Page 157 of The Daddy’s Girl

“Thank you, Da—” I stop before quickly correcting myself. “Dad. Thank you, Dad.”

I’m all grown up now, a fact we both struggled to accept. But when he presses his lips together, I feel the weight of it bubble over for each of us.

“I hope you know,” he adds, clearing his throat but unable to evade the emotion building there. “No matter where you go or what you do…I’ll always be proud of you.”

I couldn’t form a single word if I wanted to. My throat is locked up tight, so I let the feeling burst through my eyes, tears slipping over my lashes as I throw myself into his arms. My dad holds me tight, squeezing me as if to convey that he’s speaking about more than just the fashion show.

“I love you, Dad,” I manage through my tears.

“I love you so much, Amelia,” he replies, clearly as choked up.

When we part, we all force tear-filled smiles. He even gives Matis a hug, and it makes my heart explode a little.

My mom and dad leave, and I let out a happy sigh as I fall into Matis’s arms.

Then a good song comes on, and Freya is dragging me out on the dance floor again. Another glass of champagne is shoved into my hand, and we spend the rest of the evening dancing and singing and living entirely in the moment.

When Matis and I stumble out of the club however many hours later it is, we’re somewhere between drunk, exhausted, and delirious. And when everyone else climbs into cabs, he and I only have to look at each other to know we won’t be taking a car home.

Instead, he links his fingers with mine as we start our late-night stroll. For most of the walk, I do the talking, reliving every moment of the show. What went wrong. What went right. But mostly I focus on how incredible it felt.

“Someday, I’m going to have a real show of my own,” I say.

“That was a real show,” he replies.

“You know what I mean. Like a real, real show.”

He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I’ll support you in whatever you do, mon trésor.”

And I know he will.

“What about you?” I ask. “What are you going to do with yourself now that you’re not running a club?”

“I’m retired,” he says with a laugh. “Besides, I’m going to pump you full every night, Trouble. It’s only a matter of time before you get pregnant.”

My heart does a little flip in my chest at those words. Not just the pumping-me-full part, which I’ll admit is hot as hell. But the pregnant part too. I love how fearlessly he’s jumping into this life with me. Almost as if he’s been waiting for it all along.

And to know he chose this over the life he once had. He decided to stay for this. For us.

“So you’re trading in your life of sex clubs and orgies to be a stay-at-home dad?”

He halts on the cobblestones and gives me a serious expression. “No more sex clubs and orgies?”

My laugh bubbles out of me, still a little tipsy from the drinks at the club. Finally, his expression cracks and he grins back.

“Come on, old man.”

As I tug on his hand, ready to be home, off my feet, and in bed, he doesn’t seem to budge. When I glance back at him with confusion, I notice him pointing to himself.

“Aren’t you going to compliment me on my attire?”

“What are you talking about⁠—”

My eyes land on the red plaid scarf I somehow didn’t notice until just now. With my jaw hanging open, I stare at him and try to make sense of what this means.

“Where did you get that?” I shriek.

“I found it the night I brought you home. I thought it was very cute that you kept it.”