Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,66
for forgiveness*
Allie: *gif of embarrassed dog saying sorry*
Dad: *gif of an iguana farting in a bathtub*
Dad: Whoops. That was supposed to be I AM NOT WORTHY TO LICK THE FEET OF THE GREAT MAY ELLA JAEGER.
Dad: I AM NOT WORTHY TO LICK THE FEET OF THE GREAT MAY ELLA JAEGER.
Dad: *middle finger emoji*
The texts stop, and I realize I’m sitting here half-smiling at my insane family, despite not wanting the reminder of Sierra nor all of them to come meet a baby that won’t be in my life long. But Keely’s threat to call The Dragon, aka Staci, our non-texting sister, means things are serious.
I shoot them a quick message telling them I haven’t died in Miami traffic, and that they should hold off on making plans until after the social worker comes to check us out next week. Who knows if Daisy will still need me after that?
Odds are good it’ll go amazing, because Daisy’s rocking this parenting thing, and the social worker will tell the judge that the will should stand as is.
And then I’ll be gone.
My stomach dips.
After another quick text to Daisy telling her I got stuck in traffic and I’m on my way, I climb out of my truck and trudge up to the now-familiar huge oak double doors. I barely notice the curved glass staircase, the slate floor, the four cats that dash out to check on me, and the arched windows that I pass on my way to my bedroom.
But I notice what’s waiting for me in the sitting room.
Daisy, leaning back in the round hot pink chair that vaguely resembles a strawberry, her feet propped up on the glass coffee table next to her phone, Remy resting against her thighs while he holds her thumbs and she covers his face with his fists, then pulls them away, whispering, “Peekaboo!” and making him giggle, which in turn makes her giggle.
Over. And over. And over.
Her hair’s light purple now. And shorter. And hanging loose around her face, which is only lightly covered with makeup. Mascara and lipstick and nothing else.
She’s in red stilettos, leopard-print leggings and a black tank top that don’t go at all with Remy’s little sailor outfit, and everything about this picture is so fucking natural that the damn muscle in my chest that I’ve been keeping cooped up gives a big, loud, powerful thump.
I never thought I’d see the day when I’d call purple hair and leopard print leggings natural, but on Daisy, they are.
That’s who she is.
Bright.
Unpredictable.
Crazy.
And just so Daisy.
I swallow hard, because I can’t deny it anymore.
She’s not a vapid party girl.
She’s a smart businesswoman who works hard and plays hard and loves hard, no matter the wild front she puts out to the world. There’s no faking that shine in her eyes when Remy giggles. It’s the same shine I’ve seen time and again on my sisters’ faces when they’ve brought home all their babies—the biological and the adopted.
Love isn’t about blood.
And blood isn’t always about love.
But Daisy—she loves that baby. Not because she has to. But because how could she not?
Hell, who am I kidding?
I don’t recognize the glow because of my sisters. I recognize the glow because of me. I’m fucking glowing just watching the two of them. Standing here grinning like a sap. Getting a little choked up when she pulls his fists to her lips and kisses them.
Yeah.
I’m a little attached.
“Who’s the most perfect baby in the whole wide world?” she coos.
Remy shouts a big ol’ “Aaaaoooooaa!”
“That’s right. My Remy’s the very most perfect baby in the whole world.”
My eyes get hot.
She doesn’t need me. She’s got this.
Fuck.
“Oh, hey, West. You wanna try some three-way peekaboo? You’re going to lose, just so you know, because Remy is the peekaboo champion. I already ordered his trophy too, so you basically have to lose, because I’m not re-doing it to put your name on it.”
I clear my throat. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”
“Ha! So you admit Miami drivers aren’t all angels. Finally, he sees the light. Miami drivers are shirt-heads, aren’t they, little man? Yes, they are. Yes, they are. Peekaboo!”
Remy squeals.
Daisy laughs.
And my heart twists and soars at the same time.
This is a dangerous, dangerous path. But it’s not one I can resist.
It’s not one I’ve ever been able to resist. “You mind sitting here another few minutes while I grab a shower?”
“Stealing a few more minutes with the most perfect baby in the whole wide world? Torture. Utter torture.”