Page 47 of Vengeful Secret

Except this is not the time to explain this to him. Not when he’s already so angry, so betrayed by me.

Ciara is downstairs with Marisol, making popcorn necklaces, and she’s humming a little song as she picks out the best pieces for the necklace.

“Come, Ciara, it’s time we go upstairs.”

“But, Mama, I’m not done yet!”

“I see that, honey. But you can pick it back up tomorrow. It’s almost time to go to bed.” I turn to Marisol. “Thank you.”

She nods and smiles, even if a slight frown is forming.

But I can’t explain, not now.

Ciara pouts and starts to cry, so I just pick her up, taking her up the stairs even as she fights and protests.

I know Ciara’s just acting out because we’re in a new place and there’s new people around. And now that includes her father.

God, I have no idea how to tell her that Gray is her father.

All I can hope for is that he understands that it is not easy and what it will do to her if we do it cold turkey, so he’ll agree that for now, we introduce him as a friend.

I try to imagine it, Gray being a father, giving her piggy backs just like she wants, and a tidal wave of regret at what could have been fills me.

I walk past Gray’s study into the suite I picked out for her, and Ciara changes moods almost instantly when she sees the huge bed.

She vaults to it, jumping up and down, and I just let it happen, picking my battles and unpacking her bath things along with a pair of pajamas.

“I can’t go to bed!” Ciara cries. “I’m in a new place, Mama.”

“I can tell you are really excited about it. But a bath with Effie will help.”

Effie is Ciara’s sacred baby doll, the one she’s had forever. Ciara only bathes with her, and I’ve gotten her out of the habit of carrying her everywhere.

“Okay,” she says gloomily, jumping down on off the bed. “Wow! This tub is huge! Everything in this house is made for giants!”

Two people could fit in the big clawfoot tub comfortably, so Ciara will be practically swimming around. She’s small for her age, and it’s kind of funny watching her splash around. My mood starts to shift from guilt to amusement.

I laugh. “Yeah, it kind of is.” I run her a bath, putting in some lavender bath salts to hopefully calm her down.

By the time the bath is filled, she’s already undressed and grabbing Effie, who floats around.

Kids and their comfort toys.

I let her play in the bath for nearly twenty minutes, until the water has gone cold. I want to wear her out and make sure she’ll actually sleep through the night even in a new place.

I’m frustrated. This whole thing is my fault. For lying to him, for coming to him for help.

What was I waiting for? For him to develop selective blindness and not recognize his own features on Ciara? She also kind ofhas his attitude, confident and sometimes overbearing, and that shines through. It’s not a surprise that he knew instantly.

“That man with the same name color as me,” Ciara pipes up as I dress her in her pajamas, and I freeze.

“Gray?”

“That one,” she says easily, throwing Effie in the empty bathtub to dry with a clunk. “He’s your friend?”

“An old friend,” I tell her, and my guilt ratches up a knot that I’m now hiding this from her.

That is her father she is talking about, and I’m not letting her enjoy him as such. But how do I tell her Gray is really her father?

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