Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
Sophia
After a few hours of trying to focus on memorizing my lines, I finally give up and shower.
Then I spend the afternoon scanning some of my favorite princess movies for an age-appropriate monologue and have three solid choices for Hazel.
Rapunzel when she stands up to Mother Gothel, Moana's speech to Maui, and of course, Belle taking her father's place with the Beast. It's a role I know quite well. All winners.
"Sooooppphhhhiiiiiaaaa!" Hazel's voice grows louder as she runs up the driveway to the guest house. I slide the door open just as she reaches it.
"Hey, nugget!"
She wraps her arms around my hips again. She gives the best hugs.
"Hey, Sophia! How are you?" Sarah gives me a quick hug and readjusts what appears to be several bags hanging from her shoulders.
"Here, let me help. What is all of this?" I grab a few totes off one arm as she shifts a few others onto the arm I've just emptied so the bags are more evenly distributed on her body.
"Let's see. Costume possibilities, snacks, and possibly a Lego set we didn't need at all."
I love that Grant's sister loves Hazel so much. We're all just a pawn in Hazel's game.
I wrap my empty arm around her and squeeze her in solidarity. "Alright, let's see what we're working with, then, shall we?"
We all head over to the main house, and Sarah unloads the bags as I lay out the printed monologues on the island. Hazel crawls up on a stool and gazes up at me with a look of surprise.
"What's this?"
"Some options for you!" I'm feeling smug and proud that I have some killer choices and can actually really help her with this. I watch as she picks up the papers and reads through them carefully. Her eyebrows scrunch together, and I can't tell if she's confused or something upset her.
"Sophia, I can't do a princess monologue. They are for babies."
My eyes open wide, and I steal a glance at Sarah. I'm relieved to see that she's got the same look.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I went to the library during lunch, and Ms. Raymond helped me Google some monologues, and I found the perfect one."
"Do tell."
"Yes, do tell," Sarah says. "I'm dying to hear what you found."
Hazel jumps down from the stool and breaks into the "I completely blacked out" monologue from Chicago. You know—the musical where the women kill their spouses or significant others because "they had it coming."
"That…well. Oh. Um. That was amazing." It actually was amazing.
I look back at Sarah, and her shoulders are shaking, and moisture is glinting from under her eyes.
It's hysterical, silent laughter, and it's contagious.
I try to hold back. I don't want Hazel to think we are laughing at her, but in what life does a six-year-old choose that monologue?
It feels very on brand for a studio executive's daughter, I suppose, especially one living in La La Land.
"Why are you laughing? Did I mess it up?"
"Oh, no, sweetheart, you were incredible. So good that I'm not sure if you even need my help."
"I definitely need your help. I need to bring the emotion out in the scene."
This causes the sound to escape from Sarah's silent hysterics.
"Stop laughing at me!"
I place my hands on Hazel's face. "We are definitely not laughing at you. It's just a shock to see someone so young perform a part meant for a grown-up."
"Oh." She stops to think about that for a moment. "But it was good, yeah?"
"Fantastic."
Sarah finally regains her composure and reassures Hazel that she did a fantastic interpretation of one of her favorite musicals, but she holds firm on not letting her watch it. The scary part of this whole thing is that Hazel nailed the reading without ever seeing how it's been performed.
We spend the next hour trying on costumes and rehearsing the scene around two dozen more times before we end up ordering takeout and crashing on the couch.
I offer to keep an eye on Hazel so Sarah can head out early, and once she leaves, we decide to watch Beauty and the Beast because it really does have a great monologue moment.
Hazel is lying in my lap as my fingers rake through her hair, and I can tell she's just about ready to fall asleep.
"My dad was like Beast. He was kind of cranky and alone and never let anyone come over until you. You've changed him. You made him happy."
I still as I take in what she's just said. I don't know how to respond to that. I'm not sure she's asking me to.
"Maybe he'll build you a library, and you'll live happily ever after."
The sound of the front door opening makes me glance up, and there he is—Grant—stepping inside, looking tired but still entirely too good.
Hazel and I are curled up on the couch, with the evidence of our evening of rehearsing scattered across the coffee table, along with a half-empty bowl of popcorn and a couple of juice boxes.
"Dad! You're home!" Hazel scrambles off the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Watch this!"
Grant barely has time to set down his keys before Hazel launches into her performance, standing tall, her shoulders back, her voice steady as she recites her monologue.
She throws in dramatic pauses like a pro, and her confidence is unwavering.
I steal a glance at Grant, who watches her with that mix of pride and amusement I've come to recognize.
His attention flicks to me for just a second, and something in his expression makes my stomach dip.
When Hazel finishes, she throws her arms out with a flourish. "What do you think?"
Grant claps and lets out a low whistle. "That was incredible, nugget. You're going to crush that audition."
I stretch my arms over my head and smile. "Nailed it."
Hazel beams as she hops back onto the couch beside me. "Sophia helped me so much. She's the best."
Laughing, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "You did all the work, Hazel."
Grant's eyes meet mine, and for a second, I can't breathe. "Thank you," he says, his voice low.
I stand and smooth out my sweater, trying to steady myself. "I should get going," I say, but I don't move right away. Neither does he.
Grant nods, but his jaw tightens just slightly. "I'll walk you out."
Hazel groans. "Do you have to go?"
I lean down and press a quick kiss to the top of her head. "You need to get some rest for tomorrow. Big day."
She sighs but hugs me tight before bouncing to the stairs and up to her room.
Grant follows me to the back door, and when I turn to face him, he steps closer, backing me against the door, his body almost touching mine.
The silence stretches, thick with the weight of everything we aren't saying.
My pulse pounds as his gaze drops—to my mouth, to my throat, then lower.
His fingers lift to trace a line up my arm, and for a second, I think he's going to close the distance between us.
My breath catches as he exhales, and the faintest hint of restraint flickers over his features.
I should go, break whatever spell we've fallen under, but I don't. Instead, my hand shifts slightly, brushing against his waist. The contact is barely there, a whisper, but it's enough. A spark ignites, slow and smoldering, curling low in my stomach.
His fingers skim my jawline, and then he sweeps his thumb over my bottom lip. My heartbeat stumbles, and my panties are soaked.
"This fucking mouth. I dream of it."
His jaw tightens like he's battling the same war inside himself that I am. His other hand lifts—just slightly, just enough that I wonder if he's about to touch me.
"Ready, Dad!" Hazel shouts from upstairs, breaking the moment between us.
He grabs my hand, which is resting on his waist, and lifts it to his lips before dropping it and backing away.
"Goodnight, Sophia."
"Goodnight, Grant." My voice is soft, and my fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my bag like I need something to ground me. "See you tomorrow."
He nods. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
I force myself to walk away, but my body protests every step. I feel the weight of his gaze on me. When I hear the door close behind me, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, but it does nothing to cool the fire still smoldering between us.