Sarah POV
My mouth fell open as I stared into Chloe’s excited silver-blue eyes. Then I looked back at the TV screen to see the same color in Mr. Cavendish’s eyes. Their shape was somewhat similar as well, which was perhaps why my daughter thought he was her father.
Those werewolf mothers had a lot to answer for, I thought as I carefully knelt down to take Chloe in my arms as tenderly as I could. I had never been able to admit to her that her biological father, and I presume her mother as well, had abandoned her on my doorstep. I just didn’t know what that knowledge would do to her gentle heart.
Cringing inside, I continued the falsehood I was using to protect her.
“I’ve told you,” I said. “Your father is working overseas. He’ll return soon.”
She shook her head at me, then tucked herself under my chin as her little arms tightened around my neck.
“That man on the TV is quite famous. You’ve seen him before on TV. But he cannot be your father. Do you understand?”
I felt her nod, but I could tell she was feeling wronged.
“You know, I know a little girl whose birthday is coming up very soon.”
“You do?” she asked, looking up at me through her lashes.
“I do. And you know what? I think this is a very special, very wonderful little girl who deserves something special.”
“What?” she asked, thoroughly distracted, thank the goddess.
“How about a day at LunaWorld?”
“Yes!” She jumped back to me for another hug. Then we both laughed and talked about the amusement park (including whether Chloe were now tall enough to ride the big roller coaster) as we walked the rest of the way home. Mr. Cavendish wasn’t mentioned again.
However, our smiles faded as we saw a man waiting in the little courtyard outside our apartment. His face wasn’t familiar to me, but I recognized that look in his eyes and his somewhat smug manner. He was a werewolf from Child Protective Services.
Chloe and I walked up to him without faltering, though Chloe did squeeze down on my hand in hers.
“Ms. Astor,” he said to me, then looked down at my daughter with a smile. “And you must be Chloe.”
“I am,” she said with a nod.
He squatted down to her eye level. “My name is Mr. Alcov, and I’m from CPS. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, Mr. Alcov.”
“I’m just here to ask you a few routine questions. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, Mr. Alcov.”
I had to suppress a smile as he went on to ask her whether she were happy living with me, if she got enough to eat, and if she had any new clothes or toys. Chloe kept her answers short, not caring if the man from CPS squatted down for her or not.
He stood then and looked at me sternly. “You have been reporting your income as around $3,000 a month before taxes. Is this still correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Alcov,” I said.
“That’s lower than we would like. Remember that if your income does not remain consistent, we will have to revisit whether you are suitable for being Chloe’s guardian.”
“She is my legally adopted daughter, Mr. Alcov. Please refer to her that way.”
Chloe giggled, then looked innocent. The werewolf left soon after.
Inside our home, I led Chloe into the kitchen where the dinner I had made earlier was being kept warm on a heating pad. We ate, then we went next door and I left my daughter under the care of a neighbor Chloe was fond of so I could go to my evening job.
“You be good for Mrs. Thaller,” whispered to Chloe before I left.
“I will be. And I will never leave you, Mommy.”
My heart clenched, but I smiled and kissed her forehead before nodding to Mrs. Thaller, who was watching TV but nodded back, and then I went out the door, wishing very much that I could stay.
My employer, Ella, was a high-fashion model who was seldom at home, which made my job all the easier. I didn’t mind hard work, but my schedule was somewhat grueling. This evening it would just be a bit of work in the bathroom, a quick vacuum upstairs, and some cleaning in the kitchen.
Chef Pierre made Ella’s food, which he usually left on warm in the oven or cold in the fridge, depending on the dish, nodded to me without a smile as I entered the spacious and state-of-the-art kitchen. His knife seemed to blur as he chopped up a quantity of vegetables, his werewolf reflexes nimbly keeping his fingers out of the way.
“Is Miss Ella expecting company for dinner?” I asked.
Chef Pierre shrugged, not deigning to answer my question. I supposed I shouldn’t have bothered to ask, particularly as only a few minutes later she burst into the kitchen, diamonds and teeth dazzling and a man in tow.
I could not help but be startled when I realized I recognized the man, none other than Zane Cavendish, looking just as dazzling as Ella in his own way. I covered it as best I could by quickly looking over to the cute little girl quietly walking behind him.
I smiled at her gently, thinking both that she was around Chloe’s age and that she seemed oddly familiar. I supposed I was just noticing that she looked like Mr. Cavendish, as well as a bit like Rapunzel with blond hair that hung down her back in a thick ponytail.
Ella had entered talking about something to do with a fashion spread in what was evidently a prestigious magazine and about how she was sure the photographer would be just perfect, “dahling.” I went back to work, scraping what looked like burnt sugar off the counter, but I shot a little wink at the little girl, whom I assumed was Mr. Cavendish’s well-known but seldom-seen daughter, Grace. It made her smile.
Mr. Cavendish and Grace walked through the kitchen into the dining room, the former nodding to Chef Pierre but, of course, ignoring me. I kept my distance and averted my gaze. Ella went out the door to the hall to her bedroom. I was looking in satisfaction at the clean counter when Ella rushed back in, her red face almost unrecognizable in fury.
“Where are they?” she demanded of me.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, stepping back.
“My sapphire necklace and earrings!” She pointed back toward her bedroom. “I had them out and ready to go, and they’re gone now! You give them back now, before I call the police!”
I looked around at the kitchen. I hadn’t even been in her bedroom that day, though I remembered the chef had. I looked to him, ready to plead for his help.
“Don’t look at me,” he sneered. “I’m sure she’s right and you took them. You should have never been entrusted with this position in the first place, a human, and unmarried with a child!”
I gaped at him, feeling tears sting my eyes. I turned back to Ella. “I swear, I never—”
Ella waved her hand in my face and then stepped forward to tower over me. “Spare me your pathetic lies and excuses. I’ve seen you have no car, never wear new clothes. I should never have trusted you. Now, give my jewelry back before I have you thrown in jail!”
“I swear, I didn’t take them! I have no idea what happened to them.”
Ella held her phone up, her finger poised to dial.
“No, please,” I begged. “Even just being accused of something like this could put me and my daughter in trouble with CPS! You can’t do this, please!”
She raised her hand, blood-red nail polish gleaming in the bright kitchen light, obviously ready to strike me across the face. Then a tall form was standing between us, and I heard Mr. Cavendish’s voice say calmly, “She didn’t steal from you.”
