I’m sure most would be furious at what I’ve said to an eleven-year-old, but she isn’t a normal child. She’s experienced more heartbreak, trauma, and pain than most do in their entire lives. She wraps a finger in her hair and twists it while she chews on a nail. It’s obvious she’s worried.
“What’s got you so flustered?” I’m not going to get anywhere by being sweet or ignoring what’s right in front of me.
“You didn’t say anything about Mircea, Daddy. And, I know things are weird. But . . . I don’t want things to keep changing. I want a normal life. I want a family . . . and if that’s going to be you, Bianca, and Mircea, and my new baby sister . . . then I want it to be us, all of us. You said us, but nothing about Mircea. He’s our family too, right?”
Fuck. I didn’t notice my screw up. “Yes, of course he is. I’m sorry, baby. I’m still getting used to things, to this new dynamic. It’s not something I’ve ever done before . . . but I love you all, even if it’s a different sort of love for some people.”
“Okay . . ,” Daniella nods, hopping off her chair. “Can I go out into the backyard? I wanna sit on the patio out back and read. I have to know what happens to Alison.” She’s talked about this fictional girl time and time again, reminding me of Nancy Drew.
I wave my hand, “Alright, go ahead. But, I may need my alphabetical organizer again later.” Daniella has been helping me put the books on their shelves by alphabetical order of the author’s last name.
With a bright smile she grabs the hardback copy of her books and runs to the other end of the house. I wait until I hear the back door open and close before I go upstairs. I was lying through my teeth to Daniella and I have no regrets. No matter what, I’ll always put her interests above my own, even if it means giving her false hope. Something is wrong, and I intend on finding out what exactly is going on.
Heading up the stairwell, I make a left and go down the hallway until I reach the nursery. The door is wide open and I lay my eyes on the soft pink color above the wainscoting before I see Bianca, kneeling on the ground, folding baby clothes.
Her face is flushed pink and even from the doorway I can tell she’s been crying from the way her mascara’s smeared around the corner of her eyes. “You want to tell me what’s got you so upset, or do I need to dig it out of you?” I ask her, not speaking too loudly, but enough for Mircea to hear me. One thing I will say about him is that we’ll both do anything to ensure Bianca is happy, including ganging up on her. She hates it, but man, we make quite a team.
Wheels against the wooden floor come from his office across the hallway from the nursery, and before I know it he’s in the doorway with me. “Did something happen?” Sometimes I think he and Daniella think the same way.
“You just met with your father, right? What did he say?” I press her for answers. After all, it’s easy to tell she’s flustered and the reasoning must have something to do with her visit.
Bianca stops folding and looks up to Mircea and I. Her hands shake in front of her and I can tell she’s trying to say something but her lip is trembling. Whatever’s happened is striking a fear within her that I’ve never witnessed before. Bianca is a Petran, and more than that, she is her mother’s daughter. Fire and ice run through her veins, so for something to have her so distraught is quite worrisome.
“I . . . I was told they’re going to name me queen of the Clans sooner than we all thought, most likely in the next few years.” Bianca manages to speak, but it comes out in a broken whisper. Barely audible.
I take a few steps and get closer to her, as does Mircea. While I’m thinking of what to ask her, he speaks. “Okay, so it’s a few years earlier . . . not bad, but now we know what our action plan needs to be.”
Jesus. He’s speaking like he’s in a fucking marketing meeting. I’ve been here long enough to know something more pressing is the issue, and there’s only one reason a man like Ion would ever give a child warning of stepping down. One that rings too many bells with the Adame Clan— sickness.
“Is Ion ill?”
She whips her head to my direction and every emotion she’s kept pent up since speaking with her parents earlier today comes rushing out. Tears flow over her cheeks in an effortless manner. Mircea and I both hit the ground like our life depends on it. I pull her against me and let her cry on my shoulder, while Mircea takes her hand. “He . . . he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. It’s why he’s been using the cane the last couple years. Not because of a back issue, but because of his nerves . . . they’re degenerating. I . . . I can’t bear the thought of this. I can’t imagine the toughest man I know turn into someone who’s going to need to depend on others for the simplest of tasks. I’m terrified . . . I’m so scared.” Bianca wraps her other hand around her stomach and holds our little girl close, probably the only comfort she can have
