Does he see what I see? Does he suspect anything? How could he?
No one’s questioned who Riley is to our family since the moment she was welcomed into the world.
Then his gaze softens as Riley chatters, something unguarded bleeding through the cracks of his composure as she insists I come visit soon because her tea parties just aren’t the same without me.
“She’s welcome to stay with us,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“If that’s acceptable with you, of course,” he adds, glancing at my parents, who are hovering nearby with cautious expressions. “For a visit. A weekend.”
My heart slams into my ribs.
My mother hesitates. My father looks thoughtful. Riley, however, gasps dramatically.
“Really?” she asks, eyes huge. “Oh, Mamma, can I please! I want to stay with Sissy!”
I look at Raf, searching his face for calculation, for obligation. All I see is sincerity.
“Is that really okay?” I ask softly as my parents exchange a look.
He nods. “I can tell you miss each other. It’s the least I can do.”
The words unravel something inside me, and suddenly, I’m on the brink of tears.
It takes my mother a beat longer than my father to concede to the idea.
She studies Raf like she’s weighing him on invisible scales, measuring the risk of entrusting him with someone so tiny and precious.
Then to my relief, after a brief exchange, my parents agree.
“We can bring Riley by next Friday, after she’s done with school—just for the weekend,” my mother clarifies.
My father clears his throat and nods once. “A weekend is reasonable.”
Riley squeals again, throwing her arms around my neck as if she’s just been promised the moon and a ladder to reach it, then she turns her wide smile on Raf. “Thank you!” she says, voice high and earnest. “I’ll be really good. I’ll bring my coloring books. And my unicorn pajamas.”
Raf blinks, startled, then smiles—not the careful one he uses in public but something softer. Realer. “I look forward to it,” he says solemnly.
Riley giggles and beams up at him, utterly charmed.
My chest tightens.
My mother watches the exchange with something like reluctant approval.
Then Riley’s attention is on to the next big thing. “Can I see your dress up close?” she asks, plucking gently at the lace that overlays the corset.
“Of course,” I say, setting her back on her feet. “My friend Evi made it for me.”
I spin for her, lifting the skirt just enough to show the sheen of the satin, the way the skirt flows out like a crimson waterfall around my ankles.
She presses her palms to the swirling fabric like it might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.
“You look beautiful,” she whispers, hands fisting in the frilly layers of her pink tulle skirt.
I crouch and kiss her forehead. “You look like a princess.”
She grins.
