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“Zegas, how the hell did you do that? Sometimes it takes her two weeks to forgive me,” Patrick complained.
Kane smiled smugly. “You aren’t nearly as charming as I am.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
KANE
JoJo unlockedthe door to their apartment.
Penelope followed her inside and stopped abruptly at the discarded bag on the floor.
In our haste to leave, JoJo and I forgot to pick up the shopping bag.
I swiped at the twine handles and took the wrapped package out of the bag. “This is for you.”
Penelope darted her eyes from me to the box then back to me before she gleefully snatched it out of my hands.
I laughed. “I hope you’re that excited once you see what it is.”
“Did you pick it out?” she asked carefully.
“With some help.” I winked at JoJo.
“No, you selected it. I approved.”
Penelope ripped the wrapping paper. It fell to the floor along with the ribbon. In seconds she had the box lid off and the tissue paper inside peeled back.
Carefully, she lifted the briefcase out of the box, which landed near the wrapping paper on the floor. She traced the monogrammed initialsPCZwith reluctant fingers.
And she was so quiet, I was certain the two of them could hear my heart beating.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to me. “I love it. Thank you.”
Then she threw her arms around me, nearly tackling me with a ferocious hug.
The breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding flowed through my lungs again. I squeezed my daughter like my life depended on it.
I’d never been shy about affection, but it wasn’t something I gave freely. This hug . . . with my daughter . . . was a precious gift. I could hardly believe this living, breathing, beautiful girl was of my flesh and bone.
I was still angry about all that I’d missed, but I refused to let that taint the time we had now.
“I love you,” I whispered against her forehead.
She drew back, brow furrowed, but she didn’t let go of me.
I nodded, and she buried her head against my chest.
JoJo sniffled.
My own eyes stung. Penelope was my not-so-little girl. Every second we spent together my hope grew that we would have a close father-daughter relationship. The kind where she wanted to spend time together, and I didn’t have to beg for it.
But I would if I had to.
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “For the gift. And for helping me.”
“I’d do anything for you.” And it was true. I couldn’t begin to understand how or why but I wasn’t worried about it.
Because of Penelope, I understood unconditional love. It was very much alive and well within me.
