"She is also inordinately fond of ice cream," he pointed out with a grimace, seeming to recall something particularly unpleasant.
"I'm guessing you discovered one of her favorite pastimes?"
"Finger painting?" He nodded and she laughed.
"Unfortunately ice cream, especially chocolate, seems to be her favorite medium," Bronwyn said solemnly.
"I thought Celeste would quit after Kayla demonstrated her talent on the kitchen walls, but luckily she seems to have the patience of a saint."
"I hope that you reprimanded Kayla?" Bronwyn asked with a frown, and he shook his head.
"She seemed so proud of her painting," he responded, and Bronwyn sighed before shaking her head.
"She's testing you," she informed. "She knows better than to mess on the walls, she wouldn't dare do it at ho-" She halted, knowing that the word home would be a mistake and not wanting to destroy the fragile peace between them. "She wouldn't have done that in our old flat. She wants to see how much she'll be able to get away with here. You've got to be firm with her, Bryce. Don't let her take advantage of you."
"I wouldn't know how to go about reprimanding her," he offered quietly. "I haven't had much practice at this fatherhood business. I want her to like me." Judging from the pained look on his face, it grated to admit as much and she bit her lip, unsure how to respond without rekindling hostilities.
"I can guarantee," she began reluctantly, not really wanting to help him with this but knowing that it was in Kayla's best interests, "that she loves you already, Bryce. She won't like it if you raise your voice to her, she may even shed a few fake little tears, but she'll get over it. You're as much of an authority figure to her as I am now, and she has to get used to that. We're here to teach her right from wrong. If we don't she'll become a spoiled brat. And while a bit of spoiling never hurt anyone, I would not want her to become intolerable." He was paying close attention to her mouth, and Bronwyn was careful to enunciate clearly and slowly.
"It makes sense, I suppose," he said. "I'll try to be a little less indulgent, but it's still such a treat for me to give her things and spoil her a bit."
"That's understandable." Bronwyn nodded. "You'll get over it soon enough, once the novelty wears off and she becomes bratty."
"She'll never be that bratty." He grinned before becoming quite serious. "You did a good job with her, Bron."
"Uh . . ." The compliment was as unexpected as it was flattering, and Bronwyn had no idea how to respond to it. "Thank you." She could not read his mood at all and wondered if she could trust what seemed to be an armed and uneasy truce. She bent her head and focused on her food. The cook had prepared a light lunch of crispy fried filleted hake-a delicious Cape game fish-herbed baby potatoes, and steamed fresh vegetables. Her mouth fairly watered at the sight of it. She checked Kayla's bowl and was gratified to note that the little girl's vegetables had been mashed into manageable chunks. Kayla had already started digging in with her chubby little fingers, and Bryce groaned when she proceeded to lift her fist to her mouth and suck the food off it.
"Mummy." She picked up a piece of fish between two grubby fingers and held it up to her mother. "Hmm nice . . . Mummy . . ."
"I already have food, Kayla. See?" she pointed out, lifting a fork with some fish speared onto the tines. Kayla dropped the fish back into her bowl and lifted her plastic spoon and attempted to imitate her mother. When the fish kept falling back into the bowl, she glared and tossed the spoon aside in frustration before resorting to using her hands again. Bronwyn put aside her own utensils and lifted the plastic spoon, firmly placing it back into her daughter's hands.
"Use the spoon, Mikayla," she ordered firmly, but the little girl shook her head mutinously.
"No 'poon, Mummy," the child protested, tossing it aside again the moment her mother let her hand go.
"Kayla, I'm not going to tell you again," Bronwyn warned, picking the spoon up and wrapping the child's stubborn fingers around it. Bryce watched the little power play unfold in fascination. Kayla, knowing how far she could push her mother, sulkily held on to the spoon and clumsily rooted around her bowl, messing about rather than actually attempting to eat. Bronwyn ignored the recalcitrant child and quite deliberately went back to her own lunch.
Kayla was now scooping up spoonfuls of food and placing it in little mounds on the tray of the high chair in front of her. Bronwyn finished off the last of her fish and sighed before dragging a wet wipe from the container Celeste had thoughtfully left within easy reach and wiping Kayla's face and hands clean. She ignored the way the child tried to evade her attempts and after giving her face a thorough wipe, Bron lifted the squirming toddler out of the high chair and into her own lap. She grabbed Kayla's bowl and spoon and very determinedly began spooning food into the protesting child's mouth.
"No, Mummy, no! No!" Kayla was sobbing hysterically and working herself up into a fine little tantrum. Bronwyn could feel it in the way her small body was tensing up more and more. "Kayla no want! Kayla no like!"
"Kayla, you will eat your food!" Bronwyn managed in her sternest voice. The child's determined squirming was rapidly tiring her mother out, and Bronwyn knew that she would have to give up the fight soon. She lifted the spoon to Kayla's mouth, and the baby kept her mouth tightly shut, turning her head away.
"Mikayla!" The unfamiliar sound of Bryce's raised voice shocked both mother and child into momentary stillness. Kayla's eyes swallowed her face when they encountered her father's stern countenance. His voice softened on his next words. "Listen to your mummy."
The child obediently opened her mouth to the proffered spoon, her large blue eyes never wavering from her father's face. She took in bite after bite until she had emptied her bowl, and when she was done, she begged to be let down. Bronwyn helped her down and watched with a helpless smile of sheer adoration as Kayla toddled over to her father and crawled into his lap, curling herself up and tucking her thumb into her mouth. Bryce's face reflected a mixture of surprise, aching vulnerability, and confusion as he wrapped his arms around the sleepy little girl. He lifted his awestruck eyes to Bronwyn's smiling face.
"She always gets a little peevish when she's tired," Bronwyn informed, watching as Kayla's eyelids drooped more and more until she was fast asleep.
"I'm hesitant about raising my voice to her," he admitted quietly. "I find it difficult to judge exactly how loud I'm actually being. I don't want to terrify her. Sometimes I worry that . . ."
He left the sentence hanging and dropped his eyes down to his daughter's sleeping face. Bronwyn waited, hoping that he would finish what he had been about to say, sensing that he had been about to reveal something deeply personal. He didn't say anything further though, and it left her wondering about the insecurity she had heard in his voice.
"Bron . . ." he said after a long silence. He kept his gaze trained on Kayla's sleeping face. "About last night?" Bronwyn tensed, and she lowered her eyes to the ice-cold glass of mango juice in her hands.
"I just . . . I never meant . . ." He paused again, and the silence grated on her nerves until she could stand it no more. His beautiful blue eyes at last rose to meet hers.
"Look, Bryce," she said, breaking the silence, hoping that her face reflected the resolution that she could hear in her voice. "I know how much you hate me. In fact, believing what you do about me, I can even understand why you feel the way you do. Anybody who would so cold-bloodedly desert their spouse at the scene of an accident is certainly someone who deserves no forgiveness."
"You're . . ."
"I'm not even going to try to defend myself anymore," she said firmly, interrupting whatever he'd been about to say. "There's really no point, is there? You've hated me for so long I don't think I'll ever be able to change your mind. All I ask is that you put this . . . this contempt you have for me aside for Kayla's sake. Hate me if you must. I think I can almost live with it now that I know you never really loved me, but try to be less obvious about it." His eyes narrowed as he assessed her face; there was another lengthy silence as he considered her words before shrugging.
"I have a couple of questions," he murmured, and she bit her lip before nodding. "How long were you at the beach house?" Whatever she had expected, that certainly wasn't it. She blinked a couple of times before shrugging.
"A couple of weeks," she managed softly.
"So, if your story is to be believed . . ."