Page 58 of The Alpha's Cursed Queen

I hear the pitter patter of little feet on the wooden floor of the hallway, and a little girl not even half my size skids into the kitchen. “Here!”

I give her a sharp look. “What have I said about skidding in the house? You’re going to fall and hurt yourself.”

“No, I won’t!” my six-year-old daughter protests before grabbing her lunch box and shoving it recklessly into her backpack. “Let’s go.”

I looked down at her bare feet. “You want to get your shoes first, ma’am?”

She wiggles her toes at me, giving me that carelessly charming smile that never fails to pang my heart with the ghost of a memory. “I don’t like shoes.”

I bop her on the nose. “Well, first graders have to wear shoes. And one of us happens to be a first grader.”

“Why can’t I go back to kindergarten?” She sticks out her lower lip. “All my friends are there.”

I sigh heavily, having already had this discussion every day for the past week. “Because your Aunt Mary seems to think you’re a genius, and then, you didn’t help any by acing the interview at the elementary school. Besides, you like learning, and you’ll make loads of new friends.”

My daughter tugs on both tips of her ponytails. “Jamie says first graders are mean.”

I crouch down and smooth out the ends of her hair before telling her seriously, “Jamie doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s homeschooled.”

“Why can’t I be homeschooled with him?” She looks at me pleadingly. “I like him.”

I straighten up, trying not to let those big green eyes of hers melt my heart. “Jamie and you together are like a ticking time bomb. No homeschooling for you, especially with him, because the last time we tried that, the two of you nearly set his apartment on fire.”

“I just wanted to make eggs,” Mira protests, determined to get the last word.

I give her an exasperated pat on the shoulder. “Mira, go get your shoes. We have five minutes. I can’t be late for work today. Move it. One, two, three, go!”

Always up for a challenge, she scampers back to her room. I hear things being tossed around as she searches for her little black shoes.

The only thing my daughter inherited from me is my red hair. I don’t know where she got her brains from. She has always been smart, even as a toddler. It probably helped that whenever Mary came to visit me in Phoenix, she would spend half the time playing teacher with my infant. My baby would be spouting the alphabet or counting to one hundred as soon as Mary left.

When it was time for Mira to start school, the director of the kindergarten took me aside and told me first grade would be better for my daughter. I didn’t want Mira to have to experience being the outcast, as she would be significantly younger than her classmates, so I refused. But then, my happy-go-lucky child began to stand out a little too much from her peers, something that bothered the other kindergarteners. This is the only reason why I agreed to let her be transferred to first grade in the middle of the academic year. The school’s principal, clearly impressed with my daughter, even suggested putting her in second grade instead, but I had to put my foot down somewhere.

When I hear tiny little stomping sounds, I know the shoes have been found and put on.

“I’m ready!” Mira appears in the kitchen doorway, her little fists resting on her hips in a superhero pose.

I look at her, my heart overflowing with warmth. At her age, I was huddled in closets, trying to escape my bullies. My daughter never has to worry about surviving. She is one of the most confident children I’ve ever seen. I’ve raised her with an abundance of love and affection, and it shows.

She stomps over to me, throws her arms around my waist, and gazes up at me. “Why do you look sad, Mama?”

I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand, smiling down at her. “Just thinking of what a blessing I’ve been given in the shape of you.”

She gives me a broad smile, showing me the gap in her teeth. “I’m a blessing?”

I kneel by her side, cupping her chubby little face in my hands. “The most beautiful blessing of them all. When you came along, you took away every bit of heartache I ever had. So, you are my little blessing.”

She kisses my nose cheekily. “Does this mean I can get ice cream later?”

I roll my eyes, amused. “You never waste an opportunity, do you?”

“I like ice cream.”

Laughing lightly, I nudge her out the door of our apartment before grabbing the keys to my car and locking up.

I drop Mira off at the elementary school. Unable to stop myself from lingering, I watch her as she heads inside. Despite her previous concerns, she seems her usual cheery self, and I know she will end up befriending at least one child by the end of the day. Yet, I can’t help but worry. It’s her first day in a new place. What if she misses me? What if someone bullies her?

Mia was always a happy baby, a friendly, giggling child from the moment she was placed in my arms. She’s never had a problem making friends and has easily charmed her babysittersand kindergarten teachers out of giving her punishments for her bouts of naughtiness. She’s mischievous and curious, and an overall healthy child, but I still worry about her. I want her to settle in at this new school. I know how cruel children can be.

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