ice for a proposal. She never really answered me when I was going on about how she had to say yes. “You can ask her that after we’re done. We’re going to swing by the food drive.”
She giggles while I help her twirl in circles until I finally stop. There’s a squeal of delight, and her cheeks are red from the cold. She lets go of my hand and skates in circles, staring up at the ceiling, arms straight out.
