Um, I thought there was only one of you?I can practically hear Margot’s thoughts.
“Oh.” She blinks again, wiping her expression clear. The microsecond shock she allows herself fades.
“Who’s she?” Dan sticks out his finger.
“Don’t point, Son. Not polite.”
“Excuse me for a sec. I need to make a call,” Margot says awkwardly, digging in her purse for her phone.
Whatever.
If she sees trouble, she’ll handle it like most billionaire’s spoiled granddaughters.
She’ll call someone and demand to know what the fuck is going on. Then they’ll bring out the big guns and evict us.
I just hope she’s not bothering Mrs. Griffith. Especially if the look in her eyes promising hot death is anything to go by.
Dan watches her strut away, bewildered as she exits through the back door to the kitchen. Then he notices the dust and splinters on Sophie’s clothes from the broken railing, and his eyes widen.
“Hey, what happened to you?”
“N-nothing. I’m fine,” she says defensively, pushing her glasses up her nose.
Also familiar. My girl’s embarrassed at having fallen, and even more embarrassed at falling on Miss Blackthorn.
The shoes make her self-conscious as hell, and her condition saps her confidence. If she stumbles like any kid her age, she always assumes the worst.
I fucking hate it.
“How’s the foot, Soph?” I glance at her right leg.
Her orthopedic shoes are huge, black, clunky things, but I’d like to think they do their job.
“I said I’mfine,Dad. Really.” She avoids my eyes.
My lips twist sourly.
She’s not limping, no, but that doesn’t mean jack shit.
She’s a proud girl for her age, and she’ll go to great lengths to play tough, even when she’s still my fragile hummingbird. At nine years old, she’s becoming an expert at hiding her limp.
“Bruh!” Dan runs forward, eyeing the splintered wood on the floor before he looks up at the shattered railing. “Dude, whathappened?”
Sophie flushes. “Nothing, derphead! This house is just old.”
“Yeah, right! You fell down the stairs, didn’t you? Come on, Soph, fess up!” He doesn’t look worried, just impressed. “And you didn’t even break anything? For real? Holy—”
“Daniel, enough,” I bite off.
He flashes me a sheepish smile.
The last thing I want right now is rehashingwhySophie isn’t hurt to my overly curious son, so I nod and ruffle Sophie’s hair until she laughs and pushes at my arm.
“Dad,staaahp.”
“If anything hurts, you tell me, shortstack,” I whisper. “We’ll go get it checked out.”
“Nope. All good,” she insists, frowning until her glasses slip down her nose again. She’s straining to see the back of her arm. “But I think my elbow might bruise.”
