Page 20 of The Perfect Mistake

We play a few rounds. Willa is chatty, engaged, and almost boisterous. She and Alec are slightly competitive, while Sam is mostly focused on collecting as many pieces as possible and trying to cheat.

I reach for the dice at the same time Alec does. Our hands brush, his palm against the back of mine. His skin is warm.

I pull my hand back. “Sorry.”

“No, it was your turn.” He glances at me with amusement glowing in his eyes. It’s hard to look away when he is like this. “I guess I’m just too eager to win.”

“Does winning come with a prize?”

“My eagerness would be less embarrassing if it did.”

That makes me smile. “We can create one to protect your ego.”

“That,” he says, his eyes dipping down to my lips, “would be even worse.”

Across the game board, Willa’s voice is sharp. “Come on, let’s play. Or we eat dinner.”

Alec clears his throat and hands me the dice. “Your turn,” he murmurs.

Maybe it is, but that doesn’t help me feel in control. Not dancing anymore might be good for my hip, but being around this man on a daily basis will be terrible for my health.

Alec

Time is a weird thing.

Somewhere over the years, the days started to feel like weeks, and the weeks like months, even though they all flew by faster than I could blink. It was the worst kind of paradox. I didn’t savor the minutes or treasure the hours. I barely even noticed their passing until it was time for another New Year's Eve, another birthday, and yet another anniversary of Victoria’s death.

It felt like she died yesterday, and like she’d been gone a decade. Some days I needed to look at a photo to remember her face, and at other times, I could see her in every one of Willa’s features.

Time is a terrible thing.

The only thing I know for sure is that I never have enough of it. Not to be everywhere I want to, or fulfill all the tasks I need to.

Tonight, I didn’t make bedtime with the kids. Isabel had to solve that one on her own for the first time. Sam could be impossible to coax into bed once he has a project he wants to finish, and while Willa is more pliant about it, she could decide to do a million different things before bed.

Isabel… The first week has gone better than expected. I’d asked both my kids about her, and, while Sam hadn’t said much, he’d been nonplussed. Willa thought Isabel was too quiet and asked me, twice, if she was a real ballerina. It was still better feedback than she’d given about a nanny in a long time. I wondered how much of that was influenced by Isabel being a friend of Willa’s aunt.

I get into the elevator and type in the passcode to send it straight up to my floor. It moves at a slow, steady pace, and I run a hand over my face. The exhaustion feels bone-deep.

Tonight hadn’t gone well.

Even that might be an understatement. Connie’s recent marriage to a Thompson had set the entire family unit reeling. My father had taken it… well, hard is to put it mildly.

I unlock the front door and find the hallway empty and dark. It’s almost ten, and both kids should long since be in bed. The quietness is an encouraging sign. She’s gotten them to sleep, then.

Soft voices carry from the living room.

I follow the sound. It’s the TV. A show, where people are walking around, chatting. Isabel is sitting curled up on the couch. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Her long, thick hair is in a braid down her back.

Her profile is illuminated by the faint glow of the screen.

Fuck.

Her beauty is unmistakable like this, and it impacts me so much more seeing her in my home. Now her beauty is all I can see.

She turns and then straightens in her seat. Her face softens into a smile that makes my chest tighten. “Oh! Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come home.”

“That’s okay.” My voice sounds gruff. I head to the bar cart in the corner and grab one of the tumblers, filling it with whiskey. The night has been long already, with two of these at my father’s, and I shouldn’t have a third. But I need to do something about the coiling agitation I’m feeling.

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