Page 11 of Monstrosity

These girls have been through so much—losing their mother when they were so young—but they still find joy in silly conversations about invisible dogs and visiting socks.

Rio catches my eye across the table and smiles, a real smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes my stomach flutter.

This is what I love most about our mornings—the way we fall into this easy family rhythm, the way the girls treat me like I belong here, the way Rio looks at me like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

If only I could figure out how to tell him that I want to belong here. Really belong here. Not just as the babysitter or the friend, but as something more.

"All right, girls," Rio says after they've finished eating. "Go get dressed. Teeth brushed, hair combed, backpacks ready."

"Can Dasha do my hair?" Florencia asks hopefully. "She makes the braids stay in better than you do, Daddy."

"Hey," Rio protests with mock offense. "My braids are perfectly acceptable."

"Your braids are lumpy," Cali informs him seriously.

I bite back another laugh. "I'll do both your hair after you're dressed, okay? But only if you hurry."

They scramble upstairs, leaving Rio and me alone again.

The tension from earlier creeps back in, settling over us like a heavy blanket.

"Thank you," he says quietly, starting to clear the breakfast dishes. "For this. For them. For... everything."

"You don't have to thank me." I take the plates from his hands, our fingers brushing again in the transfer. "They're amazing kids, Rio. Being a part of their lives... it's not a burden."

"Still." He leans against the counter, studying me with those dark eyes. "I know this isn't what you signed up for all those years ago. Playing house with a widower and his kids."

Playing house.

The words sting more than they should, but I keep my expression neutral. "Is that what you think this is? Playing house?"

Something flickers across his face—regret, maybe, or something deeper. "Dasha?—"

"Daddy! I can't get my shirt on!" Cali's voice drifts down the stairs, effectively ending whatever conversation we might have had.

Rio pushes off from the counter. "We should get moving. I'll drop you at work after I take the girls to school."

"Okay." I turn back to the dishes, needing something to do with my hands. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, both girls reappear in the kitchen fully dressed—Florencia in her favorite purple dress and Cali in jeans and a sparkly t-shirt.

"Hair time!" Florencia announces, plopping down in the chair I've pulled out for her.

I work carefully, sectioning her long, dark hair into neat French braids while Cali waits her turn, swinging her legs impatiently.

"See, Daddy?" Florencia says when I'm finished, shaking her head to test the braids. "No lumps!"

From across the kitchen, Rio watches me smooth Cali's shorter hair into pigtails, his dark eyes following my movements with an intensity that makes my cheeks warm.

There's something almost reverent in his expression as he takes in this domestic scene, and when our eyes meet in the mirror on the wall, the air between us crackles with unspoken words.

Twenty minutes later, we're all piled into Rio's truck—a massive black Ford that makes me feel tiny but somehow safe.

The girls chatter in the backseat about their plans for the day while I stare out the passenger window, hyper aware of Rio's hands on the steering wheel, the way his thigh muscle flexes when he brakes, the subtle scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space.

We drop Florencia at elementary school first, where she kisses both Rio and me goodbye before running to join her friends on the playground.

Then it's Cali's turn at the daycare center, where she insists on showing Rio and me the picture she painted yesterday before finally allowing us to leave.