The First Taste(51)

She tilts her head up a little bit. “What?”

I clear my throat, hesitating, but Amelia might actually be the right person to tell. Given her own views on children, she won’t judge me for it, and she won’t always be around to remind me I said it. “Every parent sometimes wonders what it would be like if they hadn’t had their kid,” I say. “That’s no secret.”

She nods.

“I never really felt that way. I mean, my life is pretty good. There’s this one thing that happens sometimes, though, and it drives me crazy. I’m pretty lucky Bell is clearly a Beckwith—she looks just like Sadie when she was Bell’s age. But occasionally she’ll make a face or say something a certain way or her body language . . . it’ll be exactly like Shana. And I get this gut reaction. Hate. Anger. For that moment, it’s directed at Bell, even though she’s innocent in all this.”

“That sounds normal,” she says. “I don’t think you’re alone in that.”

“Probably not. I don’t let Bell or anyone else see that reaction, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I feel so guilty after it passes.”

Amelia’s body has loosened considerably, and I don’t even think she notices. “Andrew, nobody would judge you for feeling that way. Imagine how many children look like ex-husbands or deceased wives, and how common—”

With my free hand, I slip the tie off her face. She blinks a few times as her pupils constrict. Her vision adjusts, and her eyes are unguarded, light.

“Still okay?” I ask.

She looks down at my hand around her wrists, how it binds them tightly together. “I think so,” she says.

“You’re okay.” I smile a little. “I shouldn’t have blindfolded you.”

“No,” she says quickly, glancing up. “It was fine, actually. It was . . . good.”

“I meant because I like to see your eyes,” I say and leave it at that so I don’t get sappy enough to send her running.

“Oh.” She takes a deep breath and smiles, albeit shyly. “So, were we going to . . . or is that it?”

“Believe me, we’re going to.” I release her hands. “But at least for tonight, I’ll let you see.”

She tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “Well, next time—”

She stops, but my imagination picks up immediately where she left off. What would next time be like? Amelia blindfolded on the bed? Or her hands bound behind her back, inviting my mouth to her tits? Maybe eventually, over time, she’d let me live out the entire fantasy—vision, touch, control, taste. All mine.

“Anyway,” she says, glancing to the side.

I pinch her chin and pull her face to mine, pecking her once on the lips. “Next time would be nice. I have your card.” Before she can object, because I know she will, I continue. “Let’s just worry about tonight. I still have loads more plans for you. But first,” I take my cell phone out of my breast pocket, “I need to be a daddy for a second.”

She blinks at me. “A daddy? Is that another . . . fantasy of yours?”

“God, no.” I grimace and as an afterthought, hold up my palms. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you’re into it—”

“No, I wasn’t saying—”

“It’s just that since I am a dad, it weirds me out—”

“Oh.” Her expression lightens, and she laughs a little. “You have to call Bell.”

“Just to say goodnight. It’ll only take a moment.”

“Of course,” she says, crossing and then uncrossing her arms. “I’m sure it means a lot to her.”

“And me. Putting her to bed—don’t get me wrong, it can be a struggle—but it’s one of my favorite parts of the day. She doesn’t go down easy, so I have to read to her or have her read to me—” I pause. Amelia’s eyes have glossed over. If it were any other person, dismissing Bell would piss me off, but with Amelia, it’s better that she isn’t interested in my daughter. “I need to learn when to shut up. I go overboard when it comes to her.”

Amelia looks down a second, which seems to be the only response I’ll get from her.

“I’ll, uh, just step out.” I take my phone into the hallway. It’s a non-smoking floor, but I light one anyway and dial the house.

“Beckwith residence,” Flora answers.

“Hey. It’s me. Bell still awake?”

“What do you think?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Bottom shelf of the bookcase in the living room. Look for The Frog Prince. She loves Grimms’ Fairy Tales, but she doesn’t yet know that one’s her least favorite. It usually puts her to sleep. I only use it in emergencies so she doesn’t catch on.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” she says. “But she’s been . . . more restless than usual. Maybe you could tell her a quick story? To calm her down?”

“Pass the phone,” I say with a sigh. Flora can normally handle herself, so it must be bad.

“Princess Bell,” Flora says away from the receiver. “Your prince is on the phone.”

“Daddy,” Bell screeches. I take a drag while she gets to the phone. “Are you coming home now?” she asks.