Daisy looked up at Jameson, who bit his lip, eyes pleading. Against her better judgment, she whispered, “All right.”
“Perfect,” Margot declared, clapping. She turned to Amelia. “Would you be a doll and help me? I could use the extra hand.”
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. I’m Margot, by the way. Jameson’s mummy.”
“I could tell.” Amelia giggled. “You have the same blue eyes.”
Silence fell heavy over them. Daisy knew they were all thinking the same thing.
Amelia also shared those blue eyes.
She shared not only the same eyes but the same blood. The thought gave Daisy goose bumps, and an eerie warmth ran through her veins.
Margot cleared her throat. “Now out of my kitchen. We have work to do.”
“Mum, you just got bit by a dog. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” Jameson objected.
“I’m fine. Now shoo. Me and my new sous chef have to finish the meal.”
He sighed and nodded for Daisy to follow him.
She was hesitant but didn’t want to rock the already unsteady boat.
“Be good,” Daisy told Amelia, following Jameson out of the kitchen.
Behind her, she heard Amelia say brightly, “I’m Amelia, by the way. That lady’s my mom.”
Margot replied, low and warm, “I could tell. You’re just as beautiful as she is.”
The compliment lingered on Daisy’s lips as she joined Jameson at the foot of the stairs. Maybe Margot didn’t completely hate her.
“What’s that smile?” he asked.
“I think… everything is going to be okay,” she said softly.
“I’ll make sure it is,” he whispered, leading her upstairs.
The upstairs hallway smelled faintly of lavender polish, lined with modest art. Daisy stopped at a wall of photos charting Jameson’s life, from diapers to stadium lights. She blushed when she reached hisRolling Stonecover. He was scantily clad in nothing but dark blue jeans, with a guitar slung low on his waist. Daisy’s face heated, just like it had the first time she saw the cover in the checkout line at the grocery store. His face wore a velvety smirk, while his chiseled torso wore nothing at all.
“Like what you see?”
She jumped. Jameson’s face hovered just inches from hers.
Daisy rubbed her lips together and cocked her head toward the photo.
“I can see how some might find it appealing,” she teased.
“I didn’t ask about some. I asked about you.”
Her blush deepened. “Fine. You look… nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yes, nice. Though why your mother would hang such anicephoto of her son, I’ll never know.”
His laugh echoed down the hall. “She’s proud. Even if it’s too much skin for her taste,Rolling StoneisRolling Stone.”
