Atlas: A Fake Marriage Standalone Romance (ALPHAbet Club Book 1) by Betty Banks

Author:Betty Banks [Banks, Betty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2020-02-21T18:30:00+00:00

17

Atlas

“But you said I can’t talk to her?” Daisy’s little forehead pleats in concern.

“I know what I said, princess, but I changed my mind,” I soothe, brushing a stray red curl away from her forehead.

It’s not so much that I’ve changed my mind. It’s more that I’ve realized I’ve fucked up.

Yes, I’ve agreed to pay off her debts, buy her an apartment that will actually pass Health and Safety standards, but if I push her too far… there’s nothing stopping her from packing her shit up and leaving. She’s used to burly men knocking on her door. She’s used to the drug-dealing neighbors keeping her up until four-am with their antics.

Violet has nothing to lose from this arrangement. I have everything.

I look down at my daughter, her blue eyes wide and waiting for a better explanation. If I have to go back to Ireland, so be it. But there’s no chance in hell any custody judge in the state of New York will agree to letting me take my daughter with me. And besides, she’s settled here. She has her friends, her school…

I swallow the thick lump in my throat and pick Daisy up off the couch. She clings to me like a koala, wrapping her tiny limbs around my neck and waist. “Come on you, let’s go and show Violet what you’ve done.”

A few minutes later, and we’re standing outside of her room. I crane my ears, but this time, there’s no crying seeping under the crack between the door and the carpet; just the flickering lights and the muffled sounds of a sitcom re-runs. “Go on,” I whisper to my daughter, who slams her clumsy fist into the door and then looks up at me with a toothy grin.

I find myself taking a couple of steps back, retreating into the shadows of the corridor. The last time we spoke, I guess I wasn’t that polite. And then last time I saw her, she was running up the stairs crying. It’s probably best to gauge her reaction from a distance. Let my cute six-year-old soften the blow, before I swoop in.

The door opens slowly, unwillingly. Like the person behind it isn’t sure if there was a knock or it was just the rattle from the wind. But when she sees Daisy, her tired face breaks into a small smile.

“Hello,” my daughter says, “I’m Daisy. I’m six.”

Violet’s laugh sounds genuine. “Hello, Daisy. I know. We met before, remember?”

“Yes. Uhh…” the kid turns around to me with a puzzled expression on her face. Just like she did at the last school Nativity play and she forgot her lines. Violet follows her line of sight, her eyes landing on me with a heavy thud. “Daddy,” Daisy interrupts the tension, “what was next?”

I step out of the shadows, feeling like a teenager caught smoking behind the bike shed. “Say you’re sorry for being rude and give her the present, baby,” I murmur.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, Violet.” She announces, “for being rude in the kitchen.”

“Oh bless you,” Violet’s small smile cracks into a wide grin, spreading across her bare face.

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