Page 81 of The Daddy’s Girl

My mom looks at me too. Lifting her finger to point at my face, she glances back at Amelia. “Him?”

“Oui, Matis,” Amelia replies, turning her body toward my mother with a hint of excitement. “You know…Matis.”

My mom looks back at me, studying my features. It’s been a long time since she recognized me on her own. So I hold my breath as she stares into my eyes like I’m a stranger to her.

Amelia wraps her arm around the woman’s shoulder and hugs her gently as if she’s trying to make her feel safe and comfortable.

“Go ahead,” she whispers. “You remember. That’s Matis. That’s your son.”

My throat burns like hell as tears fill my eyes again. This time, I don’t blink them away. Maybe if my mother sees them, it will trigger memories for her. Something. Anything.

When my mother opens her mouth, I don’t expect much.

But then, ever so softly, she smiles.

And whispers my name.

“Matis.”

When I breathe out, a tear slips over my cheek, and a smile stretches across my face. Amelia practically screeches with excitement. Hugging my mother tighter, she beams with elation.

“That’s it! Yes, that’s Matis.”

Almost as if to please the young woman, my mother says my name again. And when our eyes meet and I know for a brief moment that she’s there, it feels like five decades of memories collapsing on my mind and heart at one time.

“Bonjour, Maman.”

In the blink of an eye, I went from a man so solitary I could have drowned in my loneliness to suddenly sitting at a table with the two people I love the most.

And it feels good.

Amelia and I decide to walk back to the club. She strolls beside me, her body safely tucked between me and the buildings. My eyes scan the people around us as we walk, always looking for any sign of danger.

Is this new? This innate need to protect her. This bone-deep urge to keep her safe…and close.

No, it’s not new. But it’s definitely heightened.

“You were very good with her,” I say.

“She’s sweet. She really loves you,” she says, glancing up at my face.

I notice the way Amelia uses such intention when speaking to me. It shows how much she genuinely cares, and I can’t help but think about the red scarf I found hanging behind her door.

Has she really been so in love with me since she was a teenager? It’s a thought that should make me feel better, but it only makes me feel worse.

Because I care about her too, in a far different way than I did before. But neither of us can have what we both so deeply crave.

And what if we did just fuck the rules and built a relationship anyway? What happens when she loses interest or finds someone better? Or my eyes stray as I can only assume they would? I’ve never been monogamous in my life. I can’t assume it will come naturally to me.

Hurting her is out of the question. Breaking her heart would only break mine.

So why can’t I let her go?

“I think we should talk about what happened last night,” I say, sliding my hands in my pockets to assume a casual position.

Amelia stays quiet, but I see her picking at her nails as she walks. To ease her anxiety, I reach over and thread my fingers through hers.

Anyone could see us. This is reckless, but I don’t care. I hate to see her struggling.