Page 58 of Scars and Crowns

I stroke her hair gently. "Yes," I whisper. "He is."

She pulls back suddenly. Too suddenly.

I know that expression.

Eyes narrowed.

Head tilted.

Mouth pursed.

It's the face she makes right before asking something capable of ruining everyone's peace. "Mumma?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you like Mister?"

I blink. "What?"

She waits patiently. Like she's asked whether I'd like another cup of tea. "I said . . . " she repeats slowly. " . . . do you like Mister?"

I actually feel heat climb into my cheeks. "What kind of question is that?"

"The normal kind." She shrugs. "So?"

"I . . . " Brilliant. Words. Where have all my words gone? "I mean . . . " I wave one hand vaguely through the air. "He's . . .. nice." She keeps staring. "I like him as . . . " Think. Think quickly. " . . . well . . . " This is going terribly. "He's a good person." Still staring. "I mean . . . " I let out a laugh that sounds painfully fake even to my own ears. "Pfft."

"No."

"Obviously not."

Silence.

Sara continues looking at me with the patient expression adults usually reserve for children who insist the moon follows them home.

Then she nods very slowly. "Okaaaay."

The word stretches suspiciously long. Not convinced. Not even a little. She's simply choosing to humour me. Wonderful. Even my five-year-old knows I'm lying. Honestly . . . I wouldn't have believed me either. That may have been the single worst attempt at denying feelings in recorded history.

So many years of lying to myself . . . And apparently I still can't make it convincing. The bedroom door opens before I can embarrass myself any further. Yuvaan walks in carrying a large tray balanced carefully between both hands. The smell of fresh rotis immediately fills the room. He sets the tray down on the table beside the bed.

Before either of us can say anything, Sara straightens importantly.

"Mister."

He looks at her. "Yes, Princess?"

"We need a new rule."

He raises one eyebrow. "A rule?" His eyes briefly flick toward me. I can practically see the question there.

What happened while I was gone?

Sara lifts one finger. "Mumma has to eat three meals every single day." A second finger joins the first. "If one of us is home . . . she eats with us." A third finger. "And if we're not home . . . she sends you a picture of her food."

She nods once. Satisfied. "So we know she actually ate it."

I stare at both of them. Then at Sara. Then back at Yuvaan. "This," I announce with great dignity, folding my arms across my chest, "is bullying."