Page 148 of The Daddy’s Girl

Love is like that, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s too heavy. Sometimes it changes the course of your life or the lives around you.

But that doesn’t make it any less worth expressing.

Rule #42: When it’s not your journey, you just know.

Matis

One month later

“I miss you.” Amelia’s voice in my ear is like spikes to my heart.

“I miss you too, mon trésor.”

I’ve only been gone two days, and already I’m having second thoughts. How am I supposed to live here if I can’t even stand a two-day trip?

“How does the club look?” she asks. Judging by the echo on her end of the call, she’s in her office upstairs, still working hard on her fashion show this weekend.

I let out a sigh. The club? How do I explain to her that the club is incredible? With sprawling space in a historic building near Piccadilly, it’s exactly the timeless, classy vibe we want.

But I can’t focus on that because I’m too focused on the fact that my business partner and best friend won’t look me in the eye, even as we tour the building together.

And her relationship with her parents is strained because of me.

And that I miss her so much it hurts. Somewhere in all this, Amelia has become the air I breathe.

Over the past month, Amelia has focused on her designs and the plan for her fashion show. I’ve tried to give her space. I’ve tried to live without her, thinking that this is where I belong. That if we are truly meant to be together, we will find our way back to each other.

But fate is a fickle thing, and it’s not moving fast enough for me. I’m standing here in London, waiting for some sort of sign that this is where I’m meant to be. Only two days, and I keep hoping something here will spark my interest enough to make up for how much I miss her.

“Très bien,” I mumble into the phone as I walk down the street toward the club from the hotel. Ronan and I are meeting with the architect to go over some design ideas. I’ll be here for two more nights, and then I’m heading home for Amelia’s show.

“Well, I can’t wait until Friday,” she says. “I work so much better when you’re around.”

“You work brilliantly whether I’m there or not,” I reply, forcing lightness into my voice to keep her from feeling overwhelmed. “Are you listening to that playlist I made you? With the French jazz?”

“Yes,” she replies softly.

“When I’m back at my hotel, I can stay on FaceTime with you while you work. I know that helps.”

“You’re the best,” she sighs.

“Are you ready for Saturday?”

She lets out a huffing sound. “I think so. We do our run-through tomorrow. I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous, Trouble. It’ll be perfect.”

“I hope so.”

As I reach the club, I see Ronan standing out front, and I turn away from him, feeling two inches tall. “I have to go, mon trésor.”

“Okay. Hopefully he’s a bit warmer today.”

“I hope so,” I mumble to myself.

“Bye,” she whispers.

“Bye.”