Chapter 9 Nina
NINA
How is this my life?
Alessio is my new boss. The father of my child. And the son of a bitch doesn’t even remember me.
Of course he doesn’t. I’m probably one of dozens of women he’s “helped” over the years. Seven years of thinking about that night, seven years of wondering what might have been different if we’d met under other circumstances, and to him I’m just another Tuesday he can’t be bothered to recall.
Well, fine. Clearly that night didn't leave the same impression on him that it did on me.
I wait until the dressing room door shuts behind him before pulling out my next outfit. Whatever his problem is, I’m not letting it cost me this job.
Starla told me during my audition that I’ll be expected to strip every sixty minutes, which gives me time to actually think about my routine instead of dwelling on Alessio’s selective amnesia.
If there’s one good thing about finding out Alessio is my boss, it’s that it’s completely distracted me from overthinking about stripping.
Dancing around on stage and flashing my tits at some strangers doesn’t seem like such a big deal after that tense exchange with him.
Hell, it’s not even the most unpleasant part of the job anymore. That's going to be seeing him every night I work, acting like we're complete strangers.
But it changes nothing about my situation. Austin needs his meds and treatment. Nothing else matters, not even his father’s sudden reappearance in my life.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of stage lights and dollar bills. I perform three more times, and it gets easier each time. I embrace the power I felt during that first routine and focus on the music, on the way my body moves with it. It’s actually a hell of a workout.
By the end of the night, I’ve made about three hundred dollars without even doing lap dances.
Not bad for a Wednesday. Though I could’ve done without Alessio glaring at me from his seat at the bar every time I took the stage.
For someone who doesn’t remember me, he sure seems interested in watching my performances.
“Mommy! Wake up. I’m bored.”
I groan and roll over to find Austin’s face inches from mine, his amber eyes—so much like his father’s—bright with morning energy.
“Why are you awake?” I mumble, squinting at the clock. 7:43 a.m.
He shrugs with the kind of logic only six-year-olds possess, and I know I asked a stupid question.
“I’m hungry,” he announces, bouncing slightly on the bed.
“Let me guess, pancakes?”
His grin could power the Vegas Strip. “You know me so well!”
“Lucky me,” I say, but I’m smiling as I drag myself out of bed. My leg muscles are protesting from last night’s pole work, but it’s worth it. Austin’s happiness is always worth it.
While I start the coffee pot (because God knows I need caffeine to function on four hours of sleep) Austin settles in at the kitchen table with his coloring books. He’s working on a detailed superhero scene, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Can we go to the park today?” he asks between bites of pancakes.
I freeze with my coffee mug halfway to my lips. “The park?”
“Please, Mom? I haven’t gone in forever!”
My stomach drops. He hasn’t been since before he collapsed on that soccer field, and the thought of him running around in the heat squeezes the air from my lungs. The doctor said to take it easy while his body adjusts to the medication. It hasn’t even been a month.
“How about somewhere else today?” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “I’ve got something even better in mind.”
He narrows his eyes at me with theatrical suspicion. “Where?”
My mind races, trying to think of something he’ll love enough to forget about the park.
There are plenty of places he’s always wanted to go that I’ve had to say no to because of money.
But now... now I’m making decent tips at the club.
I’m not going to get rich stripping, but maybe I can finally afford to say yes to some of the things I’ve been putting off.
“Well, there’s this place with sharks...”
His eyes go wide. “The aquarium?”
“The very one.”
He launches himself at me for a hug that nearly knocks me off my chair, and just like that, the park is forgotten. God, it feels good to finally be able to say yes to something.
The Shark Reef Aquarium is packed with families, the perfect place to get lost in for a few hours.
Austin makes it three steps inside before he’s pulling me toward the 3D theater experience.
The underwater simulation makes me slightly nauseous, but Austin’s squeals of delight as virtual sharks swim around us make it worth the queasiness.
After that, we wander through the exhibits.
Austin rattles off random facts he’s absorbed from nature documentaries, and I find myself pulling out the small sketchpad I always carry.
While he’s mesmerized by a tank of jellies, I start sketching their graceful movements, the way the light filters through the water and illuminates their translucent bodies.
I love this part. Capturing moments, finding beauty in unexpected places. Someday, when Austin doesn’t need every penny I earn for medical bills, maybe I’ll go back to school for graphic design. Maybe I’ll do something with these sketches that fill notebook after notebook in my bedroom.
“Mom, did you know that seahorses don’t have stomachs?” Austin says, pressing his hand against a nearby tank. “So they have to eat all the time to stay alive.”
I look up from my sketch. “How do you know that?”
“Aunt Keshia told me. She said I eat so much that I’m like a seahorse.”
I roll my eyes. “Leave it to Keshia to know random facts like that. But she’s not wrong about your appetite.”
We move through an underwater tunnel next, glass arching over our heads and under our feet. Some of the other kids are nervous about walking on it, but Austin is fascinated by the fish swimming beneath us.
“Mom, when I grow up, I want to live in an aquarium,” he says, watching a group of angelfish glide past.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, amused. “Sounds expensive. But whatever makes you happy.”
He reaches out and takes my hand, and my heart swells with love for this little boy who gives affection so easily.
“And you can live there too,” he adds seriously. “Then you can always make me grilled cheese.”
I laugh. “Your honesty is refreshing, kid.”
A laugh nearby makes me turn. There’s a woman with a stroller, auburn hair braided to the side and kind eyes that crinkle when she smiles.
“Sorry to intrude,” she says. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Austin, never one to turn down meeting a stranger, bounces over to her. “Hi, I’m Austin.”
“Hello, Austin. My name is Quinn.” She shakes his offered hand with the seriousness it deserves, and I instantly like her for it.
I close my sketchpad and move closer. “I’m Nina. And who’s this little one?”
“Isabelle,” Quinn says, and the baby in the stroller coos as if she knows we’re talking about her.
A man approaches from behind Quinn, and my stomach does a little flip. He’s handsome enough, but there’s something about him that screams ‘don’t mess with me.’ The kind of guy you cross the street to avoid on a dark night.
But when Quinn sees him coming, her whole face lights up, and when their eyes meet, his face does too. Suddenly he doesn't look dangerous at all. He looks like a man completely gone for his wife.
“This is my husband, Paolo,” Quinn says, and I catch the way his arm immediately goes around her waist, possessive but protective.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, though I’m filing away my observations.
The expensive watch, the way he automatically positions himself between his family and potential threats, the fact that he’s dressed like he’s ready for a business meeting instead of a day at the aquarium.
Either Paolo works in a very formal office, or he’s involved in something that requires him to always be ready for trouble.
But Austin doesn’t care about any of that. He’s already chattering about sharks, and Paolo listens with the kind of attention that leaves a tender ache inside me. This is what Austin is missing, a father figure who actually gives a damn about what he has to say.
“Did you know that great white sharks are warm-blooded?” Austin asks, looking up at Paolo with hero worship already blooming in his eyes.
“No kidding,” Paolo says, crouching down to Austin’s level. “My old man once told me he saw a ten-foot shark when he was fishing.”
“Old man?”
“Another way of saying ‘dad,’” Paolo explains gently.
Austin’s face falls slightly. “I don’t have a dad.”
And there’s that look of longing mixed with hurt that always appears when he thinks about his missing father. The father who can't even remember the night Austin was conceived.
Paolo glances at me, and there’s something like understanding in his expression. Not pity, thankfully. Just understanding.
Quinn must sense the shift in mood because she jumps in with questions about the seahorses, and soon we’re all walking through the exhibits together.
I learn that she’s originally from Los Angeles, that she’s a dancer—the ballet kind, not the take-your-clothes-off kind—and that she moved to Vegas about two years ago.
“I’ve never lived anywhere but here,” I tell her. “Never even thought about leaving.”
“Is your family from here?”
The question always makes me uncomfortable, but Quinn has been nothing but kind. “I grew up in foster care. My mom died of an overdose when I was four, and I never knew my dad.”
“Sometimes parents can really let you down,” she says, her voice small, and there’s weight in those words. Pain. She must know something about disappointing families, too.
As we continue walking, Quinn tells me about her move from LA, though she’s vague about why she left. She focuses on the excitement of Vegas instead. The energy, the tourists, all the things to do.