26. Derek
“I could stare at you all day…” The words tumble from my mouth as soon as Georgia looks up from her tablet.
We’ve been parked in front of my mother’s house for the past fifteen minutes. When we left our place, Delilah fell asleep immediately, and Georgia began sketching her newest designs for both her fashion show and the brand she’s been envisioning herself starting. Her work ethic is impeccable.
For the past week, she’s gone to sleep with her tablet or sketchbook in hand, and when she wakes up, she immediately begins to work on one or the other while also making time for both Delilah and me.
She smiles, her cheeks reddening. Her hair today is silkier than usual, straightened with tiny embellishments circling the crown of her hair, making the top of her head sparkle.
Delilah—the little princess—saw the jewels in Georgia’s hair and immediately wanted them and glitter in her own.
The glitter was obviously a no-go, but now both of my girls are sparkling like the true stars that they are.
“You’re being cute tonight, can’t wait to get home…” She winks, kissing me quickly before locking her tablet and placing it underneath her seat.
I raise a brow at her, placing my chin in my palm as I lean against the armrest, meeting her eyes.
“Aren’t I always?”
Georgia rolls her bright eyes, looking forward quickly, then back at me with a small smile.
“You’re infuriating,” she says, but the smile on her face tells a different story. “Whose car is that?”
I hadn’t even noticed that there was another car parked in front of the house.
I shrug, getting my phone and turning off the car. “No idea, could be one of Mom’s friends from the club…”
She snickers. “The club?”
Sighing, I smile. “The Summerfield Montaine.”
She chuckles at the mention of the country club as I get out of the car and make my way over to her side of it. She gives me a smile that could send a man to Heaven; her golden nails and wedding ring on display as she holds her hand out for me to grab.
“Sir,” she greets me with a small and polite tilt of the head as I bow for her, kissing the ring, then the back of her hand.
“M’lady.”
Georgia laughs, swatting my shoulder as she hops out of the car. It doesn’t take long for me to get Delilah out of the car, seeing as she started giggling the moment I opened her door while she pretended to be asleep.
“C’mon, you little monster.”
She opens one eye, her dimple pressing deeper into her cheek as she covers her mouth with her golden painted nails. I furrow my brows at her hands and turn to my wife, who stands a foot away with a nervous smile on her face.
“Listen, Mama Bear, she really wanted it, and who could say no to that face—”
Cutting her off, I give her a sharp look. “Did everyone in this house decide to get gold nails without me? Where was my invite to this nail date?”
“Papá, can we do your nails too?” Deli asks from my chest, her head perking up as she looks between the two of us with bright eyes.
That look right there is what makes everything worth it in life.
I give my kid a smile and nod, unable to find the words to say “yes.” I’ve watched this girl grow for four years, and it still notches my heart when she looks at me like I’m her entire world.
My eyes trail from her large doe eyes to the smattering of freckles across her nose—pain lancing through me.
But God… she looks just like her.
I adore Delilah’s beautiful markings of life, but I wish they weren’t connected to such a painful memory.
We’ll never be as young and free as we are right now, and that’s apparent more than ever as Rosemary runs through the meadow of daisies. Her auburn hair is bright and bold under the spring sun. The sound of her giggles echoes throughout the air.
When she stops in the middle of the field, her hair flows before her face, covering the eighth wonder of the world before my eyes.
I know that we’re young, but I am certain that I will never ever see a sight as breathtaking as Rosemary Stone.
Rosemary has always been adventurous, running around with me on the ranch in the summer and dancing her way through life. But this version of her is a girl whom I have yet to meet.
She’s calmer here, and yet this is also the wildest I’ve ever seen her.
“What’re you doing over there? Get over here and see this, DJ!” she exclaims, gesturing to the broad field of daisies surrounding us.
I chuckle, knowing that wherever this girl wants me to go, I’ll always be there in an instant.
She stands before me, her hands on her hips as she stares up at me.
“You love to make me wait,” she says, pursing her lips.
Kissing them softly, I grin, tugging her to the ground with me, “You love to watch me chase you.”
“I do.”
She lies down next to me in the bed of flowers; the daisies surrounding us represent who we are. Two teenagers in love.
Rosemary grins up at me, the freckles in the shape of the constellation Lynx across her nose wink at me as I kiss them. I want to stay like this—with her, forever.
“You know, you never call me Rose…” she says, her voice soft and far away as we stare up at the setting sun.
We’ve been out here for hours, talking, laughing, and enjoying the last few hours of spring break, completely ignoring the outside world.
“That’s because you aren’t one. You’re like a daisy to me—you’re sweet and pure. You radiate a love that only a few can obtain, and you’re just… you. You’re unapologetic and kind—the best goddamn dancer I’ve ever seen and probably the most cheerful girl I’ve ever met. Which is why I love you—”
Oh shoot… I wasn’t supposed to say that—
“You love me?” she asks, her voice hopeful as she sits up.
It’s that look in her eyes. The one that tells me that she’ll take my heart and guard it with her life, that makes me go on. It’s that look that may ultimately lead to my demise.
“I do. I love you, my daisy.”
“Are you absolutely positively sure that your mom doesn’t hate me? I don’t want to… fork this up.” Georgia chuckles depreciatively, looking between Delilah and me as Deli giggles.
“You said fork,” the four-year-old muses as Georgia’s eyes widen. She fakes a dramatic gasp, pointing at Deli.
“You said it too!”
Chuckling, I push off that memory assault and focus on my girls. The two of them go back and forth, pointing and gasping at one another for a moment before Delilah ultimately ends up in Georgia’s arms.
“She doesn’t hate you…” I trail off.
In all actuality, I don’t know how my mom feels about Georgia, but I know that she would never hate her. Honestly, I think she respects her a lot, especially after she stood up for herself at the last dinner.
Georgia grimaces. “That doesn’t sound too sure.”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, I squeeze it.
“Trust me, darlin’, she loves you.”
My wife gives me a quick kiss on my cheek and nods. “As long as you believe that… I’ll try to.”
Deli giggles. “You just kissed my papá!”
We share a knowing smile before turning back to the front door. The large wooden piece is suddenly intimidating as it stares back at us.
“Whenever you’re ready to go, say the word, and we’ll leave,” I say, pulling her closer as she rolls her eyes.
“The second the word ‘apple’ leaves my mouth, we’re out.”
I laugh, and Georgia frowns.
“Apple?”
“It’s the best I could come up with…”
Giving her shoulder one last squeeze, I unlock the door and lead us all into the kitchen, where my mother stands over the table, placing down the last dish of the night.
“Ah, honey, I’m so glad you all could make it… Georgia.” My mother’s tone has a weird inflection when she says her name, her eyes locking on Georgia’s as soon as she takes a seat.
Gently pushing in her chair, I squeeze her shoulder and double-check to make sure Delilah’s settled in her seat before taking my spot next to Georgia. My hand immediately finds its way to her jumpy thigh, settling the nerves in place.
She squeezes my hand before turning to my mother, “How are you, Mrs. Perez? Have you had a great week?”
Mamá gives her a sweet smile, tilting her head. “Honestly, it’s been a horrid week, but everything will get better soon.”
“What happened? You haven’t told me anything about the company…” I say, my hackles raised as Mamá turns to me, her eyes soft, and I stiffen immediately.
Something isn’t right. Her eyes are softer than usual, almost apologetic, and the air—it’s cold. We usually never keep it colder than seventy degrees in the house, but it feels frigid right now.
My eyes land on the extra place setting before connecting with my mother’s. I squeeze Georgia’s thigh again, and I don’t know if it’s for her benefit or my own as I clear my throat.
“Why’s there an extra place setting?” I want to ask, but my words are cut off when Georgia speaks up.
“Wait… What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice hard and confused as she looks to my right.
In my lifetime, there’s only ever been one person who has made me lose composure.
I like to think of myself as a chill guy.
I don’t overreact; I give things the amount of energy I deem necessary, which is always minimal.
I’m diligent and decisive—I hate irrationality, especially when it comes from me.
But there’s always been that one person who knew how to get it out of me.
My hand loosens, the grip that I’d had on my composure, and Georgia’s thigh seems to slip away as my throat lodges.
With a slow turn of my head, our eyes lock. Her green ones clash with my browns in a war that I thought I’d never have to fight again.
I don’t mean for my grip to slip away, or for my legs to rise, but there’s one thing on my mind when she smiles at me.
“Daisy?”