Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“And maple syrup?”
“And maple syrup,” Aunt Elle agrees.
“You’s da best, Granny Elle. We can make waffles and bacon for Mommy and Daddy, too.”
“For sure, Gigi girl.”
I watch them go inside. Leaving the front door open for us.
Zeus turns me to face him. I stare up into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah, you are,” I agree. “But so am I.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re just hurt and scared, and I handled it badly. I fucked up again.”
Tears fill my eyes. He cradles my face in his hands.
“But I’ll fix this, Dove. Whatever it takes. Whoever I have to take down. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this go away.”
But it doesn’t go away.
Not that Zeus didn’t try. Because he did. Pharos took the story down the next day after Zeus threatened to sue. But it’s no use because the story is on every other gossip site known to man.
He had his publicist put out a statement on his social media, stating the facts—but leaving out Marcel’s involvement. I hate that the asshole is getting off easy, but Zeus assured me that he wouldn’t. He also can’t publically put the blame on Marcel for keeping Zeus from us, not without a mess of a fight on his hands. And, with the fact that he’s contracted to Marcel for the Dimitrov fight, it makes everything so much more difficult. So, the statement went out, saying that mitigating factors had played a part in Zeus not knowing about his daughter up until recently but that I was in no way to blame. And that I’m not a stripper. But the press wasn’t interested. A few small media sports outlets posted his statement, but it’s not juicy in terms of what the media wanted, so it didn’t make the big headlines, and it just fell into the rest of the slush pile.
Me being a stripper and terrible mother are way juicier.
Zeus thinks it’s all his fault. He thinks, by not protecting me from this or being able to fix it, it somehow makes him a failure.
I’ve told him that he can’t protect me from everything.
People might think he’s a god. But he’s not. He’s human. He bleeds like the rest of us.
He isn’t used to losing a fight though. So, this has been hard on him. And me, too.
I started to wonder if this was some kind of omen. We’d just gotten back together, and then this happened.
But Zeus quickly talked that thought out of my head.
Of course, the press came to town. I had photographers following me when I was taking Gigi to pre-K. The one good thing about working at the precinct is that they look after their own. Whether they think you’re a stripper or not. I might not be an officer, but when you work at the precinct, you’re as good as one.
So, Port Washington’s law enforcement has made it very clear to the press that they’re not welcome here.
It’s been well over a week now, and the press seems to be losing interest, which is good news for me.
But, sadly, the other moms at pre-K don’t seem to be losing interest, and I’m still the top story of the moment. I don’t know if it’s because of who Zeus is. Or that they think I’m a stripper. Or that they think I purposely kept Zeus from his daughter. Or all three. In any case, my patience is wearing thin.
No one’s said anything directly to me yet, but I’m getting the stares and disapproving looks from the moms along with leers from some of the dads, and I’ve been hearing the whispers about me when they think I’m not listening.
Zeus wanted to do school drop-off with me, so I wouldn’t be alone, but I told him no. It’s bad enough when he’s not there. Could you imagine the looks I would get if he were?
I just don’t want any unnecessary attention brought Gigi’s way.
She’s doing fine. Of course, she asked why people wanted to take our pictures. And I just told her it was because Daddy’s a famous boxer, and she was satisfied with that. She even started waving at the photographers, and I didn’t stop her.
I did speak to her pre-K teacher when the story first broke. Not the most comfortable of conversations, but I wanted her to be in the know. She was great. And, apparently, she’s a big boxing fan. Meaning a big fan of Zeus’s. Insert eye roll here.
And we had no problems at all—up until yesterday. Well, it wasn’t so much a problem. More of a question when I buckled Gigi up in her car seat and started the drive home.
“Mommy, what’s a stwipper?”
I had to stop myself from slamming on the brakes. And bursting into tears.
I kept myself together and continued driving the car. “Where did you hear that word, baby?” I asked her.