Miley is seven years old but hasn’t grown that big yet. I’ll keep tossing her around until she no longer wants it, because Dad sure as hell doesn’t indulge in the innocent gesture.
She’s wearing a soft-pink nightgown covered with pictures of Doraemon, her favorite show that she’s made me learn by heart.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, Miles of Trouble?”
“Shh.” She lowers her voice, looking around, and thank God Lenin disappeared. “I sneaked out. Don’t tell Mommy.”
“Never. But why did you sneak out?”
Her large blue eyes twinkle under the dim lights as she plays with the lapel of my Vipers jacket. “I heard Nanny say you lost the game tonight, and I wanted to make you feel better. Look.” She reaches into her oversized pocket and produces a wrapped pastry, then removes the wrap and places it near my mouth. “I saved you this from dinner.”
“Aw, you kept it on you all this time?”
“Yup! Hid it under my pillow. It’s a bit crushed. Sorry, Pressie.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” I take a bite. “It’s so sweet.”
“Right?” Her eyes widen as she watches me, gulping audibly, practically drooling all over the place. “Does it make you feel better?”
“Way better. But I’m so full, you have it, Mimi.”
“Really?”
I push it toward her mouth, and she devours it in seconds. It’s her favorite petit four pastry, and she was obviously on the fence about eating it, but my little sister kept it for me instead.
It’s disturbing how different Miley is from her snake of a mother. You can bet I ordered a DNA test to make sure she was actually Lilith’s daughter, but unfortunately, it came back with a match.
Let’s just say my angelic half-sister takes after me rather than either of her parents. She looks like me as well. Her blond hair is curly and a bit darker than mine when I was her age, and her eyes are different, but she’s just as beautiful as I am.
No, not like me.
No one should ever be plagued with that. She’s way better.
Different.
She’ll definitely bedifferent.
“You were awesome tonight!” she says after she finishes the pastry.
“I was?”
“Yup!”
“But I lost.”
“That’s okay. You were still so cool. I watched the game with Daddy for a bit before Mommy took me to bed, and you had awesome moves! Bang! Next time you take me skating, I’ll bring my sparkly skates, and you can teach me moves.”
Bias is showing, Miles. Forgiven, though. Can you blame her?
Then I focus on something she said and frown. “Dad watched the game?”
He doesn’t usually—I don’tthink—and just shows up at the finals for image reasons.
Miley nods vigorously. “Yeah. Mommy, too.”
Gag.
“Miley!”
