“This is my husband, Paolo,” Quinn says, and I catch the way his arm immediately goes around her waist, possessive but protective.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, though I’m filing away my observations. The expensive watch, the way he automatically positions himself between his family and potential threats, the fact that he’s dressed like he’s ready for a business meeting instead of a day at the aquarium. Either Paolo works in a very formal office, or he’s involved in something that requires him to always be ready for trouble.
But Austin doesn’t care about any of that. He’s already chattering about sharks, and Paolo listens with the kind of attention that leaves a tender ache inside me. This is what Austin is missing, a father figure who actually gives a damn about what he has to say.
“Did you know that great white sharks are warm-blooded?” Austin asks, looking up at Paolo with hero worship already blooming in his eyes.
“No kidding,” Paolo says, crouching down to Austin’s level. “My old man once told me he saw a ten-foot shark when he was fishing.”
“Old man?”
“Another way of saying ‘dad,’” Paolo explains gently.
Austin’s face falls slightly. “I don’t have a dad.”
And there’s that look of longing mixed with hurt that always appears when he thinks about his missing father. The father who can't even remember the night Austin was conceived.
Paolo glances at me, and there’s something like understanding in his expression. Not pity, thankfully. Just understanding.
Quinn must sense the shift in mood because she jumps in with questions about the seahorses, and soon we’re all walking through the exhibits together. I learn that she’s originally from Los Angeles, that she’s a dancer—the ballet kind, not the take-your-clothes-off kind—and that she moved to Vegas about two years ago.
“I’ve never lived anywhere but here,” I tell her. “Never even thought about leaving.”
“Is your family from here?”
The question always makes me uncomfortable, but Quinn has been nothing but kind. “I grew up in foster care. My mom died of an overdose when I was four, and I never knew my dad.”
“Sometimes parents can really let you down,” she says, her voice small, and there’s weight in those words. Pain. She must know something about disappointing families, too.
As we continue walking, Quinn tells me about her move from LA, though she’s vague about why she left. She focuses on the excitement of Vegas instead. The energy, the tourists, all the things to do.
“I got pregnant not long after moving here and meeting Paolo,” she says, looking down at Isabelle with obvious love. “It’s a blessing, of course, but I’ll admit I wish I’d been able to experience more of the city before I got so busy being a mom.”
“I get it,” I say, watching Austin point excitedly at a tank of tropical fish. “It’s hard to find time for anything else. But if you ever get a chance for a date night, you should check out the Venetian. Paolo’s Italian, right?” She nods. “They have gondola rides and everything. Supposed to be incredibly romantic.”
“That sounds lovely. Have you done it?”
I try to keep my smile from dimming. I wanted to do it once, with Eric. Planned the whole thing as a way to reconnect when our marriage was falling apart. He stood me up to gamble instead.
“No, but I hear it’s amazing. You’ll have to let me know if you check it out.”
We exchange phone numbers, and I can feel the beginning of a real friendship. It’s been so long since I’ve made a new friend.Between work and Austin, there’s barely time for the friendships I already have.
We end up following Paolo as he carries Isabelle from tank to tank, Austin glued to his side like a shadow. It’s sweet to watch, even if it makes my heart ache for what Austin’s been missing his whole life.
“We’re going to grab lunch,” Paolo says when we finally make it through all the exhibits. “Would you like to join us?”
“Yeah!” Austin shouts before I can answer, and Quinn laughs.
“That sounds lovely,” I say, because Austin is already looking at Paolo like he hung the moon, and I don’t have the heart to cut this short.
We end up at a cute little cafe with Vegas memorabilia covering the walls. The menu is basic but reasonably priced, which is a relief. I might be making decent money as a stripper, but I’m not exactly rolling in it yet.
Austin orders a milkshake, and I discreetly pull out his pill organizer when the food arrives. Paolo notices but doesn’t comment, which earns him points in my book. The last thing Austin needs is some stranger asking invasive questions about his medication.
“So, Nina, what do you do for a living?” Quinn asks.
I don’t miss a beat. “I work at a bar.” The strip clubdoeshave a bar, so it’s almost true. And it’s a hell of a lot easier than explaining that I take my clothes off for money to pay for my son’s heart medication.
