Page 42 of Return to Us
“I like you too.”
Amelia turns to me. “You can marry her, Daddy.”
I nearly choke while Jack breaks out in laughter and Jess’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t . . . she has these . . .” I search for the words and then give up. “No one is getting married. Let’s get the house done so we can go swim, how does that sound?”
She jumps off the bed and places her hand in Jessica’s. “Come on, Miss Jessica, I’ll show you the house.”
Jessica knows this house better than anyone. Amelia has never even been here, but Jess goes along, letting Amelia pull her around. Jack claps his hand on my shoulder.
“You are so fucked, my friend. So fucked.”
Yeah, no shit. My daughter has decided I’m allowed to marry the girl I always wished I had.
Chapter 10
Jessica
Amelia is the cutest, most precocious kid I’ve ever met. She loves to talk and explore. She has also latched on to me. We’re building a sand-house because castles are for little girls, and she is most definitely not little.
“And Daddy says that having a prince rescue you is only in fairy tales.”
Sounds like good advice. “I see, but your daddy rescues people, right?”
She purses her lips, staring over at where Grayson is standing with his feet in the water. “Yes, but that’s in an emergency.”
“Totally different,” I say in agreement.
“But I don’t want a prince, I am going to marry Uncle Jack or Uncle Oliver.”
“They’re a bit old for you, don’t you think?”
Amelia shrugs. “Uncle Oliver is the same age as Auntie.”
“Yes, this is true, but maybe you’ll meet a boy your age.”
Her head tilts to the side as she watches me. “Is Daddy your age?”
“He’s two years older than I am. We met when he was a junior in high school and I was a freshman.”
“Uncle Oliver is a lot older.”
I laugh softly. “Yes, and Uncle Jack is even older than him.”
She seems to agree, and we go back to sculpting the house. She’s so much like her father it’s crazy. He always knew what he wanted and how to achieve it. Amelia is much the same way. The entire house is already drawn in her head, all the pieces fitting together in just the right way.
“Did you know my mom?”
My heart jolts, and I shake my head. “I didn’t.”
“Her name is Yvonne, and she’s an opera singer in Paris.”
I really want off this topic. “Have you been to Paris?”
Amelia sighs dramatically. “No, and I never will. Well, not until I’m much older and I can go by myself.”
“No?”
That’s strange. Why wouldn’t she go see her mother?
