Bambina

34. Dolls, mermaids, and cookies

"They call you cry baby, cry baby" I hum-sing. It's strange how music has a way of creeping into your head out of the blue.

Raphaelle looks at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "What's got you so bubbly? In the playroom all by yourself? Without orders?"

I shrug, "wook!" I say, holding up the doll I just dressed up in a blue dress.

He chuckles, squatting down to plant a kiss on top of my head. "What a pretty dress," he says approvingly. I smile up at him. 

I get warm smile in return. "Look at my babydoll, finally coming out of her shell. I'm proud of you," he says, kissing the top of my head again, before standing back up. 

"Fanks, daddy," I reply. But then again, who wouldn't feel bashful when the guy who's practically your boyfriend and Dom starts complimenting your doll-dressing skills?

Raphaelle chuckles again, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know, you've been spending a lot of time dressing up dolls lately. Got a secret doll fashion show you're prepping for? D'you want daddy to set up a catwalk for your dolls?"

My eyes widen, "can I get that?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "It's a done deal," he promises. "Lunch in twenty minutes."

I glance up at him, "can I bring her?"

"No. You need to eat. No toys around the table, capisci?" 

I nod slowly, understanding what he means.

"Yes, daddy," I say softly. 

"It's a joy to see you like this," he says with a glint in his as he steps out of the room, closing the door, letting me have my privacy.

As soon as he leaves, I let out a contented sigh, feeling a strange mix of happiness and nerves bubbling inside me. It's not every day he catches me in such a playful mood. It's not everyday I'm as comfortable as I am right now. But it's easier when I'm alone. Easier to handle, easier to not feel that shame creeping back in. 

I carefully arrange my doll on the miniature sofa, adjusting her dress ever so slightly. It's funny how much joy something so simple can bring. 

I play for a while longer until I hear a soft knock on the door, followed by Raphaelle's voice, "it's lunch."

I quickly stash my doll away, "just a sec!" I call out, trying to sound casual.

We walk hand in hand down to the living room, taking a seat around the table. And I can't shake off the feeling of warmth that his presence brings. It's like he has this invisible force field around him, pulling me into absolute peace.

Chef serves up a delicious spread of pasta and salad, the aroma making my stomach rumble. Raphaelle shoots me a knowing look, a silent reminder that I need to eat properly, not just play with dolls all day. I nod, a silent promise to behave.

"So, when is the show?" Raphaelle asks, twirling his fork in the pasta before taking a bite.

I shrug, spearing a cherry tomato with my fork. "Show?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. But truth be told, I feel butterflies at his interest. Lighter somehow.

"Your fashion show. Daddy wants a ticket," he winks.

I shrug again, feeling a faint blush creep up my cheeks. "I don't know daddy. When will the catwalk arrive?" 

He chuckles softly, reaching across the table to gently lift my chin with his finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I can have someone put it together today," he says softly. "Doing this," he says snapping his fingers.