Chapter 4 Vance
VANCE
Iwoke to sunlight streaming through the small window of my apartment.
The moment my mind cleared from the fog of sleep, last night came rushing back.
Lila Morgan. What a surprise she’d been.
She was a beautiful, gentle woman who’d managed to slip past every wall I’d built.
She was lovely, yes, but it was more than that.
There was a kindness and quiet intelligence in her that softened me in ways I didn’t expect, melting the resolve I’d held onto for years.
A resolve to stay separate, safe, untouchable.
Those blue eyes looking into mine had stirred feelings I hadn’t believed possible anymore.
Not after the way Nicole had bruised both my ego and my heart, leaving me hollow and half-convinced love was a myth.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand. I was too old to play games. If I liked a woman, I’d tell her. To my surprise, a text from Lila was already waiting—sent fifteen minutes earlier.
Lila
Good morning. I just wanted to say thank you again for last night. I had a really wonderful time.
Vance
Good morning. I was just thinking about you—and last night. I had a great time too.
I hesitated. Too much? Too honest?
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Lila
Sorry if it’s kind of early to text. I had to get up early for work this morning. I’ll tell you about it some other time, but I have a huge project starting today.
Vance
Will you have time for dinner?
Lila
For sure. I’m looking forward to it.
Relief flooded through me. She hadn’t changed her mind. She was still in.
Vance
What are you thinking? Dinner? Walk on the beach? I’m open to anything.
Lila
How about both? We could get takeout and eat on the beach. The weather’s supposed to be perfect today.
I smiled. The idea of her barefoot in the sand, wind in her hair, felt like something out of a dream. Just the two of us—no servers hovering, no diners eavesdropping, no noise to drown out her laugh.
Vance
I love that idea. Want me to pick something up? I make a mean picnic.
Lila
A sommelier who packs picnics? I think Mia was right about you.
Vance
I’m afraid to ask what that means.
Lila
She said you and I were ninety-eight percent compatible, according to some algorithm Robbie made.
Vance
Only ninety-eight percent? What’s the other two percent?
Lila
I’ll let you know when I figure it out.
Vance
Who’s Robbie?
Lila
Remember my group of friends I told you about? Robbie is Esme’s son.
Vance
Right—the genius kid.
Lila
That’s him. Good memory.
Vance
I’ll see you tonight. Want me to pick you up? 6:30?
Lila
Perfect. Are you up for meeting Mia? She’ll be here at the house if you pick me up.
Vance
If you’re okay with it, I’d love to meet her.
Lila
She’s dying to meet you. I should go. I’ll see you this evening.
Vance
Can’t wait.
I set my phone down and fell back against the pillows, grinning like an idiot. Yesterday at this time I hadn’t even known she existed, and now she was all I could think about. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but we seemed so suited. Dare I let myself hope?
I made coffee, already planning the picnic in my head. Fresh baguette from the bakery, soft cheese from the specialty shop, a handful of figs, maybe prosciutto. A bottle of rosé—something pale and easy, made for warm evenings and salt air.
My phone rang.
I glanced at the screen, expecting Dorian or my mother. It wasn’t. The name that appeared made my entire body go cold.
Nicole Prescott.
My ex-wife.
I stared at the phone, heart pounding, finger hovering above the screen. She never called. Ever. Six years of silence—letters unanswered, voicemails ignored, messages left unread. And now, out of nowhere, she was calling me.
Something was wrong.
I answered. “Nicole.”
“Vance.” Her voice was the same—sharp, clipped, still carrying that edge of irritation she’d perfected during our marriage. “I need to talk to you about Margot.”
Everything else fell away—the apartment, the coffee, the plans for tonight.
“Is she okay?” My voice came out strangled. “Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine. Physically.” A pause. “But things have changed, and we need to discuss arrangements.”
Arrangements.
“What kind of arrangements?”
“Can you meet me today? There’s a coffee shop near—”
“No. Tell me now. What’s going on?”
She sighed, that long-suffering sound I remembered too well. “My mother passed away. And I’m getting remarried.”
“I’m sorry. And congratulations?”
“Don’t be like that. This is good news. Derek is wonderful—stable, successful. Everything I needed after …” She trailed off, the implication clear. After you.
“What does this have to do with Margot?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Derek and I are starting fresh. Building a life together. And he’s been very clear that he’s not interested in raising someone else’s child.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I think it’s time for Margot to live with you. Full-time. Permanently.”
For a beat, I forgot how to breathe. Six years of fighting, begging, pleading for even a phone call—and now she was handing my daughter over like an afterthought.
“Vance? Are you there?”
“I’m here.” My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. “When?”
“I was thinking next weekend.”
“Next weekend? Nicole, that’s a week away.”
“As much as it hurts to let her go, I know it’s best for her. And for me.”
The familiar rage bubbled up. “You’ve spent six years keeping her from me. Now I’m suddenly what she needs?”
“Are you saying no?”
I forced myself to breathe. To focus. None of the rest mattered—not the years, not the money, not the lies. What mattered was Margot.
“Of course not. But does she know?” I asked. “Does she know you’re planning to send her away?”
“I’m not sending her away. I’m arranging for her to live with her father. And no, I haven’t told her yet. I wanted to make sure you were on board first.”
“On board? Nicole, she’s my daughter. Of course I’m on board. I’ve been trying to see her for six years.”
“Well, now you’ll get your chance.” Her tone shifted, becoming businesslike. “But Vance, we need to discuss the logistics. This transition is going to be expensive for me—moving costs, legal fees. And since you’ve done so well for yourself while neglecting your daughter, I’ll need compensation.”
There it was.
“How much?” I asked flatly.
“I’m not asking for much. Just enough to help me start fresh. Considering what you made on your app, I think a million is only fair.”
A million dollars. To buy back my own child.
“You want me to pay you to take my daughter?”
“I’m asking you to help with transition costs. I’ve been raising her alone for six years, Vance. That hasn’t been cheap.”
Alone. Because she’d made sure I couldn’t help. But none of that mattered. Not really. Because I’d have Margot. I’d get to be her father again.
“Fine. I’ll get a cashier’s check prepared.”
“Thank you.” Her voice softened—barely. She’d always loved money. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork. You’ll have full custody. I’ll sign away my rights.”
Sign away her rights. As if Margot were a thing she could simply discard.
“Does she want this?” I asked quietly. “Does Margot want to live with me?”
Silence.
“Nicole, does my daughter want to live with me, or does she think I abandoned her?”
“She’s ten, Vance. She’ll adjust.”
My hands shook. “What have you told her about me?”
“The truth. That you chose to stay in France over your family.”
Of course she had. But it wasn’t true. I would have done anything to be in my daughter’s life. The courts had seen it Nicole’s way, and nothing I did had ever changed that. Until now.
“I want to talk to her. Before next weekend.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Nicole said. “Let’s just get through the transition, and then you can work on rebuilding your relationship with her.”
Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to demand my daughter’s voice, her consent—but I couldn’t risk Nicole changing her mind. Not now.
“Fine. Next weekend.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Margot has some issues. Behavior issues.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Like what?”
“She doesn’t talk much. Kind of sullen and difficult. You’ll see. But it’s time you stepped up, Vance. I’ve done what I can.”
Time I stepped up. Done what she could. Anger surged through me, hot and black. “I wanted her. You know that.”
“You said that, but you stayed in France.”
“I had a job, Nicole. And you made sure I couldn’t see her. Don’t put this on me. I begged you to let me see her, and you ignored every attempt.”
She sighed dramatically, as only she could. “Vance, I know you love to see yourself as the victim, but the truth is you’ve been selfish and untrustworthy. I had no choice but to keep her from you.”
“You took her to America and refused to come back. You had me blocked by the courts. God only knows what you’ve told Margot about me.”
“Vance, for once, can you think of someone besides yourself?”
I almost lost it. I had to step away from the counter, breathe through the fury, picture my little girl as she’d been—the freckles across her nose, the way her small hand fit inside mine.
“When do we sign papers?” I asked finally.
“Tomorrow. Three p.m.. My attorney’s office.”
“You felt confident I’d agree,” I said.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist looking like a great dad.”
I was a great dad. Before she stole my chance to be one.
“Text me the address. I’ll be there—with the check and an attorney of my own.”
“Great. See you then.”
She hung up.
I stood in the middle of the tiny apartment, phone still pressed to my ear, the silence roaring in my head. Margot was coming home. My daughter—my baby girl who thought I’d abandoned her, who’d been raised on lies—was finally coming to live with me.
In a week.