Page 58 of Forbidden Romeo
And I wasn’t walking away.
Not now.
Not ever.
I lowered to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine. "It doesn't matter how complicated it is or how long it takes to win you back," I said softly. "I love you. And I won’t ever stop trying to make this up to you.”
She looked up at me then, her bright blue eyes piercing through my defenses like an arrow through a butterfly’s wings. “You love me?” she repeated.
I nodded. “I love you.”
Nibbling her bottom lip, she seemed to consider this for a long moment.
She reached out and gently touched her knuckles to my cheek, her touch warm and reassuring. The weight of her silence settled in my chest, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that I had long kept buried.
Then finally, she said, “I believe you love me. But I also need you to love yourself just as much.”
Before I could answer her, she stood up and walked out of the dressing room, pausing for a moment at the door.
“And I’m not going to stop fucking cussing. It’s kind of fun.”
CHAPTER 23
The night before opening has always been my favorite. I’m not sure if it’s the nervous jitters that ripple in my belly. Or if it’s the buzzing excitement that I can only describe as how I used to feel on Christmas morning before running down the stairs to open presents. Or if it’s the spellbinding energy that sparks somewhere deep inside me that even four shots of espresso can’t replicate.
Holden chose to give us the night off, citing that we needed rest more than we needed another run of the show and he’s not wrong.
But at seven p.m., I can’t help but find myself at the theater.
I use my key that Holden had made for me and let myself inside, walking the stage slowly and inhaling with each edgy step I take.
I lower to sit center stage, crossing my legs and pull from my purse the program from my first show that my dad had given me and the wrapped gift from Dad’s funeral I still have yet to open.
Inexplicably, tonight feels like the appropriate time to say goodbye.
I take a deep breath and carefully pull the taped card off the simple newspaper the mysterious present was wrapped in.
The comic pages, of course. The wrap job alone is so defining of my father that I can’t help but smile through the tears already filling my eyes.
The front of the card has my name and then in smaller cursive, it states, “Open the present before the card.”
I set the card down, my hands trembling in anticipation as I begin to slowly unfold the wrapping paper. It pulls apart easily, the old scotch tape securing it, long since yellowed and lost its adhesive. Inside is a plain wooden box, stained a dark mahogany. I run my fingers over the smooth finish before gently lifting the lid. Nestled inside is a bottle of amber liquid. I lift the bottle out reverently and hold it up to the light. The liquor swirls inside with a warm glow.
Turning it over, a handwritten label is on the front of the bottle, written in Dad's familiar scrawl. Katherine Pearl Harris Whiskey.
I turn the bottle over in my hands, confusion pulling my brows lower.
Dad had always been a whiskey drinker and he loved attempting to distill his own in the basement.
I open the card and my throat catches at the sight of his handwriting, scribbled on both sides of the card.
My Katie Sprout,
I sit here writing this while you’re in a bassinet beside me and your mother and sister are fast asleep upstairs. You’ve only been with us for two days and I can already tell you’re gonna be a night owl like me.
I just finished mixing up a small batch barrel of whiskey that should age perfectly right along with you. It’ll be ready to drink when you’re twenty-one… but like you, I have no doubt that it’s just going to get better and better each year. And also like you, this spirit is fierce and punchy and sweet.
This whiskey is a piece of your history and a toast to your future. May it remind you of all the wonderful memories we are bound to share over the years. I know you'll go on to do incredible things—just promise your old man you'll stop to celebrate the milestones along the way.