Page 59 of The Daddy’s Girl

“I can’t, mon trésor. Go to sleep.”

“I like when you call me that,” she mumbles sleepily.

With a smile, I move to my feet and carefully peel off each of her black boots, setting them quietly on the floor as she curls under the blankets on her bed. Then I help her out of her pale-yellow sweater and hold it against my chest as I stare down at her.

“More than Trouble?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm.”

“But you are both, you know?” I reply with a chuckle. “Trouble and a treasure.”

“Fine,” she mutters.

And suddenly, I feel as if I can breathe a little lighter. She is not treating me differently because of the way I defiled her. We are still us. Just like after that awful moment in the club when she watched me with that woman.

I take some solace in knowing that my relationship with my goddaughter is strong enough that it can withstand anything. We are still us. Our bond remains.

“Bonne nuit, Trouble,” I say, delicately ruffling her hair.

“Good night, old man.”

Feeling much lighter, I stand from the bed, still holding her sweater, and smile on my way out the door. Before I can leave, the dim light of the moon shines on some sketches and pieces of artwork tacked onto her wall. I stop and admire each one, even though she is already snoring quietly on the bed.

I wish I had half the talent Amelia does. Her creativity is so pure and born from something innate within her. She comes up with things so original I can’t comprehend how she plucked the idea out of thin air. Each sketch is stunning and evokes a feeling inside me I can’t describe.

No matter what happens between us, I will push her toward her dreams. I have to. I will make sure she gets into that program. We will host the best fashion show that club has ever seen—okay, the only fashion show the club has ever seen, but genius nonetheless.

For the first time in a long time, I feel drive again. Not since I worked at L’ Amour have I felt this much purpose. Because this is something I care about. And maybe in some way, this is how I can make it up to her. How I can pay my penance for what I’ve subjected her to tonight.

Even if she did sound as if she enjoyed that kiss. That doesn’t matter because I’m older than her and I should be the one to say when enough is enough. I must be the one to say no when it needs to be said.

She depends on me. Trusts me. Follows me. I can’t abuse that trust for my own selfish desire. Amelia doesn’t want an old man like me. She wants that foolish young man she had the date with.

With that, I turn toward the door to leave.

A splash of red catches my eye.

Turning toward the back of the door, it’s a hint of familiarity that keeps my gaze glued to the spot where a red plaid scarf hangs from a hook.

The first thought that crosses my mind is that I once had a scarf just like this. Even as I reach out and run it between my fingers, I realize how similar it is to the one I had.

The second thought I have is that this is my scarf. Somehow Amelia must have gotten it. Perhaps I lent it to her when she was cold, or I accidentally left it here and she claimed it as her own.

Then…and I blame the late hour and lack of sleep on the slowness of this realization…I remember the story her brother told at the restaurant just last week.

And just like that, everything suddenly makes sense.

Sitting on my sofa in my apartment, I hold Amelia’s yellow sweater between my fingers while staring ahead. I don’t know why I took it, but for some reason, I felt as if I had no choice. Maybe like a trade or a token.

She kept my scarf.

All these years.

Why? Well, according to her brother, it’s because she’s madly in love with the owner.

Me.

I have no idea what to do with this information now. Is it possible Julian was lying or confused, and Amelia didn’t bother to correct him? That must be more possible than the other option, which is that she truly does…love me.