Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Of neon colors.
Jesus.
Emma pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. This was, frankly, way too fucking good to pass up. Calisto did everything for his children. He was the best father. The very best. He never shied away from duties, and he was hands on with every aspect of their raising.
And she loved him for that.
She knew this day was coming, though. This day when Calisto having his own little girl would catch up to him, and the manly man he was found himself reduced to either a princess to please Camilla, or her very own personal guinea pig willing to do all the girly things she loved.
Because yes, their daughter loved all of that nonsense. From the frilly dresses, to the clicky shoes. The makeup, and her hair in curls. She loved pink, purple, and anything sparkly.
And at the same time, she also loved wearing jeans, getting dirty, and trying to beat the hell out of her brother when she thought she was fast enough to pull it on him.
What were little sisters for, anyway?
“Well,” Camilla said, maintaining the most serious expression she could manage, “you just take it like this, and go like that.”
Basically, she had taken the cheap little brush from the eyeshadow pallet, rubbed a whole bunch of puke colored green onto the tip, and then smooshed it against her father’s eyelid. Calisto stayed perfectly still, and let her do just that, too.
Oh, God.
This was perfect.
Too perfect, really.
Quietly, Emma slipped the phone out of her pocket as Camilla moved onto the next thing. Lipgloss, it looked like. Or some lip paint—who fucking knew?
It was a terrible shade of red, and that was saying something considering how much Emma loved her red lipstick. And yet, Calisto didn’t say a word as his daughter painted his lips with that horrible, awful color.
Actually, he smiled for her.
“You want to help me now?” Camilla asked.
Calisto grinned, and opened his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll help you, principessa.”
Emma held up her phone, and got the two in the shot as she readied to take a picture of their moment. Maybe she would show Calisto someday, but maybe she would keep it just for her, too.
Who knew?
Moments like these were special, and she didn’t like to share. Sometimes, she didn’t get to see these moments with Calisto and their children because their lives were so busy, and it felt like they were just strangers passing each other by occasionally.
So yeah, this was important.
Special.
And ... well, funny, too.
Calisto was painting his daughter’s lips with the same shade of red when Emma took the picture. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to hear the shutter click on the phone camera—stupid thing, why did it even do that?
“See,” Camilla said, “I told you Daddies could play, too. Not just Ma for makeup, Daddy.”
Calisto chuckled. “Well, no ... this daddy doesn’t like to play with makeup, but I will for you.”
Camilla peered up at her father. “Promise?”
“You know it, principessa. Whatever makes you smile.”
Emma backed away from the doorway, and let the two have their private moment. So was the way with fathers and daughters. They always seemed to have a special sort of bond, and the last thing she wanted to do was interrupt their time.
It was the relationship Emma wished she had been able to have with her own father, but instead, she was given what she was given. It had been years, and she still hadn’t spoken with either of her parents. She knew they were alive, but not much else.
That was fine with her.
She’d cared about them enough.
She didn’t anymore.
It was later in the evening—after supper, and after Camilla’s face was washed free of makeup, her hair brushed, and she was put to bed that Calisto gave Emma that look.
The one he always gave her when he knew she was up to one of her tricks.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “I’m just washing dishes.”
Calisto cocked a brow, and nodded. “Right now, maybe. Where’s your phone?”
“On the counter. Why?”
Then, a realization dawned on her as Calisto headed for the counter, and reached to grab her phone. Emma was quicker, and grabbed it despite her hands being soapy and wet.
“No way,” she told him, laughing. “I am keeping that forever, Cal! How did you even see me?”
“I knew you were home the moment you walked through the door—Midnight would only leave Camilla if that meant you were home. Give me that phone.”
“Yes, but how?” Emma stuck her tongue out at him. “And no, you can’t have it. It’s mine, thank you.”
Calisto rounded the island, and came closer. She saw his determination with every step, and he kept coming despite the fact she kept walking backwards.
“I am not giving this to you,” she told him, “but maybe we could make a deal.”