Page 90 of Filthy Little Games

“You couldn’t...” I start, trying to swallow down my disappointment. At least he tried. That’s more than anyone else would ever do for me.

But then he turns around and says, “Paige and Bethany meet Zara, Oriana’smother, just as I promised. That’s how you’ll refer to her from now on.”

A blonde woman I see once a month with Oriana steps up beside Creed, and on her shoulder is the most beautiful girl in the world.

I slap my palm over my mouth to keep from crying out. My daughter is dressed in bright pink fleece footie pajamas with little unicorns on them, her head resting on the woman’s shoulder, sound asleep. She looks so tiny and peaceful. I’ve never even seenher in pajamas before, since I was only allowed short visits during the day.

“H-how is she?” I quietly ask the woman, holding her when I place my hand on her back just to feel her warmth, to feel her breathing.

“She slept through most of it,” she replies, narrowing her eyes at the man behind me. “He never told us you were her mother.”

On playdates, I didn’t spend much time talking to the nannies who would sit and glare at me the entire time. Oriana’s only ever called me Zara, never Mommy. I should’ve insisted, but having them badmouth the woman she sometimes sees isn’t as terrible as them telling her how awful the woman who gave birth to her is.

“What the fu-hell?” Creed asks. “They look just alike!”

“We assumed but knew better than to ask Mr. Rovina any questions.” The woman cups the back of Oriana’s head, her fingers trailing through her curls just like mine. She hefts her up higher as if she’s getting heavy.

“Could we... why don’t we find a room to tuck her into bed?” I suggest.

“Do you have a toddler bed? Or a bed with rails? You can’t put her in a normal bed, or she’ll roll off,” the woman explains in a quiet rush.

“Don’t,” Creed warns her. “You’re free to offer suggestions, but you won’t tell Zara how to care for her daughter, or I’ll throw your ass out.”

The blonde woman, Paige, lowers her eyes. The brunette, Bethany, is relatively new. She steps forward and says, “How about you show us to a room, and we can work on setting it up to keep Ori safe?”

“Ori?” I repeat. “You call her Ori?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you two been caring for her? I know Paige has been with her for a long time…”

“I’ve only been her nanny for four months, but Paige has been with her every day for almost a year,” the brunette, Bethany, says.

No wonder the blonde seems more protective of her.

“Thank you both for taking care of her. I wish it could’ve been me, but I’m glad she had two people who love her so much.”

Creed’s arm comes around my chest, hugging me to the front of his body before kissing the top of my head. “Feel free to choose any room you think she’ll like best,” he says quietly in my ear. “And tomorrow, I promised her a princess crown.”

I cover his hand on my shoulder and kiss it to thank him. I’ll have to show him my full appreciation later.

For now, though, I have to put my daughter to bed for the very first time.

After she woke up and we decided she needed a bath, the nannies and I picked one of the guest rooms with a king bed for Oriana. Paige reluctantly hands her over while she and Bethany build a wall of pillows around the center of the mattress.

My sweet girl doesn’t make a sound after that. Her little breaths warm my neck as she dozes.

After the pillows are in place, Paige props her hands on her hips and studies me in the glow of the soft bedside lamp. “You know he’s going to kill the guards, right?” she grumbles.

I nod in understanding but not approval.

“He would’ve killed us, too, if we had refused to come with her.”

“I’m sorry. Really,” I say as I rub circles over Oriana’s back. “But it was the only way. I’m not sure if you know much about your employer. Emilio Rovina is not a good man.”

“We know,” Paige replies. “But Ori deserved someone kind to take care of her. And it was a complicated process to get hired forthe position of nanny. Mr. Rovina ran background checks on us, called almost everyone we knew, demanded we turn over passports if we had one — that sort of thing. He’s very protective of her.”

“No kidding,” I mutter. “All he had to do was let me stay with her too. At least at night, when I wasn’t working. He didn’t think I would be a good mother to her.”

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