Page 40 of Bonus Daddy
Once he’d settled beside me, he stretched his legs out and looked around. “This is a swanky place. I’m glad it’s worthy of Kit. I can’t wait to see her up there on stage.”
I blinked repeatedly, focusing on the stage, trying not to burst into tears. The combination of nerves, excitement, and Brian’s presence overwhelmed my senses.
“I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night,” I said, still unable to look at him. If I did, I was certain I’d fall into some kind of handsome man vortex.
He chuckled. “As it turns out, I do not. Most Friday nights, I work late, work out, and then fall asleep watching baseball. This is a glamorous night out for me.”
Within minutes, the seats around us were full and the lights had dimmed.
And suddenly, my nerves had ratcheted up again.
“Your hands are shaking,” Brian whispered, leaning close.
“This is a big deal, and I’m worried about Kit. That she’ll feel like she doesn’t belong here.”
Brian reached over, his large, steady hand engulfing mine. “She belongs here,” he said firmly. “Because of you. Because you see her and you believe in her. Because you taught her to be brave and bold.”
Finally, I forced myself to look at him, even as tears welled in my eyes.
“I know you’re nervous,” he whispered. We were so close now that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “But she’s gonna be fine. That girl’s got a spine of steel, just like her mom.”
The tears were getting closer to falling. Dammit. How did he always know the right thing to say? With a cleansing breath, I dragged my attention to the stage, though I couldn’t help but get caught up in the warmth of his hand and his cool, masculine smell.
In the silence, anxiety immediately clawed its way back in. Looking for a distraction, I checked on Greta, who was whispering to the boys, smiling and fidgeting a whole lot less with the dress she’d begrudgingly agreed to wear.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” Brian whispered, the feel of his hot breath on my neck sending another shiver down my spine.
I bit down on my lip hard to keep from grinning. He was being polite. That was all there was to it. Yes, I’d dressed up, but I was wearing a simple, inexpensive bright blue dress. Hardly haute couture. I had no doubt his suit cost ten times more.
But I liked the fabric and felt comfortable in it. It was A-line, which flattered my hips, and had a swishy skirt.
Exactly the kind of thing Kenneth hated.
He’d have chastised me. He always wanted me in tight black dresses, boring as hell and god-awfully restrictive, along with sky-high heels. Serious, expensive outfits. The sort of thing a woman wore when she, or in our case,her husband, wanted everyone to know they had money.
Reclaiming my wardrobe had felt like an act of rebellion, and these days, it was second nature to wear pretty things that made me feel good. I didn’t dress for men; I dressed for myself. But his compliment wormed its way into my heart anyway.
The lights dimmed further as a string quartet set up on the stage, and I settled into my seat to enjoy the show. One after another—with some in groups—the most talented kids I’d ever seen wowed us with their skills.
My mother had been a pianist. She’d tried to teach me, but it had never stuck. My chest pinched at the thought of her. I’d give anything to have her here today. I missed her fiercely every day, but especially in these moments. She would have been bursting with pride.
After several impressive performances, it was Kit’s turn.
“And now on the piano,” the emcee said. “Katherine Mosely, playingAdagio in D Minorcomposed by Johann Sebastian Bach.”
Kit walked onto the stage slowly, her face lifted, her attention completely focused on the piano. Once she’d settled on the bench, she ran her fingers over the keys. Then she took a deep breath and began to play.
The piece began slowly, delicate and melancholy, before building into something more emotional.
I sat, rapt, watching every movement of her hands, the sway of her shoulders. The way she flowed with the music was mesmerizing. She felt every note with her entire body and soul. And although her face was serious, joy radiated off her as she played.
Awe. I was filled with awe. And pride. Because this scrappy little twelve-year-old, who’d been through so much heartache and disappointment the last couple of years, was up on that stage, fearlessly sharing her gifts with the world. Halfway through the piece, there was no point in trying to stanch my tears, so I let them roll freely down my face.
When she finished, she turned on the bench, searching for me in the audience. So I stood, clapping my heart out, my cheeks tearstained but my smile wide. Greta stood too, clapping andjumping up and down. Kit spotted us and gave a small smile before bowing and exiting the stage.
I sat and immediately fished a tissue out of my bag. My makeup was probably a mess, but that was the last thing I cared about tonight. My girl, my brave, talented girl, had accomplished big things, and this was only the start.
Brian put his hand on mine on my lap and squeezed. “She is extraordinary,” he said as the next performers set up. “Just like her mom.”
