“Yes. Our relationship will never be the same, but once Amelia was born, he came around. He still feels terrible aboutthe way he treated me… but he adores her. I couldn’t ask for a better grandpa for my daughter.”
Jameson reached for her hand, squeezing it once before letting go. “You’re a strong woman, Daisy Daniels. Stronger than I ever knew. I hate that I wasn’t there. I wish I had been.” His voice roughened, regret thick in it. “I was so caught up chasing music, convincing myself nothing could come before it. I see now what that cost you… what it cost us. I’m sorry.”
Daisy exhaled, “I’m sorry, too. And… thank you. In the end, it was okay. I have an amazing daughter, and I’m living my dream.”
“How did it happen?” he asked. “You’ve always been insanely talented, but I’ve heard breaking into the art scene is brutal.”
“Especially for a student who was also a full-time mom.” She smiled faintly. “I kind of have you to thank for it, actually.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“My inspiration. My muse. My… toxic source,” she said, not unkindly.
He frowned, and Daisy went on. “I worked the desk at Aunt Devya’s gallery in New York—good exposure, but zero clout. Devya loved me, but she made it clear I had to earn my own wall. After years of begging, she finally agreed to hang one piece. I don’t know why I picked the one I did. There were safer choices. But I was desperate to get rid of it, so I chose to let the world take it from me.”
“What piece?”
“The Band Boy.”
She told him how the critic, Laura Damoyer, fell in love with it and wrote the review that started everything.
“I guess… you’re welcome?” he joked weakly.
“I almost threw it away,” she admitted. “I hated how much it hurt to look at. But now, sitting here with you, with Amelia downstairs, I’d give anything to have it back. Just becausesomething comes from pain doesn’t make it worthless. If anything, that painting proved how strong I was.”
For a moment, he was quiet. She could tell he wasn’t moved because the painting was about him, but because she was offering something like forgiveness and a way forward.
“If you’re wondering,” she added, voice low, “it wasn’t a portrait. It was a silhouette—stage lights like a halo from behind, cords pooling at your feet like roots. I painted the crowd as smudges and left a single red mark in the corner, the mark of an original.”
“I wish I could’ve seen it.”
They shared a look. It was both reluctant and fragile.
Then Margot’s voice carried up the stairs. “Five minutes until dinner!”
“Next time it’s your turn,” Daisy warned softly. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook.”
“I’m just glad there’ll be a next time,darlin’.”
Her cheeks flamed as she rose from the bed.
“Is that a bathroom?” she asked quickly, pointing toward the closed door.
He nodded. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She slipped into the restroom, closing the door behind her. Alone at last, Daisy splashed cold water over her flushed face, willing her heartbeat to slow. This was good; it was progress. Now she had to gather herself for the real test… sitting through an entire meal with Margot.
Boisterous laughter.
That was all Daisy heard as she descended the staircase. It was far more than the three voices she’d expected. Her hands began to tremble as she inched toward the dining room.
When she rounded the corner, the air left her lungs in one rush. She froze, gaping at the crowd gathered around Margot’s dinner table. Every face was familiar, every single one except for the redhead at the far end.
The chatter died the moment they saw her.
“Hi,” Daisy whispered.
Lenny, Kyler, and the redhead smiled warmly, easing the tension of the moment. Daisy forced a grin in return and stepped farther inside. On the opposite side, Margot sat flanked by Rebecca and Charlie, both beaming at the sight of her.
