Chapter Eighteen #2
Daisy swallowed hard and thought, if she were a stronger woman she’d tell him that this girl was a part of him and the kindest child to ever grace the earth.
Her wit was unparalleled to any girl her age and her heart, it was filled with joy and gratitude.
She was a helper when wanted and a listener when needed.
She cried tears of happiness almost as much as she cried tears of sorrow.
She was the best thing that ever happened to Daisy.
She was her anchor, her lifesaver. And without her, the world would be just a little less bright.
“Who is she?”
But Daisy wasn’t a stronger woman; she was a smart one, one who would protect her daughter at all costs. “I don’t know. The piece is called Innocence. I was just painting a child that exuded that word, that’s all.”
He stepped closer to study it, and Daisy worried he’d recognize the dimple, or the blue that matched his own. He didn’t ask again. Instead, he shifted to the canvas beside it.
“What about this?”
Relief and a short laugh escaped her. “Intrigued? Something you need to tell me?”
“What? No.”
She looked at the painting of a bare-chested man, abdominal lines enhanced by pastel. “It is appealing, Jameson. You know I wouldn’t care.”
“And you’ll never need to.” He leaned in, close enough that she caught spearmint on his breath. “I like women. Always have, always will.”
Her body woke up. His closeness beckoned her. With him, the room always fell away.
That was the danger.
She dragged her gaze off his. She wouldn’t be lured back into old feelings. Those were lies.
“It’s my boyfriend.”
“Hmm?” he murmured, as if he hadn’t heard her. She backed away and refocused her attention on the art.
“The painting. It’s inspired by my boyfriend.”
He didn’t move. “Oh. I had no idea.”
“That’s because you never asked.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to know.”
She ignored that. “His name is Matt. He’s a sports agent. We’ve been together for three years.”
“That’s a long time. Congratulations,” he said, flat.
“Thank you. He’s a good one.”
“And where is this boyfriend tonight?”
“He splits time between San Francisco and New York. He’s there now,” she uttered, while trying to hide her discomfort.
He should be here, she thought. Complicated or not, he should have come.
“Too bad this ‘good one’ couldn’t make his girlfriend’s big night,” Jameson said. “What a shame.”
Daisy bristled, defending a relationship that, at the moment, barely existed, at least until he was back. “He works hard. We do long-distance. Plus the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing?”
He nodded once suspiciously.
“Let’s just say the heart isn’t the only thing growing fonder.”
He cringed, and not subtly either. His mouth turned into an ugly frown while his brows knit close together and his golden face bared a hint of red.
And Daisy reveled.
He wasn’t the only one who had moved on.
“Trying to make me jealous?” he asked.
“Why on earth would I do that?”
He regained his composure.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Why would you?”
Her gaze dipped. Was she?
Of course not.
Maybe a little.
He sighed. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
He tipped his chin toward her father, whose steps were clipped and deliberate, the kind that drew fearful eyes. His jaw was locked tight, lips a grim slash.
“Does he hate me?”
Daisy scoffed, “You have to ask?”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Philip demanded, positioning himself between Daisy and Jameson.
“Mr. Daniels,” Jameson said, offering a hand. Philip didn’t so much as glance at it. His focus was only on his daughter, eyes narrowing like he could read every thought she wasn’t saying.
“I’m quite the art enthusiast,” Jameson said, lowering his hand. “I wanted to support Daisy and her gallery on her big night.”
“Support Daisy?” Philip’s voice rose, edged with disbelief. “Support? You forfeited that right the day you walked away from her.”
The words hit hard. Daisy wanted to speak, to smooth it over, but her throat closed.
Philip dragged his gaze off Jameson and back onto Daisy. “I didn’t realize you two had reconnected?”
She shook her head quickly. “We haven’t.” No further explanation.
There was a silent conversation between them, his eyes asking if she was safe, hers begging him not to escalate.
When she mouthed, “I’m fine,” he didn’t look convinced.
He lingered a beat too long, as though analyzing her face for any sign of fallacy, before finally tilting his head toward Jameson and muttering, “I’ll be watching you. ”
“I’d expect nothing less, sir.”
When he was safely away, they both let out a sigh.
“I don’t think it went that badly,” Jameson said.
“You’re lucky there are people around. My dad won’t cause a scene with an audience.”
“You think the old man would sucker-punch me?”
“Yes. I think a sucker punch is long overdue. If we were alone, he wouldn’t hesitate.”
Then he grew oddly quiet.
“Does he know?”
She nodded slowly. After all that had happened, she hid nothing from her parents.
“Everything,” was all she said, turning her gaze away from him.
“Words will never express how sorry I truly am.”
Guilt gnawed. She could let him drown in blame for a choice he thought she’d made, or she could choose honesty.
On one hand, she could choose to potentially jeopardize her daughter by cluing him in on her very existence or protect her by keeping her mouth closed.
Daisy was unclear. Her heart told her one thing, while her head told her another. The choice seemed so easy yet so difficult at the same time.
“I like this,” he expressed.
She followed his gaze to another canvas of their child: a small girl sprinting through a sunflower field, hair wild, spirit free. It was the epitome of Amelia.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Make a choice, her brain screamed so loud she almost shuddered. Choose now!
But Daisy never had to decide because her choice solidified the moment she heard the trill of an angelic voice. It was as if the picture had come alive.
“Mommy!”
The voice rang like a bell. Somehow it cut through the party’s noise and landed neatly in Daisy’s chest. Jameson heard it, too. They turned at the same time.
There she was, red nose, a pretty blue dress, skipping toward Daisy with reckless joy. Behind her, Philip and Dena hurried, both wearing matching expressions of concern.
Daisy’s heart broke and lifted at once. She bent as Amelia barreled into her.
“Hi, sweet stuff,” she managed.
Amelia squeezed hard and coughed into Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy pulled back, scanning her face. Bright, despite the bug that lingered. “What are you doing here?”
“You said if I felt better, I could come. So here I am.”
Daisy flicked her eyes to her mother, who looked like a deer in headlights, shocked at who stood next to her daughter.
Later, questions. For now, she had to hold it together.
Amelia’s gaze slid past Daisy and landed on the tall man beside her. She tipped her head back, squinting. “And who the heck are you, dude?”
“Amelia Elizabeth,” Daisy warned. “Cool it.”
“What? I was just asking. He’s standing there like a big ol’ gnome.”
Daisy bit her lip hard. Out of the corner of her eye, she checked Jameson. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… confused, like the picture hadn’t quite snapped into focus.
Please don’t. Not here.
“I’m Jameson.” He cocked his head to the side. “Who the heck are you?”
Amelia giggled and spun, skirt flaring. “I’m Amelia Elizabeth Daniels.”
He offered his hand, and she shook it.
“Pleased to meet you. How do you know Daisy here?”
“She’s my mom, silly. Didn’t you hear me yelling? How do you know her?”
Jameson didn’t answer. He studied her, like she was a puzzle he was about to complete.
“Mr. Jameson is an old friend,” Daisy answered for him.
“Oh.” Amelia nodded and let go of his hand. But Jameson’s stayed suspended a beat longer, then dropped.
“How old are you?” he asked, voice steady but also, not.
Mindlessly playing with the hem of her dress, Amelia said, “I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April.”
And that’s when Daisy saw it—the moment Jameson Kingston’s life changed. The math did itself.
Heat rose off him. She felt his stare but couldn’t meet it.
Her stomach turned. It might have been the worst moment of her life.
With a trembling voice, she told Amelia, “Go ask Auntie Anna for a stuffed mushroom. I got them specially for you.”
“Yum!” She bolted away.
His mouth was open; his hands had curled into fists, but not in anger. His expression was that of a newly enlightened man, one whose eyes had been opened after years of darkness. He looked for validation in her expression, but she gave him nothing.
Not here. Not like this.
Around them, the party kept buzzing, people laughing, sipping, pointing at paintings, while the lives of three people had just been perpetually altered.
He worked his mouth, tried for words, but none came.
“You need to leave,” Daisy said, voice barely above a whisper. “Now.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t ask. He just stared, then nodded once.
And she turned back into the crowd as if none of their lives had just changed forever.