Chapter 8
Gabriel
The days pass and the weekend creeps closer.
Every morning, Sally makes cocoa for all of us—completely without sugar.
Rosie’s levels don’t spike, which is a huge relief, and thanks to the morning cocoa she’s happier, and calmer.
Now I’m the “cool uncle” who kept his promise, not the workaholic uncle who bans her from everything that tastes good.
On Saturday, I skip the office and stay with Rosie at the apartment. The hours fly by, and it’s already late evening when the front door finally opens.
By then, Rosie’s long asleep in bed, and I’m in the kitchen doing dishes.
“Sorry, got a little late,” my sister says as she walks in. Dark circles ring her eyes, her greasy hair screams of a rough, wild week where she probably didn’t even see a shower. She looks exhausted and haggard.
“Keep it down, Rosie’s already asleep,” I tell her, stepping closer. She reeks of alcohol, and her clothes are filthy. “Where’ve you been?” I ask.
“Out. I’m gonna wake her up.” She starts heading for my bedroom, but I grab her arm.
“She’s asleep. And you reek of alcohol. Are you drunk?”
“I’ve sobered up, relax.” She rolls her eyes and tries to pull away, so I let go and shut the apartment door.
“You can’t keep dropping her off here and disappearing for days without telling me where you are or when you’re coming back. Rosie has to go to daycare. I couldn’t even grab her clothes or toys from your place since I don’t have a key.”
“You’ve got enough money. Just buy her new stuff.”
“I did. She came here with nothing.”
“So, what’s the problem?” She sounds irritated and tries to head for the kid again. Once more, I block her.
“I just want to take her home. Then you’ll have your peace.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you near her like this. Didn’t you hear me? She’s already asleep.”
“I had things to do, otherwise I’d have been here sooner. She can keep sleeping in the car.”
“You’re drunk. I’m not letting you drive off with her like this.”
Catherine gives a soft laugh. “She’s my daughter. You’ve got no right to keep her here. What’re you gonna do—call the cops? I’ve got custody. You’ve got nothing.”
“Then child services would take her. You know that.”
“And I also know you don’t want that.”
Unfortunately, she’s right. If child services got even a quick look at Catherine, Rosie would be gone—and my chances of adopting her would be zero.
“How much do you want?” I ask her, annoyed.
“Oh, is my brother trying to buy time with my daughter again?” That trick has always worked so far.
“How much?” I repeat, calmly and dryly.
“Enough to have some fun tonight and pick her up tomorrow—sober, showered, fresh.”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Sober.”
“I can manage that.”
“Fine.” I go to the counter and grab my wallet. I only have about fifteen hundred pounds in cash, which I hand her. She frowns.
“Your niece isn’t worth more to you? This won’t get me far.”
“That’s plenty for a wild night, including a cab ride home.”
“Or one of your drivers, in a fancy limo.”
“I’ll call someone.” At least then I’ll know where she is and that she got home.
“Now we’re talking.” She counts the bills again while I text Robin. Luckily, he can swing by in a few minutes.
“How long are you staying in London this time before dumping Rosie on me again?” I ask.
“A few weeks. Probably. I’ve gotta recover from last week first.” She laughs and gives me an amused look. “What? God, you’re such a square. I’m just having a little fun. Life with a baby is exhausting.”
“She’s four.”
“She’s small. She’s a baby.”
And my sister is an absolute idiot with full custody.
“Will you take her to school every morning?”
“If you put one of your drivers at my disposal. Or will I finally get my own?”
“If you actually stay here and want to take good care of her? I’ve always offered to make things easier for you—whether that’s your own driver, a housekeeper, or a babysitter.”
“Yeah, but the last housekeeper called child services. That wasn’t great…”
“You’ve gotta work a little to make sure Rosie’s okay.”
Unfortunately, Catherine managed to talk her way out of it, playing the perfect victim, so child services couldn’t do anything, and Rosie stayed with her.
“Or you could just buy her from me. Hmm?” Catherine taps my chest with those blood-red, pointed nails. “I just want enough cash in my account so I can enjoy my life. It’s that simple.”
“You know I’ll always support you, but not like that.
” There are strict rules to follow when you’re trying to adopt.
If I transferred a few million to her, it could look very bad.
But she doesn’t know I’ve already set things in motion, so she can’t prepare for it. “I’ll keep supporting you, though.”
“Well, I know that.” She pats my cheek with a wide grin; I let it happen because I don’t want to rile her up.
She could take Rosie and cut me off if she wanted.
“But in, what, fourteen years at most, you’ll drop me like a hot potato.
Then the kid will be an adult, and you'll have no reason to pay me even a single pound.” She’s not wrong.
“Like I said—I'll always support you.”
“Liar. L. I. A…r. Or something.”
Even spelling is effort for her. Her breath is unbearable. How much did she have to drink? Terrible.
“Robin will be here downstairs soon and drive you to whatever club you want.”
I can only hope Catherine loses interest in Rosie quickly and brings her back to me right away. My sister isn’t changing—at least not in this lifetime.
“Cool.” She waves the cash in my face. I take a half-step back. “Next time: more money. This is nothing. Ridiculous.”
Catherine turns to leave, and for a second I imagine hiring someone to make her disappear. Forever. But I can’t do that to Rosie. Catherine’s her mother. And maybe—just maybe—she’ll change someday.
Until then, though, I’ll do whatever it takes to get Rosie away from her. No matter the cost.
When Catherine leaves, I only let myself breathe once the door shuts her out. I need a moment to collect myself. It’s unbelievably hard to stay calm and not throttle her. I’m stuck at her mercy until I have custody or even visitation rights.
It’s tough to prove anything against her because I never know where she is or how long she’ll be gone.
Sometimes she flies abroad, sometimes she heads to other cities.
Sometimes she stays in London for months, then disappears again.
She’s unpredictable—and it isn’t illegal for her to go out partying.
After all, she always brings Rosie to me.
And, as my lawyer would say: she still behaves responsibly enough that there’s no clear reason to take Rosie away.
Plenty of parents let relatives care for their kids for days or weeks when they need a break.
I need a woman. Someone like Kimberley who can look after Rosie so I can keep working. That’s my only shot. It’ll be a long fight… but I’ll do anything to make sure Rosie’s safe.
“Gabriel?” Rosie’s tentative voice floats out. I turn, startled, and see her peeking from behind the bedroom wall, eyes wide and round.
“Did I wake you?” I hope she didn’t hear her mother.
“Was Mom drunk again?”
Damn it.
“She’s gone home to sleep. She’ll come by tomorrow and—”
“She was only here for money. She didn’t care about me at all, did she?”
Why do kids always have to overhear things not meant for them?
“She didn’t want to wake you,” I tell her, but Rosie’s smarter than I usually give her credit for.
“I don’t want to go with her. I want to stay here.” She sniffles. It breaks my heart. I want nothing more than to scoop her up and run somewhere Catherine can’t find us—raise Rosie there until she can make her own choices.
“You’ll always have a home here, little one.” I walk over to her, lift her into my arms, and sit with her on the bed. “Tomorrow will surely be a wonderful day.”
“If you don’t say promise, then it’s a lie. I might be small, but I notice everything.”
Clever girl. Too clever. Rosie crawls under the blanket.
“If Mom doesn’t find me tomorrow, she can’t take me away.”
If only it were that simple.
“Shall I read you something?” Best to distract her.
With anything. And when she’s asleep, I’ll think of a plan to convince my sister to leave Rosie with me—at least for now.
Until I have enough evidence for my lawyer to file the petition.
It’s not enough yet. It simply isn’t. Our chances are too slim to risk losing, because if we did…
I might not see Rosie for months. Maybe years. And that cannot happen.
“Mm-hmm…” she murmurs.
“The Smoochies?”
I pull out her favorite picture book with the little colorful elephants. She smiles, and I lie down beside her. She immediately snuggles closely, as I open the book.
“But you have to do the voices,” she insists.
“Of course.” And I am, without question, the best at that.
The next day, though, Catherine arrives well-rested, showered, and sober. She takes Rosie with her, and I can’t stop it. It’s torture. Every goddamn time all over again. A never-ending nightmare that tears my heart apart...