8. Eight
Eight
Vince
“You absolute disaster of a human being,” Reenie announces as she breezes through my front door, dropping designer luggage in her wake. “Let me see this great-grandbaby of mine.”
I can’t help grinning. After three months cruising the Mediterranean, she’s tanned, glamorous, and vibrant as ever. At seventy, my grandmother has more energy than most people half her age. “Hello to you too, Reenie.”
Quinn, who’s been updating my schedule on her laptop, starts gathering her things. My grandmother’s sharp eyes catch the movement. “Don’t leave on my account, dear. I’m just here to see what kind of chaos my grandson’s created this time.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Savage—“ Quinn begins politely.
“Reenie, please. Mrs. Savage makes me sound like some stuffy old biddy, and I refuse to be that until I’m at least ninety.” She’s already making her way to Jasmine’s bassinet, her whole face softening. “Oh, Vincent. She’s perfect.”
I watch as my grandmother—who raised me after my parents died, who taught me everything about living life to its fullest—melts completely. She lifts Jasmine with practiced ease, and I remember how natural she was with me, even when suddenly faced with raising a grieving eight-year-old.
“You, my darling girl,” she coos, “are going to break hearts just like your daddy. Though hopefully with better judgment.” She shoots me a look. “I thought I taught you about protection.”
“Reenie, you did—“
“I mean, she’s absolutely gorgeous, so at least you have excellent taste. But really, Vincent.”
Quinn tries to slip past, but Reenie’s radar is too good. “Are you sure you won’t stay? I’d love to hear how my grandson is behaving himself these days.”
“I should really get back to work,” Quinn says, but she’s smiling. “I have another client waiting.” Her eyes are bright with what looks like amusement as she walks past me and out the door.
“Shame,” Reenie murmurs, watching Quinn leave. Once the door closes, she turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Now that one, I wouldn’t mind having around permanently. Much better than your usual type.”
“Reenie!”
“What? I’m just saying she seems sensible. Unlike this birth mother, you told me about.” Her voice hardens. “Who abandons a baby? I mean, I know about tough choices, but—“
“It’s complicated,” I say, which is the same line I’ve been repeating to anyone who’s asked.
She snorts, settling into my favorite armchair with Jasmine. “Life’s always complicated, Vincent. That’s why you need good people around you.” She studies me. “You’re sure there aren’t any more surprise Savages out there?”
“God, no. I’m always careful. This was...” I run a hand through my hair. “A perfect storm of bad luck and even worse timing.”
“Mmm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, at least something extra special came out of it.” She nuzzles Jasmine’s neck, making her giggle. “But don’t expect me to be your regular babysitter. I’ve got three more cruises booked this year alone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say with a smirk, and I mean it. Reenie taught me early that living your own life was the greatest gift you could give yourself—and those you love. “Though you could visit more often between all your travels and adventures.”
“Oh, I plan to. This little one’s too precious to miss.” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve hired help?”
“Just hired a nanny, actually. Grace. She starts in a week.”
“Good.” Reenie adjusts Jasmine in her arms with the ease of someone who’s handled more than her share of babies. “Because I love you both, but I’ve done my time with midnight feedings. These days, my only 2 AM activities involve dancing or gambling in exotic locations.”
I laugh, remembering the Facebook posts from her latest cruise. “I saw those posts from Monaco. The prince seemed quite taken with you.”
“He’s a terrible flirt and an even worse poker player.” Her eyes sparkle. “But he did introduce me to his very handsome cousin...”
“Please don’t finish that story. I’m still traumatized from the Italian count incident last year.”
“Oh, please. You’re just jealous because my love life is more exciting than yours these days.” She glances down at Jasmine. “Though this little angel is a pretty good excuse for laying low.” Her expression turns serious. “Have you heard anything more from the mother?”
The question hits like a punch to the gut. “No. And I don’t expect to.”
“Good. Because a woman who could walk away from this precious bundle...” Reenie trails off, her jaw tightening. I recognize that look—it’s the same one she wore when dealing with schoolyard bullies who picked on me after my parents died. “Well, let’s just say she better stay gone.”
“Reenie—“
“I mean it, Vincent. I’ve seen what happens when people walk in and out of children’s lives. I won’t let that happen to my great-granddaughter.”
The protectiveness in her voice makes my throat tight. “I know. Neither will I.”
“Speaking of which...” She fixes me with that penetrating stare that always made me confess to whatever trouble I’d gotten into as a kid. “What plans have you made for when you’re touring?”
“Emily is seeing what she can work out. A modified schedule with shorter runs, more breaks between cities.” I run a hand through my hair, already anticipating Reenie’s reaction. “I’m thinking of taking Jasmine with me.”
Reenie’s eyebrows shoot up. “A baby. On tour.”
“People do it. The new nanny would come along to help, and we’d maybe have a separate bus for—“
“Vincent.” She uses that tone, the one that stopped me cold as a teenager. “Darling, think about what you’re saying. Late nights, loud music. and a different city every few days. Is that really what’s best for her?”
“Better than leaving her behind.” The words come out sharper than I intended, and we both know why. My parents missed so many milestones because of their jobs—before the accident took them completely.
Reenie’s expression softens. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re not them. Missing a few weeks while you’re on tour doesn’t mean you’re abandoning her.”
“I know that.” But do I? “I just... I don’t want to be that dad. The one who’s never there.”
“Then find a balance.” She stands, walking over to place Jasmine in my arms. “But remember something I learned along the way—sometimes being a good parent means making difficult choices, not the easy ones.”
I look down at my daughter, peaceful and perfect, and feel the weight of responsibility pressing in. “How do I know which is which?”
“That’s the hard part, darling.” Reenie’s smile is bittersweet. “You don’t. You just do your best and hope like hell you get it right.”
I glance over at her. “Reenie, I’ve already contacted a lawyer. I want to make sure I do everything right—I don’t want to mess things up with Jasmine and her mother.”
“You won’t. I have complete faith in you, Vincent.” She picks up her designer luggage. “Now, I have a date with a very distinguished British lord in Paris next week, but I expect regular video calls with this little princess.”
But something in her eyes makes me ask, “What’s the real reason you came today?”
She pauses at the door. “I needed to see for myself that you were okay. That you both were.” Her smile turns wicked. “And to see if that gorgeous social media manager you keep talking about was single.”
“Reenie!”
“What? I’m not dead yet.” She winks. “And neither are you, darling. Remember that.”
With that cryptic comment, she’s gone in a swirl of expensive perfume, leaving me to wonder exactly what she meant—and why Quinn’s face is the first thing that comes to mind.
After Reenie leaves, I settle on the floor with Jasmine, watching her roll over and try to sit up; I help her with a supportive hand on her back. I remember in the book I picked up about child development that said babies might start crawling around this age. I glance around my home, wondering when Jasmine might start crawling.
“What happens when you get mobile on me, huh, baby girl?” She responds with a belly laugh as I tickle her side. “Maybe we should try to baby-proof this place before Grace starts next week.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Emily: ‘Don’t forget—paternity test tomorrow morning at 9 AM—address attached. Need me to come?’
‘No. I’ve got this.’ I text back, though my stomach knots at the thought. Not because I doubt Jasmine’s mine—one look at her face tells me that truth. But making it official feels deep. Real, in a way, nothing else has.
I watch Jasmine try to scoot herself toward one of her toys, and my mind drifts to my Ferrari sitting in the garage. The car seat fits, technically, but wrestling it in and out is going to be a nightmare. And there’s barely room for the diaper bag, let alone any of the numerous things we’ll need going forward.
“Think it’s time Daddy traded in his bachelor sports car for something more practical?” I ask Jasmine. She looks up at me, drooling around the purple teething ring. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe something with four doors. And a trunk that can hold more than a guitar case or maybe an SUV.” I pick her up. “But listen here, kid. I draw the line at driving a minivan. You hear me?”
Monday morning comes too early after a night of teething drama. I’m already on my second coffee with extra sugar as I wrestle Jasmine’s car seat into the Ferrari, swearing under my breath as the strap catches—again.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, finally clicking everything into place. Jasmine watches from the driver’s seat, apparently finding my struggle entertaining. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, baby girl. Daddy’s definitely car shopping this week.”
The drive to the clinic takes twice as long as it should. Every bump makes me glance over at her beside me in her car seat, checking that she’s okay. I know I secured the strap properly, having checked and double-checked—but still…
The waiting room is mercifully empty when we arrive. Jasmine’s fascinated by the fish tank in the corner, reaching toward it from her perch in my arms. The receptionist coos at her while I fill out paperwork, and Jasmine rewards her with one of those heart-melting smiles.
“Mr. Savage?” A nurse appears with a clipboard. “We’re ready for you.”
During the doctor’s brief examination, Jasmine fusses until the nurse distracts her with a light-up toy. After confirming she’s perfectly healthy and slipping out of the room, the nurse turns to me with a knowing smile. “Those teeth are coming in strong. Try this gel—it’s all natural and works wonders for teething pain.” She hands me a small tube. “Just rub it on her gums when she gets fussy.”
Next is the paternity test. The procedure is quick—a simple cheek swab for both of us.
“Results should be back in three to five business days,” the nurse explains. “We’ll call you directly.”
I nod, already dreading the wait. But as I strap Jasmine back into her car seat, watching her babble happily to herself, I know it doesn’t matter what the test says. She’s mine. Has been since the moment I saw her green eyes, so like mine, and her smile.
Back in the parking lot, I stare at the Ferrari while adjusting Jasmine in my arms. Just the thought of wrestling her car seat into the cramped space one more time makes my decision final. I pull out my phone and Google the nearest luxury car dealership. No reason I can’t have something practical and high-end, right?
Jasmine rests her head against my shoulder as I stand there, her tiny fingers playing with the collar of my shirt. It’s these little moments that get me—how naturally she now trusts me, how right she feels in my arms. A few days ago, my biggest concern was which guitar to use for the new album’s opening track. Now? Now, I’m researching safety ratings and cargo space like it’s one of the most important things in the world.
Because it is.
“What do you say, baby girl? Want to go car shopping?” Jasmine kicks her legs excitedly, probably more because of my tone than any understanding of what I’m saying. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I plug the address into my GPS, grateful the dealership is only fifteen minutes away. As I carefully navigate through traffic, hyper-aware of my precious cargo, I find myself already picturing something bigger. Safer. The Ferrari was perfect for my old life—the rockstar bachelor burning through the city streets. But that guy didn’t have a six-month-old daughter to protect.
Time for an upgrade.