Page 101 of Volatile Vice

“You can ask me about my hair,” I say. “It’s okay. I had cancer. But I’m okay now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” I slide my credit card into the reader and pay for two bottles of water. I hand one to Belinda. “You ready to go back?”

She unscrews the cap of her water and takes a drink. “Do we have to go back?”

I widen my eyes. “Of course. Your father will wonder what happened to you.”

She says nothing.

“Belinda, do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Nowhere. Back to my father is fine.” She glances around the area nervously. “I just don’t want to miss my piano lesson later.”

“You play the piano?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, her eyes brightening. “I’m really good, too.”

“That’s great. Nobody in my family has any musical talent.”

“No one in my family does either. Daddy says I’m a prodigy.”

I smile at her. “That’s just wonderful. I understand why you don’t want to miss your lesson. I’m sure your father understands as well.”

She looks over her shoulder and then returns her gaze to me. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.” I nod to Jared. “Can you give us some privacy? Just far enough so that you can’t hear her?”

“Of course.” Jared walks several feet away.

I kneel. “What is it, Belinda?”

She cups her hand over her mouth and whispers into my ear. “I know I look small for my age. I’m actually eleven.”

“All girls mature at different rates.”

“I know. My nanny tells me that all the time.”

“See?”

“That’s just it. I don’t see.” She crosses her arms. “I don’t go to school with other girls. My nanny teaches me at home.”

“Oh. Do you like that?”

She bites her lip. “I like my nanny a lot. She’s nice. Sometimes I wish I had a friend.”

My heart breaks for this little girl. In seven short years, she’s supposed to marry Vinnie. And of course by then she’ll have matured into a woman—probably a beautiful one, with the fine features she possesses along with her thick blond hair and light-blue eyes.

But before me is not a woman. Before me is a little girl. A little girl who just wants a friend.

The thought makes my heart ache.

“Maybe you should talk to your dad. Tell him you want a friend.”

She shakes her head. “No. I won’t talk to him. Not about anything.”

“Belind—”

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