Page 50 of Dangerously
“How do you know?”
“Because a few weeks after I left, Mrs. Di Luna sent a nanny to look after her.”
“A nanny?”I curl my lip. What good is that?
“Uh-huh. A ninja nanny.”
“’Scuse me?”
“Ling. She’s a ninja nanny. Farrah has no idea. But my father? She threatened to cut off his balls if he went near her. We sent him a message that was loud and clear.” Fallon glares at me villainously.
“Well, you’re terrifying. Mrs. Di Luna taught you a few things, aye?”
“Thank you. And yes, she did.” She takes it as a compliment. “Which was the whole point.”
“I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Why you're helping Aisling. You’re like a champion for women.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” she pumps the brakes. “I can empathize. That's all.”
“That’s plenty. More than most. Before Aisling, I was a completely different person. I didn’t get parents or kids. That baby girl changed me in so many ways.”
“I've noticed.”
“Noticed how?”
“You’re . . . softer.”
“Is that a nice way of calling me a pussy?” I top off my drink.
“No,” she laughs. “It’s just you’re not as rough around the edges.”
“I’m still rough around the edges, love.” I swallow the whole glass at once. “When I need to be.” Then I give her a wink.
“Good.” She sounds pleased. “Because both sides are hot.” Fallon starts in on her dinner.
“Did . . . did you just call me hot?”
“This is actually really good.” She points at her plate with the tines of the fork, completely evading my question.
“Thanks.” I fight to suppress my smirk, not wanting to tamper with the good energy suddenly in the room. “Ghetto gourmet casserole is my specialty.”
Fallon sharing more about herself than I was ever expecting has definitely fostered a new respect. And it makes me realize just how hard my daughter's life could be without me. But Fallon gives me hope. Hope that I’ll hold on to until this whole thing is done.
We put a hurtin’ on the bottle of whiskey. Leaving nothing but a worm of amber liquid on the bottom. By the time we stumble to bed, I have a beauty of a buzz that’s just shy of knocking on drunk’s door.
Fallon walks me into my room as I sing a spirited rendition of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” by my U2 mates.
“Shhh, you’re going to wake up Aisling,”
“Ah, she’ll be fine.” I grab for Fallon as she tries to sneak away. “Where ya going, Poppy?”
“To bed.”
“There’s a bed right here.” I pat next to me.
