“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave a tiny wave and hurried out the door into the night, as if she couldn’t wait to escape.
He watched the door shut behind her and her big lug of a dog, ignoring the urge to follow. Instead he grabbed a dishrag and wiped an invisible spot of sauce from the counter.
“Why did you pick my mom instead of Sam?”
Grace’s question was quiet but the words echoed through his brain. He turned to find her leaning forward, elbows on the granite, her blue eyes intense and far too perceptive.
“I didn’t pick Bryce over Sam.” He still had trouble referring to Sam’s twin as Grace’s mom. A mom didn’t desert her newborn baby because she couldn’t handle the responsibility. As far as Trevor was concerned, Bryce didn’t deserve to be called Mom. “The three of us had always been friends. Sam was traveling the world for her modeling career, and Bryce and I still saw each other sometimes.”
“Your feelings for Sam were different.”
He dropped the wet rag into the sink and grabbed a paper towel. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were in love with her.”
He let out a choked laugh. “We were teenagers. I didn’t know what love was, and then she left. There wasn’t anything more than that.”
“You always say the most important thing is that I’m honest with you.” Her voice was suddenly so much older than her thirteen years. “It goes both ways, Dad.”
How could he be honest with his daughter when he wouldn’t allow himself to admit the truth? “It was a long time ago, Gracie. We all made choices. I don’t regret any of mine, because I have you.”
She straightened, traced her thumb over the shiny flecks of minerals in the granite. “You don’t go on dates.”
He moved closer, pitched his voice low. “That’s not going to change,” he told her, even though it was a promise he didn’t want to keep. “You’re my priority. Never forget that.”
She glanced at him from underneath her lashes and, for a moment, she looked like the baby girl she’d once been. He missed the simplicity of her younger years.
“I’m ok if you go out with Sam,” she whispered. “I mean, if you want to date her.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
The corner of her mouth kicked up. “You might want to work on your moves, Dad. You’re pretty rusty.”
“Rusty,” he repeated dumbly. “Yeah, probably. I don’t date, Grace.”
“Because of me.”
“Because I’ve made a choice not to.” He winked. “Mostly to save myself from the matchmaking mothers of your friends.”
“You’re a hot topic of conversation, that’s for sure.”
“I was joking. You mean the moms talk about me?”
“Sometimes.” She shrugged. “Let’s focus, Dad. If you want to date Sam, it’s fine.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. His daughter clearly understood him better than he’d guessed. “It didn’t sound fine when we talked about the wedding.”
Another shoulder shrug. “Just make sure if things don’t work out, you don’t mess up my chance to hang out with her.”
The same point Sam had made. “I would never do anything to hurt you, sweetheart. You know that.” His whole existence these past thirteen years had been centered around keeping her safe and happy. He moved to the other side of the counter and pulled her in for a hug. “Sam has become important to you,” he said into her hair.
“I wanted her to be my mom,” Grace whispered after a moment. The admission sliced across Trevor’s heart. “I’m the only person I know who never had a mom.”
“You had your nana and she loved you very much.”
Grace pulled back, her gaze shadowed with the pain of things he couldn’t change. “It’s not the same thing, Daddy.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He pulled her against him once more. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, and it’s not Sam’s fault either. The fact that she wants to be a part of my life . . . it feels nice, you know? Normal.” She laughed. “Except when I search her on Google. Her life definitely hasn’t been normal.”
He thought of the things Sam had admitted to him about her past and the way she’d behaved when she was punishing herself for Bryce’s death. A few weeks ago he would have leveraged her reputation to warn his daughter away from her. Now things were different. He was different.
“Be careful about reading too much into the gossip online,” he warned. “I’m guessing not all of it was true and, even so, Sam isn’t the same person now.”
Grace moved out of his arms, wrinkling her nose. “You must really have it bad if you’re defending her. Normally you don’t give anyone a second chance.”
A second chance. Isn’t that what he wanted with Sam? It made sense to give a little if he expected the same from her.
“I’m not talking about her party-girl days,” Grace said, picking up her laptop from the desk in the corner of the kitchen and setting it on the counter in front of him. “I mean the photos.”
“Right. She was beautiful. She is beautiful.”
“Did you follow her career?” Grace asked as she typed a few words into the search bar. An entire page of thumbnail images popped onto the screen, drawing Trevor closer. He blew out a breath as Grace clicked on a black-and-white photo to enlarge it.
It showed Sam standing at the edge of a pounding surf, clouds billowing across the sky behind her. Her arms were spread, long and graceful, with her face tipped up to the sky and her hair blowing behind her. She wore a simple white cover-up with the outline of a bathing suit apparent underneath it.
The way the shadows and light played across the photo made her look otherworldly and a bit fey, as if she were one with the ocean and offering herself up for the pleasure of the crashing waves. The photo was so different than the ones he’d glimpsed through the years, the over-airbrushed makeup and fashion spreads.
Longing stabbed through him, hot and sharp. This is how he wanted her, unencumbered by the mistakes and disappointments of life. Pure. That’s how she was in this photo.
“There are fan sites that catalog her career,” Grace told him, unaware of the effect this one photo had on him. She continued to scroll through the images. It was clear she’d spent some time studying the many facets of Sam’s life in front of the camera.
He touched his finger to the screen when one of the photos caught his attention. “Let me see that one.” He recognized the photo before it filled the screen.
“She’s really young there,” Grace murmured, her voice a little dazed.
He understood why. The resemblance between Grace and Sam was undeniable. The photo of Sam—taken when she was only a few years older than his daughter was now—felt like viewing a muted version of Grace.
“I’ve seen this photo before. A photographer took it on one of her first trips to New York City. I think he was someone famous. She brought a few of the photos back to Colby. It’s when I knew she was going to make it big.”
The images were surreal. Sam was fresh-faced and nearly makeup free, her blond hair trailing across the center of her back. She didn’t have the ease in front of the camera that was on display in the beach photo, but there was an indefinable quality that had gotten under Trevor’s skin when she’d shyly showed him the pictures.
It was the same afternoon that she asked him to leave school and go to Europe. She’d kissed him and said she loved him and asked him to leave with her. To leave their sweltering, suffocating town and not look back.
He’d said no, of course. He’d pushed her away with his rudeness and his fear. His fear that she would amount to something and he’d hold her back and then she’d leave him and he’d never recover. Even as a kid, he’d understood Sam Carlton might be his downfall.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I can’t believe you have these clothes.”
Sam let out a small laugh. “Me neither, now that you mention it.”
She and Grace stood in the mid
dle of the third-floor bedroom she’d converted into an overflow closet. It was small for a bedroom but big enough for the many racks and shelves required to house the glamorous gowns and one-of-a-kind pieces she’d worn during her days in front of the camera.
Most of what she’d modeled had been borrowed for photo shoots or part of a runway show, but she’d been a muse for several designers and been gifted more expensive dresses than she could wear in a lifetime. It had been a relief to walk away from her life but surprisingly difficult to part with the clothes.
“Do you wear any of it?” Grace asked, shimmying into a knee-length cocktail gown. “The beading on this one is awesome.”
“I don’t,” Sam admitted, trailing her fingers over the stitching on one of the lace gowns. She pulled it off the hanger and moved to the full-length mirror. She held up the dress, remembering the black-tie event she’d worn it to years ago. Or sort of remembering. Like most evenings on the town, that one was a blurry haze of too much alcohol. “Not a lot of use for fancy dresses at the camp.”
“Why do you keep them?”
Sam pressed her lips together, thought about how honestly to answer that question. “They represent something to me. You know Bryce and I grew up poor?”
Grace nodded.
“New clothes were one of the things we never had enough of, especially with how quickly we grew once we hit puberty. We were the same size so we could share, but even rotating outfits couldn’t hide how often we wore the same thing.”
“What about when you go on dates?”
“I don’t date.”
“Really? Why not?” Grace came to stand next to Sam in front of the mirror. The feeling that Bryce was with them on some level overwhelmed her.
“My focus is the camp and my classes. That doesn’t leave time for dating.”
“You have time for my dad,” the girl said softly.
Sam schooled her features. “Your dad and I were friends a long time ago. You know how much he loves you. I promise I won’t come between you.”
“I know.” Grace smoothed her hands over the front of the dress. It was a little loose around the hips and bodice, but Sam could see that Grace had the poise and inherent allure to become a huge success in front of the camera. Her stomach quivered with panic, and she reminded herself that Grace wasn’t the same insecure, desperate girl Sam had been as a teen. She didn’t need an escape or the approval of others. “I think he likes you.”
Sam bit down on her lip. She hated to admit how much those words meant. Suddenly she was an awkward schoolgirl again, trading secrets with a friend. Only Grace meant more than that and she had to remain the priority. “I’m not dating your dad, or anyone else for that matter. We’re focused on you and this very important spring dance.”
“My friends are going to die when they see me in a designer dress,” Grace said with a grin. “There are so many to choose from. How will I decide?”
“We’ve got all afternoon.” Sam draped the gown she held over one arm and straightened the straps on Grace’s dress. She lifted the girl’s heavy blond hair off her shoulders, twisting it into a makeshift bun. “We can play with different hairstyles to see what looks best with each dress.”
“Only if I can do your hair. You have to try on some of the dresses, too,” Grace said with a grin. “Can we put on makeup and have a mini fashion show?” She jumped up and down. “Please?”
Sam had spent the past five years distancing herself from who she’d been during her early twenties, including the way she dressed. She couldn’t part with the clothes because they represented the escape she and her sister had wanted so desperately. But they were only a collection to her now, and she’d never planned to revisit them. Then again, nothing about these past few weeks and Grace had been part of her plan.
Through the girl’s eyes she could see the clothes for what they were. Beautiful objects without emotional weight tied to them. It might be fun to play make-believe and create new memories that would take away the power of the old ones.
“Let’s do it,” she said, and Grace squealed with delight.
Trevor knocked on Sam’s back door for a third time and then let himself in when there was no answer. Frank was the only one to greet him. Bark. Lick. Crotch nudge.
Grace’s hoodie hung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and he could hear muffled voices from somewhere in the house. He followed the sound up two fights of stairs to the old Victorian’s remodeled attic.
At the top of the stairs he stopped. He couldn’t see Sam or Grace but he could hear their laughter from a room at the far side of the space. In front of him was a sitting area with an overstuffed couch and two comfy-looking chairs. He assumed that was the furniture arrangement based on the size of the pieces. It was hard to tell for sure since every surface was covered with discarded clothes of all colors and materials.
They looked expensive, with beads and lace and the occasional feather embellishing them. Heels of varying heights were scattered across the floor. He didn’t dare move forward for fear of tripping over something. He’d never felt so out of his element.
Until his daughter sashayed through the open door.
Sashayed. He wasn’t even sure exactly what that word meant but there was no other way to describe it. His stomach lurched as he watched her move forward in a pair of strappy heels and a formfitting, sparkly cocktail dress that showed off way too much leg. His gaze zeroed in on the scar above her knee, the one she’d gotten when she’d crashed on her scooter several years ago. Back when she was his sweet tomboy and a hug from Daddy could make the hurt all better.
Christ, how he missed those days.
Unaware of him watching, she placed her hands on her hips and pivoted, turning to face away from him. Sam came to stand in the doorway, clapping softly as she grinned at Grace. “A natural,” she said, and then her words were lost under the roaring in his head.
She wore a skintight, floor-length emerald dress with cutouts on either side of her waist, her creamy skin peeking through. The neckline plunged to deep between her breasts, and the dress was crafted of some sort of material that seemed to shimmer and catch the light each time she moved. Her hair had been pulled back, revealing the smooth column of her neck.
He must have made a noise, because they both turned to where he stood. Sam looked as gobsmacked as he felt, but Grace bounded over, or more like toddled over, in her towering heels.
“Hey, Dad, we’re playing dress up with Sam’s modeling clothes.” She spun in a small circle in front of him. “This is the dress I’m thinking of wearing to the dance. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s Chanel. My friends are going to freak out when they see it.”
Although her enthusiasm bubbled up and spilled over, he wanted to drag her to the bathroom to wash the makeup off her face and pull her hair out of the intricate braid that wound around her head. He wanted her in pigtails and brightly colored tutus with smears of jam across her cheek. He wanted to stop time. Right now.
“You look beautiful,” he said instead, because he might be an old dog, but he was learning. His daughter didn’t take well to tirades or ultimatums, and he wasn’t in a position to give either. The dress was more conservative than several of the ones he’d seen in photos on her phone that her friends planned to wear. Her makeup was light and age-appropriate. He had no reason to complain.
Other than the deep ache inside his chest that his little girl was growing up.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered. “I have to show you the pictures Sam took of me in the other dresses.”
As she moved toward her phone on the coffee table, Trevor’s gaze slammed into Sam’s. “Wow,” he mouthed to her, lifting a brow.
She blinked then glanced down and gasped, as if she hadn’t realized what she wore. Her hands immediately lifted to cover the gaping V-neck of her dress, making him smile.
“Sam said they were too mature for a junior high dance,” Grace told him, holding out her phone for his inspection. He glanced back in th
e direction of the doorway but Sam had disappeared. “You should see the clothes she has in there.” Grace’s blue eyes widened. “I mean, there are racks of stuff from every famous designer in the world. They loved her.”
Of course they did, Trevor thought. Sam Carlton was arguably the most beautiful woman in the world, and he wasn’t even being biased. He also had to admit that his daughter was going to be just as breathtaking.
That fact solidified in his brain as he scrolled through the photos on her phone. They showed Grace in an array of outfits and a multitude of poses, each one of them more stunning than the last. Spots swam in front of his eyes and he found it difficult to take a breath as he struggled to wrap his brain around the ramifications of these pictures.
“Do you think I look pretty?” she asked, her voice young and hopeful.
He opened his mouth then shut it again. Maybe he was having a heart attack, although panic was more likely. Yeah, that must be it, because panic swarmed his body like he was on a sinking ship in the middle of shark-infested waters.
“I’m more impressed with what’s between your ears than seeing you preen for the camera,” he bit off and immediately regretted it.
Grace’s head snapped back. Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth compressed into the teen scowl he’d so quickly come to know and detest. This time he had no one to blame but himself.
“I can be smart and pretty, Dad,” she told him with a thirteen-year-old sneer. “They’re not mutually exclusive—oh, no, that’s a big word.” She glared at him. “Are you surprised I understand it with my blond hair?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Grace.”
“Me?” She took a step away from him. “You’re the one being ridiculous. And a big jerk, too. I’m sorry I can’t be your little girl anymore, Dad. I’m sorry you liked me better that way.”
“I don’t—”
“This is who I am.” She grabbed the phone from him. “You can’t stop me. Maybe now you control everything, but it won’t be like that forever.”
Tell Me Again Page 20