by Emerson Rose
“You probably did. I was thinking hard about saving your perfect skin that night. I was also angry that someone did that to you and drove away without taking responsibility or at the very least calling 911. Have they made any progress on the case yet?”
“No, still nothing.”
“When somebody gets hurt, you’re supposta tell the police,” Tori says.
“See? Even a five-year-old knows better. Tori, honey, some grown-ups are just…”
“Jackasses?” she fills in for me, and I roll my eyes at Sasha. She mouths sorry from behind Tori, and I chuckle under my breath.
“Yes, jackasses. But remember, you can only say that at home with Sasha and me.”
“And my Zion.”
“Yes, and Zion when she comes home, although, I’m not sure she’s going to be open to that. She’s old-school.”
“My Zion’s not old.” Tori frowns and crosses her arms over her chest defiantly.
“I didn’t say she was old, but she is sixty-five-years old. I said she’s old-school, that means she thinks differently about things than younger people do.”
Tori still looks lost. “She doesn’t go to school.”
Sasha steps in to give this a shot. “It’s like this… so you know how people who are older like grandmas and grandpas watch TV shows that they watched when they were little?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s them being old-school. When you grow up, you’ll still like the shows you watch now, and little kids will call you old-school. Get it?”
“I’m already old-school, I watch Dallas with my Zion, and she watched that a long time ago.”
“Okay, maybe that’s a bad example for you then.”
“It’s not important, eat your dinner, bug. You need a bath tonight, and we still have to show Sasha around.”
Sasha mouths, thank you, and I nod. There’s a time to teach, and a time to eat, and right now we need to eat. Anyway, I don’t think either of us were going to effectively explain old-school to Tori.
When we are stuffed with greasy pizza, Tori and I give Sasha the grand tour. “So you’ve seen the living room, dining room, kitchen, music area, and the pool. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you the rest.”
Our house is built into the side of a cliff. You enter through the front door at the top of the cliff or through the garage that is inside the wall of rock. “Up here are six bedrooms including Tori’s and mine, four bathrooms, a game room, and my office. Down below the main level where we just came from is Zion’s quarters, a theatre room, a library, a gym, and Tori’s playroom.”
“Whoa, there’s another level below the living room and kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“And just the three of you live here?”
Tori nods innocently. She has no idea that most people live in a fraction of the square footage she does. She’ll learn when she starts school, though, and I worry about that day. I worry about her going to school because of my bad experience with school. It’s unnecessary, I know, but she’s beautiful and smart and rich—the trifecta for popular kids—but I can’t help worry she will be picked on by those with less.
And I don’t mean just less materialistically. I also mean less love, less attention, and less opportunity for greatness. Kids are mean, and Tori has a weakness—her fear of strangers and the unknown. If they sense her weakness, and if for whatever reason they don’t like her, they could destroy her ability to thrive and mature.
“You’re a very lucky little girl, Victoria. Your daddy loves you a lot.”
I half expected her to say something snide about the rich. She surprised me with her kind remark.
“I know, we’re great, This is my room!” I chuckle at her off-handed pat on her own back. She’s a chip off the old block for sure.
She swings open a heavy wooden door that seems to be more difficult to move than it should be. I push it open a little wider to see for myself. It’s ridiculously heavy like it’s lined with metal. “Wow, that’s heavy,” I say to no one in particular.
“Steel reinforced, and all of her windows are bullet-proof glass and highly alarmed so don’t try to open them without changing the settings on the security system first.”
Tori is the safest kid in California when she is in her bedroom. It’s essentially a panic room or a bomb shelter, except panic rooms and bomb shelters don’t have windows. That’s why there is an actual panic room behind a secret door in her en-suite bathroom.
Sasha’s face is pale, and her mouth is set in a straight line. We don’t tell people about Tori’s extreme safety precautions, but if she’s going to be her nanny, she has to know what to do in the case of an emergency.
“This is Miss Ellie.” Tori holds up a pink and white stuffed elephant aka Ellie, the Dallas Matriarch.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Ellie.”
“And I have books. You wanna read me a book?” She looks up at Sasha with begging eyes holding out her favorite book, Frog and Toad are Friends.
“We have to finish giving Sasha a tour, and you need a bath. Maybe she will have time when she tucks you in. How about that?”
“Okay,” she says dropping her head and tossing her book onto the bed.
“I’ll read it after your bath, promise,” Sasha says, and Tori perks up.
“So, her closet is in here, the bathroom is through this door, she has a few toys and books in here, but most of her things are downstairs in her playroom.”
“I got a secret room, wanna see?” Tori asks, and Sasha nods. “It’s in the bathroom.”
“It’s a panic room, in case of an emergency,” I add to clarify.
“Isn’t her bedroom panic room enough?”
“It has windows. True panic rooms don’t.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and she looks away. She thinks this is overboard—anybody who didn’t know what Tori went through would.
In the bathroom, Tori walks to the built-in shelves full of towels and opens it revealing a metal door. “See, cool, huh?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, cool.” Sasha’s lack of enthusiasm is lost on Tori. She presses the code into the security panel, and the door slides open with a whoosh. Inside is a panel with several screens attached showing every room in the house. There’s a small bed on one end, books, toys, and a mini refrigerator.
“How long can you survive in here?”
“Months, maybe a year, depending on how many people there are. The more people, obviously the less time.”
Tori peeks inside and around the corner before pressing the close button on the panel. She doesn’t go in there. She says it’s cool, but she knows what it’s for, and she never wants to have to go inside.
“Okay, that’s that. Let’s move on. Across the hall and down this way is my bedroom,” I say herding them away from the panic room. I open the double doors to my room and flip on the light right inside the door.
“Nothing spectacular, but if you need me, this is where I’ll be.” God, I hope she’ll need me. After that kiss we shared downstairs, I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve been inside her. I was getting some mixed signals at first, but when I had her pressed up against the window, I was pretty sure she was giving me the green light.
“Nothing spectacular, huh? You should see my bedroom… four of them could fit in here.”
“I have a solution to that problem right across the hall,” I say leading her to my favorite spare bedroom in the house. “This will be your room while you’re staying with us. I hope it’s enough of an upgrade for you.” I open the door and cross the room to switch on a light. A soft glow spreads across the elegant room, and Sasha’s eyes tell me she is going to love it.
“This is my sister-in-law’s favorite room in the house. She and her husband always stay in here when they visit.”
“I can see why, it’s breathtaking.” She’s standing right inside the door doing a three-sixty to see the room from every angle. Every spare space is filled with bookshelves, and those shelves
are packed with romance novels.
She takes a step forward to look closer at a few of the titles. “Are these all romance novels?”
“Yes, David and Lola, my brother and sister-in-law, spent a summer with us. She loves to read, so I had the shelves installed and filled them with every New York Times best-selling romance book I could find. Zion helped with that part. She liked mom smut, too.”
She turns to face me. “Mom smut? I’m not a mom, and I love romance books.” She crosses her arms over her chest daring me to challenge her, but I know better. Women like Lola, and apparently Sasha, take their romance books seriously.
“I meant no disrespect. I come in peace,” I say holding up my hands. She relaxes her stance, and I see a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Sorry, it’s perfect. I’ll never want to leave, though. I’m warning you, this is a romance junkie’s dream come true.”
Oh, I hope so.
If that’s all it takes for her to stay here forever, I’ll buy her every romance book ever penned.
Sometimes all you need in life is some mom smut.
11
Sasha
Xander’s house is stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s the beach house to end all beach houses. I thought surgeons were wealthy, but I had no idea they could be this wealthy. This place had to easily cost a billion dollars to build, and I can’t imagine how much the upkeep costs on a home like this is. Staggering.
We have finished the upstairs part of the tour and are on our way downstairs to see the rest. “I have a cleaning lady coming in tomorrow. She needs to spend some time in Zion’s room which is right here,” he says pointing at a door as we pass.
“Sure, is there anything, in particular, I should have her do?”
“No, she knows where everything is. She’s worked for me for a long time. Her name is Lilly.”
I happen to look down at Victoria and see her roll her eyes. Hmm, maybe she’s not a fan of Lilly? I’ll have to pay attention to that tomorrow.
“This is my playroom!” Victoria yells when the hall opens up into a large open space. A row of thin windows lines the top of the room facing the ocean. They must have been carved into the rock to let in light.
“It’s great. Wow, look at all your toys.” It looks like Toys “R” Us threw up in here. She has enough toys to keep her busy until she goes to high school—karaoke machines, microphone stands, a big screen television, Barbie houses, planes, campers, educational electronic toys, game systems, and on and on.
There’s even a space along the far wall that is like a backyard with a swing set, slide, and a rock wall with artificial turf under it. I guess they don’t have much of a yard what with it being the ocean. This is as close as she gets to playing outside. It’s kind of sad.
“She goes outside, don’t worry. I don’t hold her hostage in here,” Xander says softly when he sees the concern on my face. “She wanted a swing set, and there was no place to put it with everything being sand or rock outside.”
“I get it. I mean it’s great you have enough money to do stuff for her.”
“Yeah, well, only the best for my princess,” he says, watching her pretend play with Barbie and Ken at the dollhouse. “She’s my world. Everything I do, I do for her.”
“That’s sweet, you’re a great dad.”
“It’s no secret that I spoil her, I know. I want to give her the world. I want her to have everything I never had. I want her to know she’s loved.”
“Oh, I have no doubt she knows that. She adores you. You’re her hero, her daddy, her first love. No man will ever measure up to you.”
Xander is the perfect daddy—the kind little girls with shitty daddies dream of, wish for, pray for. He’s the kind of daddy I wanted growing up but never had. God, no wonder I’ve had daddy issues all my life. I’ve been searching for Xander. And now that I’ve found him, I can’t have him because he’s too damn perfect to permanently hook up with an uneducated, unemployed, almost homeless chick like me.
“You’re sweet. That was nice to say, but I know these years will go fast, and I’m doing everything within my power to savor them and make them count. When she’s a teenager, she won’t worship the ground I walk on anymore. She will find some hot football player to give her all the things I give her. She won’t need me.”
“She will always need you, and no stupid, adolescent football player could make her feel as special as you do. I guarantee it. You’re the shit to her, and you always will be.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey.”
“I’m tired.”
“Are you ready for bed?” he asks with concern in his tone.
“Uh-huh.” She stands and weaves her way through the toys back to us.
“The theatre room and the gym are right through there,” he says pointing to a hall on the opposite end of the room. “That’s it for this level.”
“Great, thank you both for showing me around.”
“You’re welcome. Come on, bug, let’s get you to bed.” We spend the next half hour bathing Victoria and hunting down a clean pair of jammies. I notice her hamper is overflowing—it doesn’t look like Xander has been doing laundry. I make a mental note to work on that in the morning.
When she’s in a pink unicorn nighty and a thick pair of black wool socks… yes, wool in California—itchy, scratchy, wool—I read her a story, and she’s asleep before it’s over. I don’t know if she’s afraid of the dark, so I leave her bathroom light on as well as a small lamp next to the bed. It has an unusually dim light bulb in it that leads me to believe she uses it for a nightlight.
Xander excused himself when we began reading, but when I step into the hall, he is standing right there. “Shit, you scared me,” I say with a jump.
“I forgot to tell you to leave her light on, but I see you figured it out on your own.”
“That I did. I don’t like the dark myself.”
“She likes the door open.” He leans in close so he can reach around me and push it open wide. “Nightmares,” he says by way of explanation.
“Of course.” He’s close, so close I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and it’s affecting me, a lot. I begin to step away, but he follows me in what I am learning is his trademark you’re not going anywhere move.
“What are her nightmares about?” My voice trembles, I can hardly get the words out. I don’t want to talk about the dark or nightmares. I want to turn my face a fraction of an inch and let him kiss me as he did earlier. But I can’t, I won’t. The only thing a fling with Xander will bring is heartache for me and confusion for Victoria.
“Her mother and the men who helped kidnap her. Why are you afraid of the dark?” His voice is husky and suggestive—it’s unsettling and doesn’t match his words. This is a conversation that should be happening across a desk in an office, not cheek to cheek breathing heavy in the dim hallway outside his daughter’s bedroom.
“I, uh, I had some bad experiences, I guess you could say.” I try again to move away, and again he moves with me. He places his hands gently on my hips, and I make it a point not to look at him.
“Did someone hurt you, Sasha?” Now his voice is clear with a layer of anger that is a little frightening.
“No, it’s nothing, just kid stuff, you know,” I lie. His warm, strong hands slide up my hips to my waist.
“You’re lying,” he whispers in my ear, and I frown.
“I am not. Who do you think you are calling me a liar?” I say pushing him away and storming toward the door of the room he assigned to me.
He’s right behind me, though, and grabs my upper arm to turn me around. “Sasha, don’t walk away from me.” His words are harsh, and the anger he expressed a moment ago is amplified.
I look at his hand holding my arm and then at him. “Take your hand off of me.”
He releases me right away, and his face softens. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I apologize, but y
ou were trembling, and I hoped you would be honest about what happened to you.”
“Nothing happened to me.”
He presses his lips together in a straight line and tilts his head to the side in a come on now, Sasha look.
“Okay, so something happened, but I don’t want to talk about it. I hardly know you.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, but his eyes are filled with concern.
“I can respect that. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here for you.”
“What if I’m never ready?”
“You will be, someday. Everybody needs to talk about what scares them. It’s the only way to get over it.” I happen to disagree with him one hundred percent on this, but I don’t say anything because we will never be anything more than employer and employee, and he doesn’t need to know about my past.
“Sure.” I semi-agree with him so that he will let me go to bed. Please, God, let this door have a lock on it. “I’m really tired, and I want to go to sleep.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and drags his finger along my jaw to my lips where he caresses my bottom lip. Then he suddenly leans forward and presses a quick kiss to my mouth and backs away. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning. I run at 4:30 a.m., and I like a cup of coffee when I get back. Tori is awake by 6:00 a.m., and she likes to eat right away. She also has meds she takes every morning, but I’ll show those to you tomorrow.”
“Do you get up that early on the weekends, too?”
“Yes.”
My eyebrows pop up. “Wow.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, that just seems pretty ridged and… and early as hell.” He laughs, but I’m serious. I like sleeping in on the weekends, but I suppose I can give it up for two weeks.
“Rigidity is a good thing, Sasha. Discipline and routine breed success.” Again the words and his sexy tone do not match.
“Maybe so, but there’s a lot to be said for flexibility and spontaneity, too,” I say batting my eyelashes. I turn around quickly and slip into my bedroom closing and locking the door in one motion. Two can play that game.