Page 27 of Best Kept Secret

"Bodaddy." She smiled, and it looked like the nap was exactly what she needed. But then she sniffled, and I realized Mira was right again—Pari was definitely coming down with a cold.

I picked her up in my arms. She had that amazing baby smell mixed with sandalwood, which I discovered was a powder that Mira used to keep Pari dry at night.

I got her out of her diaper, which she used to sleep in, and listened to her as she yapped about a real rabbit she saw in the garden. It looked like her stuffed rabbit, whom she'd named Ghoshu. Apparently, rabbit waskharghoshin Bengali, and Pari had simply shortened it.

"You hungry, baby girl?" I asked as we walked out of the room hand in hand.

"Starving," she exaggerated as she patted her belly.

Fuck, but this kid made me happy, I thought as I laughed. I'd never imagined this kind of love existed—this instant kind where you were ready to give your life for someone. I never thought anyone would love me with the innocence and purity with which Pari did. She was all in, even though she hadn't known who I was a week ago.

"It must be hard balancing everything—taking care of Pari, cooking, managing the house. I don't know how you do it," I heard Fallon say as we came into the living room.

Fallon was using her saccharine-sweet voice, the one that dripped venom. I was now convinced that I'd made a mistake bringing Fallon into the picture. I'd hoped for a nuancedapproach, but she'd taken a stand against Mira that I couldn't comprehend.

I saw Mira's fingers tighten around the dish towel in her hands. Her smile was strained. "MyShona, you're awake."

She kneeled, and Pari wiggled away from me and ran into Mira's arms. "Miramashi, I slept. I peed. I hungry."

I saw Mira kiss my daughter, and everything inside me softened. How could I send this woman away, this woman who'd raised my child through tough times? Why couldn't my mother, Fallon, even Trev, who was usually laid back, and Katya see how wonderful Mira was?

Fallon came up to me and slid an arm around my waist, leaning her head against my shoulder. I wanted to push her away when I saw hurt swim in Mira's eyes. Did she think Fallon and I were together? I'd have to disabuse her of that notion.

"Can we talk now?" Fallon asked.

I nodded. "Mira, Roxy, we're going to be in my office. Just let us know when dinner is ready."

"Ten minutes," Roxy shot back. "We'll start eating whether you're here or not."

I sighed. The battle lines were drawn. Roxy didn't like Fallon, who didn't like Mira. It was easy for me to decide whose feelings I'd soothe—that would be the two women who lived in my house along with the child they took care of.

Once we were in my office, Fallon continued the assault on Mira. "She has the best intentions, but she's so young, and she looks exhausted, Beau."

"You haven't spent any time with Pari. Maybe you can after dinner, and then tell me what you think," I suggested tightly.

She shook her head. "Are you thinking with your dick, Beau? Is that the problem here? I get it, Mira is a pretty thing, and you always like young pussy, so—"

"Fallon, stop," I didn't raise my voice, but she could hear the steel. Fallon was a friend, yes, but she didn't get to talk to me like this,ever. "What the hell is your problem with Mira?"

"Even with the best intentions, things can slip through the cracks. Especially when you're overwhelmed, and this is not some job; this is parenting. Do you know how many kids I see who got screwed up by their young mothers?" Fallon wasn't backing down, and it was starting to irritate the hell out of me.

The psychologist in Fallon was testing the waters, prodding for weaknesses. She was like that—careful with her words but sharp enough to make her point. I wasn't blind to it. She was circling both Mira and me this time, looking for the cracks.

Before I could formulate a reply, there was a knock on the door. Roxy opened without waiting for permission. "Dinner's ready." She shot me a look, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to be a warning or if she was just pissed at the whole situation.

"Let's eat," I said, eager to shift the mood.

As we moved to the dining table, I caught Mira's eye. She gave me a quick, tight smile, but it was shaded with vulnerability. She was trying so damn hard, and it was hitting me now how much she was on edge. How much this dinner wasn't just about the food. It was about proving herself. It was me forcing her into this situation, with Fallon as judge and jury.

We sat down, and the first course was served. Mira's cucumber and mint soup was light and refreshing—exactly what you'd want on a hot June evening in Savannah. Fallon took a spoonful, smiled politely, and made some comment about it being "lovely," but there was no real praise in her voice.

I dug in, though, and looked across the table at Mira. "This is great," I said, meaning it. I might not know half the effort that goes into cooking, but I knew when something tasted good, and this was damn good.

"Thank you." Mira's eyes flickered between Fallon and me, still gauging the room.

Pari was happily slurping away on the cold soup.

"I don't know any kids her age who eat like she does," Roxy praised. "Mira, you've done an amazing job with her. Can you believe it, Beau? Pari likes vegetables? Most kids won't eat a green bean, but Pari wants them roasted in the oven with garlic."

---