Page 49 of The Daddy’s Girl

Without a word, Matis ushers me out of the crowd. His body is my shield, moving me safely through the throng. I clutch him because he is safe.

He is safe because he knows.

He knows me. He knows what I need. He knows everything without me having to bear the weight of explaining.

When cool air hits the back of my neck, I fight the urge to cry. As his hands cup my face, his touch is the only thing holding me up.

“Look at me, Trouble,” he mutters with his lips so close I feel his breath on my cheek. It’s then that I realize I have my eyes squeezed shut. And when I open them, he’s there.

Feeling a little reckless and very selfish, I instantly imagine him touching her. The image is like acid in my brain, burning with a sickness. So I wrap my arms around him, savoring the fact that he’s here with me.

He’s mine.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, and it takes my brain a moment to realize he spoke in French. Why that matters, I’m not sure, but it feels more intimate. More him. His emotions are rooted in his own language, making his concern more potent.

I nod. Although to be honest, I don’t feel okay. I feel as if I’ve ruined a perfectly good evening, one I was excited about. I’m sure Jacob will want nothing to do with me now, and I’ve sabotaged Matis’s chances of being with another woman tonight.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper against his chest.

“Don’t be sorry, Trouble,” he replies, running a comforting hand over my back. “I will always take care of you, remember? That’s my promise.” Then, pulling my face away from his chest to stare into my eyes, he adds, “Always.”

His gaze burns into mine, and I desperately cling to it.

Matis doesn’t just make promises—he is a promise. He is my oath, my constant, my familiar. He is my true north. And I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to romanticize something so pure and innocent, but that doesn’t make it any less visceral.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.

“I’ll always be here.”

His eyes are still boring into mine, and I have to close my lids to sever the connection.

“Amelia, are you okay?”

The voice that cuts through the moment is not Matis’s but Jacob’s. I pop my eyes open to find him rushing toward us with a look of frantic concern.

He seems to have learned not to grab me or get in my face the way he did on the dance floor because he stands a foot away with his hands out like approaching a wild animal.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry if I⁠—”

“I’m fine,” I say, cutting him off. “I just get a little overwhelmed sometimes.”

Jacob shoves a hand in his curls, his eyes wide as the moon. “Shit, I’m so sorry. What a jerk I am. I should have⁠—”

“Really, I’m fine,” I say with a smile, because the last thing in the world I want to be is a burden or the source of someone’s discomfort. I guess you could say my brother took all those traits for himself. He thrives in others’ discomfort.

Jacob’s worried eyes flash between me and Matis, and it’s then that I realize my godfather is still holding me in his arms. Which, I can admit, is a little strange for a wholly platonic relationship.

And at any moment, I expect Matis to let go.

Any moment…

Someone clears their throat. I’m too strung out and unable to focus on details to know which one.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Jacob asks with hesitation.

“It’s far from here,” I reply. “Too far to walk.”

“A cab then?”