Page 125 of Roulette: The Madam

“She’s not answering. She was supposed to be here when I made it out here. She's not.”

“Is that what is bothering you?”

“Yes.”

“Whenever you find yourself in a bind, Malaya, call me. That’s why I gave you my number. Alright?”

“Okay. And, I was going to call you. I jus– I wanted to call Dad to make sure it was okay. You know. Make sure you weren’t busy.”

“I’ll get unbusy for you, baby. Don’t sweat it. And, don’t call your father. He will worry halfway across the world. We’ve got this.”

Do we? I questioned, wondering what the hell kind of trouble my mouth and heart were getting me into. Malaya reminded meso much of my sisters that she had my heart by default. From the moment I met her, I was toast. Adopting her into the family felt so natural. And, it was.

She was one of the girls now. I wasn’t sure if she knew it or understood what that meant for her. Malaya was covered. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. We wouldn’t allow her to fall short. Whether her father and I continued our charade or not, she had become the baby of the older bunch. Because, Ms. Jru was the true cub of the family.

“Is that them?” She asked, the smile I’d been waiting tearing away at her face.

“Yes,” I replied, marveling at the women on their way over. “That’s them.”

I’d told her a few things about my sisters, but they were all great things. For her to better understand herself, I promised to bring them around to meet her. She was desperate for the presence of a woman.

A sober woman. A concerned woman. A successful woman. A happy woman. A maturing woman. A confident woman. A beautiful woman. A stern woman. A gentle woman. A hot woman. A cool woman. A vulnerable woman. A single woman. A married woman. A young woman. An older woman. An ambitious woman. An outgoing woman. An understanding woman.

They were all staring back at her. Every woman she needed to surround herself with in order to help her figure out which woman she wanted to be. Fifteen was pivotal in a young woman’s life. Having the right influences around was detrimental.

It didn’t matter how good of a father Israel was. He was a man. He’d never understand the development of a woman or how to help his child navigateunbiasedly. He’d unintentionallysteer her in the direction of his mother, women he adored, women he dated, or women he’d fucked over in the past.

She’d mirror someone in his life whether he realized it or not. That’s not what I wanted for Malaya. Self-discovery was what I wanted for her. That started now.

“They’re pretty.”

“So are you.”

“I know, but like– they’re gorgeous. Look at them. They look like they’re on the runway.”

Long legs darted in our direction. Malaya was right. They did look like they were walking the runway.

“They’re just adults, babe. With grown woman features and faces. You’re well on your way. Which one reminds you more of yourself or resembles the woman you imagine yourself as.”

“The one in the middle.”

Rome. Of course.

“That’s Rome. Is it her style you love?”

“Yes. And her hair. It’s simple but it’s pretty. It compliments her face.”

“She’sThe Ballerina. The one your father told you about.”

“You’re lying,” she gasped.

“No. I’m not. Ask her when she gets over here.”

“She’s so pretty.”

Rome was dressed in soft pink with half of her hair into a ponytail and the other half hanging down her back in loose curls. The style was clean, and as Malaya had mentioned, it complemented her face.

“I’m happy you think so, because the bags in their hands all belong to you. She picked out almost every piece.”

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