Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(16)

Alejandra had given me a disappointed scowl, which I’d strategically avoided by tickling Rosalee into exhaustion.

No. It wasn’t my finest parenting moment. One day, she’d realize that I lied and I’d have to find a way to tell her the truth. But that day could wait. Hopefully forever.

I cleared my throat and removed the necklace from the box. “No, this isn’t my mom’s. That one was lost a long time ago. I had this one made just for you. It’s identical to hers though.” I draped it around her neck, clasping it with bumbling thumbs.

“It’s so pretty,” she whispered, toying with the heart.

Dodging the crown, I kissed the side of her head. “Just like my Rosie Posie.” I walked back around to my seat. “Now, am I forgiven for being late?”

She aimed a bright, white smile my way. “Maybe. Did you remember to get the pony?”

I tipped my head to the side. “I was supposed to get a pony?”

Panic contorted her round face, which was more little girl than baby now. “Yes! You promised you’d get one for my party. I told Molly and everything.”

I abandoned the joke when her eyes started to fill with tears. “Hey, hey, hey. Relax. Of course I got the pony. She’ll be here at two, so you’ll have her to yourself for a whole hour before your friends get here.” I scooted my chair around to sit beside her and placed a donut on her plate. “Stop stressing. Okay? The party is going to be great. Molly, Ava, and Paisley are coming. Plus about fifteen other kids from your gymnastics and dance classes. We’ve got plenty of food and flowers on their way. And before you even ask, yes, you can decorate the door.”

“Did you remember the goodie bags?”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “Your faith in me is insulting. Of course I remembered the goodie bags. I personally filled them with cigars and whiskey.”

“What!”

“I’m joking. Every bag got two glow-in-the-dark bracelets, a pack of scented markers, one lip gloss, and enough candy to ensure no parent will ever allow their child to come back to our house again.”

She smiled, which made my mouth stretch too. I’d do anything for that smile—this included spending my Friday night filling two-dozen glittery, pink bags with over a hundred dollars’ worth of junk that would all be in the trash can by the end of the weekend.

“Did you get the unicorn cake?” she asked.

“Not yet. I’m supposed to pick it up at noon. I have a few more errands to run too, like picking up the balloons and ice. I texted uncle Ian though, and he’s going to come over and help you and Ale decorate. Okay?”

“Okay, but if he tries to bring Star Wars stuff, I’m not inviting him to my next party.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll be sure to warn him. Now, what do you say we stop worrying about the party and just eat our breakfast? It’s Rosie Posie Day. And on Rosie Posie Day—”

“We eat sweets,” she finished for me.

“All day long.”

She giggled, and instead of tearing into her donut, she climbed into my lap, sliding her plate over next to mine.

When she was younger, she’d insisted on sitting in my lap at every meal. Alejandra had told me that it was a bad habit to form. I didn’t mind though. I loved being close to her just as much as she loved being close to me. Over the last six months, she’d been doing it less and less, opting for her own chair at the table rather than my thigh. It was bittersweet. I missed my baby girl who needed me for everything, but I was so damn proud to see her growing up and embracing her independence.

But I didn’t care how old she got. If she wanted to crawl into my lap and eat her birthday donut every year for the rest of my life, I’d sit there, smiling like a maniac in an ugly banana tie, eating one with her.





HADLEY


Every little girl dreams of the fairytale. The white knight rushing in to save her from the clutches of evil. After that they fall in love, move to a castle, have babies, and live happily ever after.

By that definition, my life should have been a fairytale too.

When I was eight years old, Caven Hunt saved me from the worst kind of evil to walk the Earth. It didn’t matter that I was a kid. I’d fallen in love with him immediately, unquestionably, and without hesitation.

But that was where my fairytale ended.

Instead of the castle, I moved into a small three-bedroom ranch-style home with a grandfather who could barely remember my name most days. I struggled for years with severe PTSD and depression, and eventually, I convinced myself that some lives just weren’t worth living.

Years later, there was a baby, conceived on accident during one of the darkest moments imaginable. But that darkness was a summer’s day compared to the pitch black that was the day she was born. Now, that innocent child was only mine in the sense that my DNA ran through her veins. She belonged to Caven in every way that truly mattered.

At the end of every fairytale, the one thing that always remains consistent is the happily-ever-after. It wasn’t going to be mine, but there hadn’t been a night that passed where I didn’t pray that it would be hers.

The only way I’d slept at night was knowing that Caven had her. She’d be safe with him. The same way I had once been.

To some, it would seem like I was the villain of the fairytale. The evil mother come back to wreak havoc on the white knight and his little princess.