Page 98 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“No.” I meet her gaze briefly.

“Hmm,” she hums, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth like she’s settling in for a show she didn’t ask for but is fully prepared to critique. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Christine steps in behind me, the door clicking shut, the sound final in a way that rearranges the tension in the room.

The couch gives slightly when I sit.

Blue curls into me like she’s been doing it all evening, one leg thrown over mine, her back pressed against my chest, small fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt.

The screen flickers in front of us with colors and voices that loop and loop until they stop meaning anything.

Instead of looking at it, I’m looking at her.

The way she leans without thinking. The way her head tips back now and then to check if I’m still there. The way her hand finds mine and holds it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

It does.

“Eat,” Aisha chips from somewhere to the side, pushing the bowl slightly toward me like it’s an obligation.

Blue reaches for it and grabs a handful of popcorn.

“Take.” She turns, offering some to me without looking away from the screen.

“Blue… he doesn’t.” Christine tries once.

“Shhh,” Blue cuts in immediately, not even looking at her.

“Thank you.” I take it, smiling.

“What a night this is going to be.” Aisha lets out a short breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh she’s trying to hold back.

A few minutes pass. Or more.

“Okay,” Christine tries again, stepping closer this time, her tone firmer. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“Shhh,” Blue repeats, louder now, her hand lifting slightly like she’s physically pushing the words away.

Christine exhales slowly, like she’s recalibrating, like she’s deciding which battle is worth it.

“This is your last one,” she clips instead, pointing at the screen.

Blue doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t argue either. And I’m starting to see that that’s as close to agreement as it gets.

The episode ends and another starts.

Christine steps forward and turns the TV off. And this time, Blue reacts.

“Mommy,” she protests, twisting slightly in my arms.

“It’s bedtime,” Christine replies, softer now, but unmoving.

Blue turns to me fully with wide, hopeful eyes. Like I have the final say.

“Let’s do what Mommy says.” I’ve had good practice, enough to know Mommy is always right.

“Story?” Blue asks. “You can read me one?”