Vivian only allowed Pip to have caffeine-free soda on special occasions, or when they went out to dinner or to the movies.
Victor glanced over his shoulder, looking far too entertained at the way his young niece had manipulated Belle so that she could get soda at home.
“Fine,” she consented.
Pip cheered, hopping off the kitchen stool and darting over to Victor. “Are you going to come to the movies with us?”
Victor nodded. “Of course. What are we watching?”
Victor and Belle both groaned in unison when Pip shouted, “The Little Mermaid,” and darted out of the room.
* * *
Afternoons had become quite dangerous, Belle decided a week later.
And not because of Pip, but because Victor had zero shame when it came to getting handsy in the pool.
“Behave,” Belle hissed, when his hand slid along her hip beneath the surface. Pip wasn’t looking, as she was too busy climbing out of the pool, preparing to do her four-thousandth “Watch me!” leap from the side.
“Never,” Victor growled, slipping his hand between her legs, giving her a too-quick stroke. If she wasn’t already soaking wet from the pool, that touch would have done the job just as well.
“Pip’s right there,” she whispered.
“And not watching.”
Belle looked as Pip walked over to the picnic table to take a sip from her juice box before returning. After that, she gotdistracted by Victor’s array of floaties, trying to decide if she wanted to play with a noodle or the inflatable dragon.
With her attention on something else, Victor took advantage of her distraction, stealing a kiss. It was quick, but it stole Belle’s breath anyway.
“Uncle Vic,” Pip shouted, racing back toward the pool. “Watch this!”
“Walk,” he said to the little girl sternly, the same way he had at least a dozen times already today. When she was one, Pip hadn’t learned to walk like most children. She’d learned to run, and she’d been doing it ever since. She had only two speeds—standing still and sixty miles an hour.
Victor slid by Belle, close enough that his body brushed against hers, swimming to where Pip stood next to the pool. “What am I watching?”
“I’m going to throw this in the pool, then jump on it,” Pip said, her arms overloaded with the huge dragon floatie. “You have to give me a score, like in the ’Lympics.”
Pip had been enthralled by the Winter Olympics last February. So much so that now, every time she did anything, she demanded a serious rating.
“Okay.” Victor rested his arms along the edge of the pool, giving Pip room for her trick.
“You have to give me a score too, Belle.”
She saluted in response, and the rest of the afternoon passed in a beautiful blur of secret touches, stolen kisses, and lots and lots of dragon cannonball scores.
* * *
Belle rolled over and opened her eyes, blinking in the darkness. She’d roused before the alarm. A quick glance at the bedsideclock showed her it was 4:52 a.m. Her internal clock had rewired itself to the new norm.
For the past three weeks, she’d essentially had two wake-up times. The first at five a.m. when Victor’s alarm went off, at which point she tiptoed down the hall to her own bed, climbing beneath the covers and grabbing a couple more hours of sleep before Pip rose.
She was surprised—and not surprised—by how easy it was for her to fall back to sleep after the bed swap. Typically, it was hard for Belle to nod off, even at night, because she had one of those brains that never shut down.
Victor seemed to know where the switch was.
Every night since he’d waylaid her after her date with Sean, she and Victor met on the patio after putting Pip to bed. They’d established that routine early on in her stay here, so that wasn’t new. What had changed since was the seating. Because nowadays, they shared a lounger, with her on Victor’s lap. Him reclined in the chair, her against his chest.
There was nothing nicer than sitting together, snuggled up with his arms wrapped around her from behind.
