Page 34 of Wicked Proposal
“Aunt Itzel!” Eli jumps down from the couch, forgetting the cereal in his hands entirely.
The bowl rolls, then spills all over the floor.
“Oh…” Eli goes, panic flitting over his little face. “Oh, no, no?—”
“Don’t worry, baby.” I stroke his head, calming him down before he can have an episode. “I’ll clean this up. Why don’t you go color a little with Mrs. Deloera?”
“But I made all this mess, Mommy…” he sniffles. “The cereal…”
“Cereal’s very cheap,” I reassure him. “We can buy a fresh box whenever we want. And luckily, hardwood floors are easy to clean. See?” I wipe at some of the mess with a paper tissue nearby. “Good as new, yeah?”
Slowly, his lower lip stops trembling. “Okay,” he mumbles.
“Now, why don’t you show Mrs. Deloera your new markers?”
Eli trudges towards Itzel. She smiles kindly down on him. “There’s my favorite young artist! Come on, let’s find your sketchbook…”
She takes Eli’s hand and they disappear into his room. I’ve gone through this song and dance countless times, and yet, I still can’t get used to it—seeing my kid being led away by a stranger. Fortunately, Mrs. Deloera’s as inoffensive as they come.
If only that could be said for her colleague.
“Can I offer you anything, Mr. Lee?” I force out. “Coffee? Water?”
A laxative? Help removing the stick that’s surgically inserted up your ass?
Lee scowls at my living room. He doesn’t seem to be appreciating the mess of plushies and toy cars strewn all over the floor. “No, thank you.”
Then, as if drawn by a sudden realization, his eyes zero in on me. Like,reallyzero in.
“When did you come back last night?”
“What?” I blink. “Why is it any of your?—”
“Kindly answer the question, Ms. Winters. Where were you last night?”
His icy voice sends a shiver down my spine. I take one look at myself and realize what he must have seen: a woman in a night dress, barefoot, hair all mussed up and makeup haphazardly washed off—and two deep, black bags under her eyes.
Like someone who’s been out all night partying.
Shit.
Panic swirls in my stomach, but so does fury. “When my shift was over,” I grit. It’s the truth—technically. “What exactly are you implying, Mr. Lee?”
“Do I need to spell it out?” he asks. “I believe the conditions for custody were very clear, Ms. Winters: You were to keep your job, foster a safe home environment?—”
“—which Ihave?—”
“—and never leave your child home alone again.” His eyes narrow. “We don’t want history to repeat itself, do we?”
Cold sweat breaks down my back. Guilt swims up my throat. I force myself to swallow, to hide from Mr. Lee how badly he’s rattled me.
We don’t want history to repeat itself.
“I’ll ask you once more, Ms. Winters:where were you last night?”
“With me.”
We both turn to the tiny voice in the hallway.
