Page 8 of Daddy's Little 1

I step forward, and the wardrobe door creaks as I open it. Half a dozen dress bags hang from the rail with a cardboard box underneath. Kneeling, I pull it out and examine the contents: photo albums, a stuffed toy that seems oddly familiar, and a jewelry box. Two photo albums sit at the very bottom, collecting dust.

When I turn to thank Roman, tears spilling down my cheeks, he’s gone.

He’s giving me privacy with my mom.

Time slips past as I immerse myself in all her things. The faint smell of roses clings to everything, a scent I know is intrinsically linked to my mom. I close my eyes, trying to summon memories of her, but nothing comes.

One by one, I flip through the photo albums, smiling and crying at the numerous images capturing precious moments in time. Frozen remnants of a doting mom and a beloved wife.

I sift through her jewelry box, handling the precious gems carefully as if they’re made of spun glass. I don’t see her wedding ring and wonder if Dad still has it tucked away safely somewhere. I remember seeing it in Dad’s room once, but I’m confident he’d never part with it. It’s far too precious to him.

Finally, I find it in me to pull out the dresses from their protective bags. I run my fingers over each dress, holding the material to my cheek and imagining she’s here with me. I know which dress is the right one the moment I see it.

I grab it with a smile and take it back to my room, bolstered by the poignant experience. Now, all I need to do is practice my hair and makeup to find the perfect combination for the party.

Christmas Eve is going to be my night. I just know it.

* * *

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I run out of my bedroom in a panic, looking for Roman.

He turns from where he’s making us hot chocolate in the kitchen and freezes. “Bren? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It’s the first night he’s been home in days, returning from work after midnight since he revealed my mom’s stuff to me. I know because I’ve lain awake until I hear him come through the door. At first, I thought he was giving me space after revealing my mom’s possessions, but I suspect there’s more to it.

“Pwease tell me you have Benadwyl,” I say, hating the high-pitched squeak of my voice.

“What the—” He takes one look at my swollen lips and jumps into action, passing me a glass of water and a bottle of Benadryl. “Take two for good measure,’ he instructs, a worried look on his handsome face.

I quickly down two pills. My lips feel like two Michelin tires protruding from my face. Hope to God I don’t get a puncture.

I sit on the couch, and Roman sits with me as we wait for the swelling to go down. He raises my chin with his index finger and examines my face. If the circumstances were any different, I’d be on cloud nine to have his hands on me. But this is humiliating.

“The swelling isn’t getting worse, but I do see some hives there,” he says after a minute. “Do you itch?”

I nod, taking a cushion and squeezing it. “Thif if fo fupid.”

“What the hell did you do?” he asks, frowning.

I look at him from under my lashes, unsure if I want to say. I bought an expensive lipstick with a plumper in it when he took me shopping. I wanted to look sexy, but apparently, I only know how to screw that up.

“Wip pupper.” Oh, God, does he even know what I’m saying? I gesture like I’m putting on lipstick.

He squints for a moment, then gets it. “Lip plumper? What the hell, Bren?”

“Mmmffph,” I reply with much effort, though I think the pills are starting to do their job. My throat feels like sandpaper, though.

“That doesn’t answer me,Brenna,”he says more softly. “Why would you use that?”

I sigh and drop my head, taking a breath as my lips finally reduce to manageable proportions. They still sting and itch, but I think I can form a coherent sentence now. “Wanted to look sexy and mature. Beautiful.”

He lifts my chin again, and I almost stop breathing when I see how close he is, his emerald eyes looking straight into mine. “You don’t need to do all those things to be beautiful, Brenna. You already are.”

He tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and it’s like a damn movie scene. For a moment, I think he’ll laugh and make light of it. But when he doesn’t, I can’t help but shoot my shot.

I close that tiny distance and press my tingly lips to his. His hands slide to the sides of my face, holding me there possessively but gently. This is it. My first kiss with the only man I’ve ever wanted to give it to.

Butterflies explode in my stomach, and I shift, wanting more. But Roman breaks away, letting go of me and standing up.

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