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I was feeling pretty good about mine until she gave me hers and that made me falter. Because the thing about gifts is how the right one can touch you, make you feel all sorts of emotions.
Gia gifted me with a glimpse inside her head and heart. She made me a book with her photographs, starting with the present and going back to when she was a brat in dirty clothes taking pictures of us in her garage. I’ve been blessed to win every type of award imaginable. But holding her gift brought home the reality that she’s the one.
For the first time in my life, I’m thinking about my future, and it has nothing to do with my career. I’m seriously thinking about taking some time off after this tour.
Maybe I’ll take Gia to Italy or southern Spain and lock us away, just fuck, write music, eat, and drink. Lie in the sun and let her tell me all the wonderful things she sees out of that lens. From the second I saw her dancing with Nuke, I knew she was it for me. I’ve been self-medicating myself as if I was waiting for her to grow up. And now that I have her, I have no intention of letting her go.
She’s my muse.
My life.
My anchor. Gia, who keeps me sane when my world wants to fuck me up. If I was good, I’d encourage her to finish college. But to be honest, I’m a selfish fuck, and with my connections, school is foolish. Especially with her talent. It’s raw and unique. Going back would only stifle her creativity. She needs to travel, continue developing her own style, not be molded into something someone else has already perfected.
“I’m being ridiculous, I know. I have no idea what I’m looking for.” She takes a deep breath. “I love you, no matter what happens today, and I’m sure nothing will, but if something does, I love you.” She tries to smile but it’s strained. She looks down at her new watch as if it’ll calm her.
My lips twitch. She’s adorable. “Gia Fontaine?” I say as the SUV pulls into her mom’s driveway.
“Yeah?” She leans into me; her green eyes blink and I know she desperately wants to hear the words. And I will say them, but not in her mom’s driveway.
I reach over and rub her lips with my thumb. “I’m crazy about you.” That will have to do for now. Her eyes reveal hurt and confusion, but we have all the time in the world. I’m not rushing it.
A cough from the driver interrupts us. She pulls back as if she’s only now remembered we’re not alone.
“Sorry to interrupt, but are you going to need me to wait, Mr. Granger?” He turns to look at us.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
She puts a hand through her hair then rubs under her eyes. “Um. Dinner and that’s it. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.” She points at her mom’s house, then digs in her bag, retrieving some lip gloss.
“Do I look okay?”
I grin at her. “Relax. You look like my girl. Now, let’s do this.”
“Yes, let’s get it over with.” She flings open the door as I lean forward to the driver.
“Give us a couple hours and then we will head back to the tarmac.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks, man.” I open my door as he jumps out to finish opening it for me. I hold up my hand.
“You don’t have to do that.” I glance around the old neighborhood. All the yards still have green lawns. Most are decorated for the holidays.
“I just want to say it’s an honor to meet you. Huge fan.” He nods at me, then Gia. “The TSM and Humanoid albums are my all-time favorites. They kind of changed my life.” He nods.
“Thanks, brother.” Sadly, I’m jaded. I will not be surprised at all if tonight or tomorrow I’m all over ET or the tabloids. I can see it now: Has the Rock God finally found his goddess? Is it true love or another notch in his belt?
“Gia?” My eyes turn to the old couple on the sidewalk.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Dorsey.” Gia smiles but her tone is clipped. I don’t blame her. It’s been years, but Mr. Dorsey never has been the cliché old man. I can’t remember how many times he called the cops on us for noise pollution.
“Gia, darling. Thank goodness you’re alive.” Mrs. Dorsey glares at us.
“What?”
“Your mother has been sick with worry. We thought you were kidnapped.” Mr. Dorsey zeros in on me.
“Oh God. No, I was not kidnapped, it was a misunder—”
“You look familiar.” His old eyes shift up and down, taking in my appearance. Clearly, he disapproves since his wrinkles deepen.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Dorsey. It’s Rhys Granger.” I hold out my hand knowing he recognizes me, but he’s old so I’ll humor him.
