When my eyes scan down her body, I notice she’s dressed in a skimpy shrimp-colored dress and white heels, her face full of makeup, like she’s about to go to the club instead of rotate the laundry. Her collagen-filled lips are pursed together in a mixture of hate and confusion, and I roll my eyes. I don’t know why I even bother to try to explain anything to her. She doesn’t have a single maternal bone in her body. I pity anything—plant, human, animal, mineral—she attempts to care for. It will be dead within days.
I shake my head, giving up on explaining to her for the millionth time, my daughter is probably smarter at six months old than she is at…however old she is. It’s hard to tell. Her voice is screechy and whiny, giving off a young vibe, but all the makeup makes her appear to be older. “Never mind. What do you want?”
“Dinner’s ready.” Oh, dear Lord, please tell me she’s ordered something. If I have to eat one more of her home-cooked meals I’m going to throw myself off this cliff. I’m going to seriously have to have a talk with Aris when he gets home. Just because she’s decided she wants to try and play house, doesn’t mean I have to be punished.
“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later.” I open the book to read more of the story to my sweet girl.
“I wasn’t asking,” she informs me. “I was telling you. Aris brought dinner home and he’s waiting.” She rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed that the man she’s in love with doesn’t feel the same and would rather have my company than hers.
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She turns on her heel to head back up to the house, when I call her name. “Oh, and Selene, my daughter would like her sweet potatoes pureed with only a hint of butter. The last time you made them there was enough butter in them to give a grown man a heart attack.”
She huffs, but doesn’t argue. Damn right, bitch, know your place.
“You ready to eat dinner, sweet girl?” I coo at my daughter, who throws her chubby little arms in the air and giggles. It’s the most beautiful, melodic sound in the world.
After taking one last look down below, I stand and carry her into the mansion of a house. With at least ten bedrooms, and even more bathrooms, it would take a map to find your way around the entire place. But lucky for me, the only room I need to be able to find is my daughter’s, which is on the first floor attached to mine. I give her a quick bath to get the chlorine off her body and then feed her a bottle. When I’m done, I head to the dining room.
“Nice of you to finally join me, dear.” Aris stands and makes his way over to my daughter and me.
“I had to feed her first,” I explain. “But I’m here now.”
“And how is my daughter?” Aris asks, taking her from me before I can stop him.
“Zoe is perfect,” I tell him, opening the lid to her high chair, so he can set her in it. “Selene!” I call out. “I need Zoe’s dinner now!”
Aris chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. He never does. The only reason why he keeps her around is because he knows how obsessed the woman is with him, which means she’ll do anything he asks of her.
“And how was your day?” Aris asks after pulling my chair out for me and then sitting at the head of the table. Selene saunters into the dining room, her heels click-clacking against the marble floor. She drops Zoe’s sweet potatoes down in front of me and they spill out of the cup. They look overcooked and gross. Good thing I never planned to feed these to her.
“Actually,” I tell her, stifling my smile, “she’s not that hungry. She just had a bottle.” I reach over and grab Zoe’s container of fruit and place some on her tray. “You can take this away.” I lift the bowl of sweet potatoes and wait for her to take them. Which she does. Because she’s the maid.
I begin eating my chicken and realize it’s from Pomegranate, the restaurant I built from the ground up. Aris is probably hoping for a reaction, but he’s not going to get one.
“I asked how your day was,” Aris repeats.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” he prompts.
“That’s what I said.”
Selene sits at the table across from me, on the other side of Aris. “My back hurts,” she complains. “I swear that baby accumulates so much laundry. Can we please hire someone?”
“That’s what we have you for,” Aris snaps, and I snort out a laugh.
“But, Aris…” she whines.
“No buts,” he tells her, shutting down the conversation.