“BecausePeopleMagazine did a spread four years ago that detailed his five-bed, three-bath house on the hill.”
Daisy’s mouth slumped a little.
“What? Just becauseyoudidn’t snoop doesn’t meanInever did.”
Anna was right. The place was immaculate—on a steep hill overlooking the Pacific. A sweeping wrought-iron staircase rose from the foyer; four bedrooms upstairs, one down. Margot took the downstairs room, and Anna took the one farthest from Jameson’s.
He showed Daisy and Amelia around until they reached Amelia’s room. When he opened the door, her jaw fell. The room was decked out. Jameson must have had it remodeled recently because it was perfectly fit for her daughter.
“Please say this is my room,” Amelia breathed.
“Just for you,” he said. “The designer came by last week.”
“Yeee!” She belly-flopped onto a princess bed. “I love it! Can we do the same thing in the other house?”
“Anything you want.”
She ran to him, hugging his waist. “Thanks,Daddy!”
That word stilled him.
Moisture gathered in his eyes. Daisy stepped back, giving them the moment. This was a first for him. He had missed so many of them and she wanted to give him this.
Daisy knew how emotional it could be, hearing your child call you mom or dad for the first time.
They’d agreed to let theDadhappen naturally. No scripts. Amelia would say it when she trusted him. When she was ready.
He kissed her head. “Happy you like it, baby girl.”
While Amelia explored, he showed Daisy her room: beautiful linens, elegant art, a balcony spilling light across the floor.
“Remodeled this, too?” she asked.
“Of course. I want you to be comfortable here and in Hillsborough. I want you to feel at home.”
“Jameson, we’ve gone over this. I already have a home.”
“And now you have another.”
Late that night, Daisy couldn’t sleep. New places took her two nights minimum to acclimate. She grabbed a blanket and slipped onto the back patio. The ocean’s salt hit as she slid open the glass door. It was chilly when she rounded the corner of the expansive deck and she was instantly met with the subtle smell of smoke. As she continued closer, she found a figure sitting in a patio chair, a small orange ember blinking and flickering around their mouth.
Margot.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Daisy uttered. “Didn’t know anyone was out here.”
“It’s fine.” Margot stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. “Sit. The sound is good for the soul.”
They were quiet, the waves doing the talking, until Margot’s voice threaded the dark.
“I don’t hate you,” she said softly. “I only hate what you did.”
Daisy went still.
It came out of nowhere… her admission. Daisy assumed Margot was no fan of hers, but she was also the type of woman who did indeed beat around the bush.
Guess not anymore.
“But I get it. Part of me even respects it. When he told me what he’d done to you, what he’d pushed you to do, I was sick. I thought I’d raised a good man. Then I heard my own history in his: his father wanted the same from me when I was pregnant with Jameson. Desolately funny, isn’t it?” She exhaled. “The man chose drugs over his family… he’s barely been in my son’s life and still…”
