Page 43 of Sinful Fantasy

“That’s not appropriate,” I sneer. “You won’t speak about Penny that way, and you won’t speak like that in front of Mia.”

“Why not?” she barks back. “She’smydaughter! She was all mine to raise while you were gallivanting across the damn city, screwing your way through pencil skirt bitches.”

“Jada! Watch your mouth!”

I spin on my heels, Mia still in my arms and privy to every shouted grievance. Tears stream over her chubby cheeks and down to her quivering jaw, so I yank the apartment door open and, setting her on her feet in the hall, lower into a crouch to swipe my thumbs beneath her eyes. “Baby, Deena’s down at the mailboxes. Can you go and see her?”

“Daddy, I don’t—”

“Just go down and check the mail for Daddy, okay? Don’t go outside the building, and don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. Go see Deena and tell her Daddy needs you to play with her for a few minutes.”

Fresh tears spill from her eyes and break my heart.

I know I shouldn’t send my four-year-old out on her own. I shouldn’t put that pressure on her little shoulders. And I sure as shit shouldn’t rely on a high-schooler to catch us when we fall. But here we are: Jada’s still spinning out, and I’m still failing.

“Can you do that for me, Moo?” I cup her face and force her to look into my eyes. “Can you go find Deena for me?”

Her lips tremble, each tiny bounce a massive hammer colliding with my heart. But she nods, silently and too mature for her age. “Okay.”

“Don’t leave the building, okay? No matter what. If someone tries to make you, I want you to scream really,reallyloud.”

“Okay.”

She looks past me and reaches out with a cry that makes me glance over my shoulder. But it’s Penny, handing Moo a little purple and blue stuffed monkey.

“Take this,Bella Mia. Miss Penny and Daddy will come for you in a minute.”

Mia hugs the monkey to her chest and nods again, then taking a step back, a pity-inducing pout on her lips, she turns on her heels, approaches the top of the staircase, grabs the railing, and slowly starts down.

Satisfied she’ll follow my instructions, I stand tall and close the door. Then I turn to find a sheepish Jada, her stance a little more closed in, instead of holding the Xena pose she had going a moment ago. “What the fuck is going on?”

“She’s pretending to be my daughter’s mother.” Jabbing an accusatory finger right in Penny’s face, she risks losing her entire hand. “She’s an old bitch who somehow slipped into my child’s life while I was away.”

“You weren’t ‘away,’ Jada, you were in rehab! And she’s a fucking nanny. She’spaidto help us raise that little girl.”

“But she’s not Mia’s mom! I am.”

“Yeah, and while you’re out living your bestmomlife, taking off for days or weeks at a time, and being a jerk when you finally come back around, Penny is Mia’s constant, raising her while I work.”

“Still, she has no right to dictate our conversations!” She flings out an arm, her hand holding a girl’s sequined dress. “I was here to spend time with my daughter. I brought her a gift, and somehow, Geriatric Glenda over there got in her feelings about it.”

“The outfits are too small,” Penny inserts, calm when I can barely get my temper under control. “That, in itself, is not an issue—it can be hard to shop for children, growing as quickly as they do. But when Mia pressed her mother about the sizes, Jada insisted Mia would fit.”

“They’re leotards!” Jada snaps. “They’re supposed to be tight.”

Penny lifts her chin, proud and unyielding. “Tight, sure. But making a child question if she isfatat such a young age?” she sneers. “You suggested she eat less, Ms. Watson.”

“Youwhat?” I whip my head back around and burn my ex-wife with a glare. “You said she was fat? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I did not say she was fat!” Jada growls. “I said that eating hotdogs on a stick five nights a week is hardly conducive to an athlete’s physique.”

“She’s only four years old!” I boom. “She doesn’t need a fuckingphysique, Jada! She’s not a pro dancer, looking to compete.”

“She needs to think about her future,” Jada argues, pleading now instead of angry. “She’s only four, so she has time to get on the right track. But you’re setting her up for a lifetime of not being good enough. These leotards were meant to be encouragement.”

“Encouragement for what? For a child who already weighs too little, to lose ten pounds so she can fit into an outfit made for two-year-olds? That’s not encouragement, Jada! It’s a mommy issue waiting to happen.”

“Charlie—”

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