Page 120 of The Alpha's Uncovered Mate

My daughter has been raised with abundant love, I realize, looking around. She speaks more clearly than most three-year-olds, and there is a noticeable confidence within her. Cynthia adores her. She's made sure Riya has lacked nothing.

"I want this one." Riya picks up a scrapbook.

"This isn't a storybook." I take the scrapbook from her.

"It is!" Riya insists. "It's about the princess in the castle. Mommy made it for me. This one is my favorite!"

That's when I realize there are a number of scrapbooks in a corner of the shelf.

"Your mom made these stories for you?"

"Yes." Riya quickly clambers into bed. "She even draws me pictures. See?"

She points towards a hand-drawn picture of a princess sitting in a chair. It's a simple fairytale about a poor princess who was stuck in a tower by an evil king. As I flip through the story, the plot turns complex and yet childlike, introducing the evil king's two sons, the mean Gustav and the kind Roran.

Riya climbs into bed and I pull up her covers, sitting down on the chair beside her bed.

"No!" She pats the spot beside her. "You have to sit here so I can see the pictures!"

I sit next to her and she sniffs me. "You smell nice."

"I do?" My heart tightens as she ducks her head under my arm to have better access to the book.

"Are you really my dad?"

"I am."

"Where were you?"

Her question is a stab in my heart, and I try to smile. "I was busy for a long time. But I'm here now."

"Are you going to live with me and Mommy now?"

"I want to."

"Oh." Riya looks thoughtful. For such a young child, she's quite precocious.

"Okay," she say decidedly, in the manner of little children. "But only if you don't shout at Mommy."

I flinch.

"I'm sorry about that. I promise I won't shout anymore."

"Is Mommy mad at you?"

Her eyes are filled with the innocent curiosity of a child, and I find myself saying, "I did something bad, so she was upset with me."

"You should say sorry." Riya nods. "When I do bad things, I always say sorry and Mommy kisses me."

"Thanks for the advice." I stroke her hair, and my heart aches. "Let's read the book and then you can sleep."

Before I can begin, she suddenly asks, "Will you be here in the morning?"

"I don't know yet." I want to pick her up and put her in my lap. I want to remember her scent so that I never forget it. This little girl came from Cynthia and me.

"Okay." Riya loses all interest in me and looks at the scrapbook. "The princess looks like Mommy."

"She does," I murmur.

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