“Youget scared?” she asks. “But you’re a grown-up.”
“I get scared all the time,” I admit. “Like, constantly. It’s exhausting.”
Her grip on my shirt tightens.
“But I learned a trick,” I continue. “We can be brave together. Want to try?”
She nods. Just barely.
I take her hand. Small fingers in mine. “Okay. We’re going to do a hand squeeze. One, two, three. Like this.” I squeeze gently with each count. “Feel that?”
Another tiny nod.
“Now we breathe. Slowly. Like we’re smelling hot cocoa. You like hot cocoa?”
“With marshmallows,” she whispers.
“The best kind. Okay. Smell the cocoa.” I breathe in slowly. She tries to copy me but it’s shaky. “Good. Now blow on it so it’s not too hot.”
She exhales.
“Now, let’s do it three more times. Squeeze one. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam. Two. Smell. Blow. Three. Smell. Bow.”
After the third breath, her body relaxes against mine. Not completely. But enough.
“Better?” I ask.
“A little.”
“Want to try walking? We can bring Frederick.”
She nods again. I set her down and hand her the plush. She immediately presses himto her face.
Mrs. Chen is watching with an expression that’s half surprise, half approval.
We make it to the hallway.
Marco’s still there, leaning against the wall about ten feet away. When Ben spots him, her face transforms.
“Daddy!” She doesn’t run to him, but her whole body relaxes another notch.
He pushes off the wall, crouches down to her level. “Piccola. My brave girl. Go on with Jess, now.”
Ben smiles, then walks close to my side. So close she’s practically attached to my hip. I can feel Jag’s presence behind us as we exit the building. He’s doing his security thing. Scanning. Positioning. I can’t help but wonder if he’s contributing to her anxiety. Then again, probably not much we can do about that. She’s the daughter of a billionaire, and needs security.
Marco has somehow darted ahead and he’s already at the Range Rover. Same massive vehicle he picked me up in that night.
The night I’m absolutely not thinking about.
That ship has sailed. Or crashed. Or whatever metaphor works for spectacularly bad decisions.
He forms a protective triangle as we approach. Him, Ben, Jag.
“Ready to go home,piccola?” he asks.
Ben nods, still clutching Frederick. “Yes.”
I help Ben into her car seat. Check the straps like I’ve done this a million times instead of watching three YouTube videos about proper buckling technique. Marco watches, doesn’t interfere, just observes my technique. I’m hyper-aware of his scrutiny.
