Page 119 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I wiped away the tears that had started to gather in my eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you, Dad.”

He smiled, that warm, familiar smile that always made me feel safe. “You’ve got so much to give, kiddo. But you can’t give your best to anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

“I’ll try,” I said, and I meant it.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair again. “And remember, just because something didn’t work out the way you wanted doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. This man—this Roman—he gave you an adventure. If that’s all it is, so be it. But don’t regret it. It’s better to feel this, to go through this, than to feel nothing at all.”

I nodded, wiping away another tear. “I’ve been guarding my heart for so long, Dad. I don’t know how to let go of that.”

“You already did,” he said simply. “Something about him made you let him in. And if you can do that once, you can do it again—with your passions, your dreams, whatever comes next. You’ve got more room in there than you think.”

“I don’t know about that. I feel so empty. Hollow. I don’t have anything left to give.”

“You will.”

I sighed. “Maybe. I guess right now the problem is I don’t want to. I’m not interested in giving anything to anyone ever again.”

He laughed softly. “You will. And don’t worry too much about the butterflies. Metamorphosis is always a bit messy, but it’s also beautiful.”

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips—his optimism, stubborn as ever, had a way of making me see the silver lining. “It’s just hard to see the beauty in the mess sometimes,” I admitted.

“That’s because you’re right in the middle of it,” he replied, shrugging slightly. “When you’re knee deep in mud, it’s tough to admire the landscape. Give it time, Kaira. Step back a bit, catch your breath. You’ll see it eventually, the whole beautiful panorama, not just the mud.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words.

“Life isn’t always about holding on tight to what you have or what you want. Sometimes it’s about learning how to let go and trust that’s what’s meant for you.”

“If you love something set it free,” I said, remembering a poster I had on my wall a long time ago.

He grinned. “Exactly. And if it comes back, it’s yours—if it doesn’t, it never was. But either way, you’ll be okay. I know you. You might feel weak right now, but you’re one tough cookie. Always have been.”

“But what if I’m afraid?” I asked after a pause, looking into his eyes for some sort of reassurance.

“You should be. That’s what makes it real. That fear means you’re about to grow, about to change. It’s the edge of your old comfort zone, stretching into something new.”

I loved his combination of wisdom and encouragement.

I took a deep breath, letting his words sink deeper. “But change is so scary.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s also inevitable. And often, it brings with it things we never could have imagined when we were stuck in our old ways. Think about all the times in your life when a door closed. Didn’t a window open somewhere else?”

I thought about it, the past instances flashing through my mind like scenes from a movie. He was right, of course.

“What do I do about Carla?” I asked.

He shrugged. “That one is a lot easier. She got her feelings hurt. I think it might have been a little bit of an overreaction but I don’t know much about how you women navigate friendships. I’ll go months without talking to one of my buddies and it’s like a day has passed. You apologized. You’ve promised to be a better friend. If she chooses to end the friendship, that’s on her. You can’t control it, but I know you’re a good friend. You had a hiccup. You were caught up in a unique situation. I bet you dollars to donuts it will happen to her one of these days. Then you can bust her chops right back.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Not in a mean way. I want her to experience that little bit of happiness I had. I just hope hers lasts longer than mine did. I’ll probably get hurt feelings, but this little exercise has taught me a lot. I will give her grace.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope—not for Roman and me, but for myself. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for the path to open up in front of me and start making my own way.

Just then, the door behind us opened, and my mother poked her head out. “Breakfast is ready, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb,” she called, grinning.

“I’m Tweedle Dee,” my father and I said in unison, just like we had since I was a little girl. For the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed—a real, genuine laugh.

46