She nods again, releasing her hold on him to clutch me with both hands again. “She’s pretty.”
“Yes, she is.” Baxter’s eyes take a leisurely stroll from our joined hands up to meet my face, with a few pitstops in between. “She’s very pretty.” He claps then ruffles her hair, making her giggle. “Now, I need to get back to work, so are you going to be a good girl?”
Sophia nods until her hair falls over her eyes.
“Excellent.” His gaze moves to me as he stands. “You’re both going to be my good girls.”
My stomach performs a new rolling manoeuvre and the door bangs shut behind him before I can think of an appropriate response.
* * *
Luckily,Sophia takes charge of what we’re doing because my mind is in no position to make those kinds of decisions. We go on a tour of her nursery, whereupon I’m introduced to every toy, having to repeat back their names until she’s happy that I’ll remember each one.
I would be impressed with the size of her playroom but my ability in that department has had such a serious workout over the last few days that I just take it in my stride.
Even so, the dollhouse she eventually gets around to showing me takes my breath away.
It takes up a small room all its own with a metre wide strip around it. Each room opens outwards to reveal dozens of tiny scenes of domestic life. I don’t agree with keeping the livestock in the bathroom where Sophia put them, “to keep them clean,”but it’s impossible not to adore the tiny furniture, pets, and people that cram the miniature rooms.
“You play Mummy,” Sophia announces, pushing a figurine of impossible physical standards into my hand. “I’m other Mummy.”
How progressive. Or perhaps a sign the girl misses one of the few things she doesn’t have.
I get lost in the winding tale that somehow involves a delivery goat, an impressive collection of wall art stored in a closet by a magical broom, and a never-ending list of visitors, some of whom are the same dolls with different names, just to keep things impossible to follow.
When a knock sounds on the door, I rush over, grateful for a break from childish enthusiasms but a little disappointed to find Nora standing there instead of Baxter.
“Afternoon tea,” she announces, carrying in a tray with over a dozen cups. I’m about to ask if I should expect more visitors when she winks at me. “Even dolls need a tea break sometimes.”
“Yuri,” Sophia yells, sprinting straight past Nora and flinging herself into the bodyguard’s arms. He’s in the hallway and I wonder if he’s been there the whole time.
“Wow. Guess I’m not favourite any longer,” I say to Nora as I pick up a biscuit whose anticipated chocolate chips turn out to be the disappointment of raisins.
But I spoke too quickly as Sophia hauls the massive man inside and positions him in front of me. “Now, you need to get married. Isabelle is the prettiest woman in the world.”
“Without question,” I say. “And you are the prettiest girl.”
“That’s why you’re adopting me, but you need to get married first. Then Nora can be my grandma.”
“A lesson on family trees might be in order,” I suggest, winking at Yuri.
“No. No lessons today. Not until Emmaline gets back.”
My eyes are on the guard while she’s speaking, and I see the hardening of his jaw. I remember Tiff mentioning the name yesterday, but the relevance is lost to me. “Where’s Emmaline?” I whisper to him, frowning, but he just shakes his head.
“No more of anything today,” Nora says. “Isabelle has other things she needs to do and what’s the time?”
“Four o’clock,” Sophia says with a pout, then her eyes brighten. “But she didn’t start on time.”
“No arguing.” Nora holds up a finger and the little girl snaps her mouth shut. As training goes, I wish I could corral some of that magic. Not knowing the slightest thing about children makes it very difficult to work with one. “Isabelle will be back tomorrow to read you a story.”
“Can she pick one? I want to save Emmaline’s stories for when she gets back.”
Nora’s expression softens, and she glances to me with a questioning expression.
“Sure,” I say. “Once you finish your afternoon snack, show me your books and I’ll choose something just for us to read together.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m perusing the shelves, sorting through a stack of picture and pop-up books, completely out of my depth.
