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“Do you worry you’ll lapse again?”
“It ain’t sobriety if you ain’t humble. I decide every day, sometimes every hour, not to drink.”
“It’s my fault. Your drinking. It started after—”
“Hey.” His finger lifts my chin, his eyes swearing it to mine. “It is NOT your fault. I was drinking and getting high long before that night. You know that. I wasn’t comfortable in this skin. Too many people looking at me all the time. Fucking King of Coligny Beach or Hollywood’s Romeo. I hate that shit. People always after me. It’s taken me years to learn to live with it.”
“I know the feeling.”
It’s a horrible one. People always want something from you when you’re cursed with DNA many deem attractive. Yes, there are many far worse things to suffer. But no one is immune—even the pretty pay.
“That’s why you’re my one gift,” he says. “You see the real me.”
“I see the boy who made me playlists and Kraft macaroni and cheese. What do you see in me?”
That makes him grin. “I see the girl who put Hello Kitty Band-Aids on my scabs.” I laugh. I forgot about that. “I see a woman who holds my hands, and they don’t shake.” That hits my heart. “You always took away my pain, Candy Cade.”
“You always protected me from it.”
We don’t say it. Our eyes speak the memory.
“I still want to protect you.” The way he lingers his fingertips across my cheek. “I’ll give you everything I have.”
“I don’t need everything.” The bow of his lip beckons me to trace it. “Just my favorite parts.”
“Oh, you’ll get that too.” It’s sudden, his roll, landing on top so he can gaze down at me. “You get my house, my millions; you’ll take care of my family… and every part of me.” He starts nudging in, hard.
I spread my thighs. “I thought we were saving this.”
“With you”—it’s my favorite slow sigh as he enters—“I’ll keep giving you everything.”
The spoiling continues to dinner. I look like Redix’s Oscar date in the gown he bought me. The nude fabric with red silk rose embellishments clings from my right shoulder and sweeps to the floor.
He even dresses up. That means he wears a shirt under his tux. And shoes. It’s only appropriate as our four-year-old guest of honor steals the show.
“Gia,” her dad softly instructs, “what do you say for your birthday present?”
Gia’s dad, Luca Mercier, has got to be the sexiest CEO on the planet. Like, literally, he is because Redix told me earlier how paparazzi are after him now that he’s the most eligible billionaire. It’s not a hunch. It’s a fact—hot, single dads with billions are global catnip.
Luca’s daughter jumps down from his lap, her brown curls springing with her fearless bounce. It’s like she owns this resort—well, she sorta does as she strides over to Redix, puckering her lips up for his cheek.
“Thank you for my shark, Red.”
It’s cute how she shortens his name to suit her.
Redix bought her a yellow stuffed shark. Apparently, they’re all the rage for kids.
“You’re welcome, princess.” He takes her peck on his cheek.
“Redix and I got close,” Luca explains, “when we met on the golf course recovering from our darkest days. He’d come to stay with us and let my little angel brighten them.” His eyes light up, talking about his daughter. “Looks like you brighten his now.”
When Luca smiles my way, there’s warmth in his eyes. I’d wish the same for him, to have love again, but maybe it’s too soon. Redix told me how Luca’s wife passed away two years ago. And I can see how Gia makes Redix smile. I’ve never seen him so tender, maybe with his nephew, but this bursts my ovaries.
Maybe one day, we will…
“Thank you.” Gia turns to me. I can tell she forgot my name, but that’s okay.
“You’re welcome.”
