Page 132 of Playing Her Game

The mattress dips beside me, and a small hand tugs at the duvet. “Please?”

This is Lucy, my favorite child ever, and that makes it considerably harder to refuse. I lower the covers just enough to peer at her.

She sits beside me, her face bright with excitement, her hair a little wild, a cardboard crown balanced in her hands.

I stare at it. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It's for you,” she explains, as though that settles the matter.

“I'm very touched.”

“You have to wear it.”

“Do I?”

She nods solemnly. “It's your birthday.”

I look at the crown again. It is unmistakably handmade, with bright decorations and a point at the top that leans slightly to one side. Someone has put effort into it. Considerable effort, judging by the glitter already scattered across my duvet.

I sigh. “Well, it is very fancy.”

Lucy's whole face lights up.

She places the crown on my head with the concentration of someone performing an important ceremony. Then she sits back to admire her work. “There.”

“How do I look?”

“Fancy and smart, oh and… kind.”

“Well, that's something.”

She throws her arms around me, and I hug her close, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You're welcome.”

Then she climbs off the bed and announces, “Everyone's downstairs.”

“Everyone?”

“Uh-huh. They made breakfast.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Did they make breakfast, or did they make a mess and call it breakfast?”

Lucy considers this. “Both.”

I laugh, and she beams as though she's accomplished something remarkable.

I sit up, pushing my hair away from my face. I'm still tired, but the deep exhaustion from the flight has eased into something manageable. For the first time since landing, I feel almost rested.

Lucy takes my hand and gives it a tug.