Page 3 of Daddy's Little 1
“Perfect. How about Italian?”
“Sounds amazing.” Good, Italian will take longer than getting burgers or pizza.
“Great. See you soon, birthday girl.” He hangs up, leaving me hyperventilating at the way he said that.
I dive for my towel and pat myself dry before sliding on panties and a bra, nearly tripping over my legs as I try to go too fast.
I walk to the vanity, glad I’ve already unpacked all my products, and get to work on my hair. It’s going to be a perfect night.
Nearly thirty minutes later, my long, dark hair is dry and styled. My makeup is minimal but enhances my brown eyes and high cheekbones, and I’m wearing my favorite pink dress. It rides the line between casual and formal. Like a party dress.
I’ve always been told it shows off my curvy ass, my greatest asset, no pun intended.
The jingle of keys and the beep of the door alarm alert me to Roman's return. My heart beats rapidly, causing a thrumming in my ears that I wish would stop. It flutters a few times, and I take deep breaths as I check myself in the mirror one more time.
Not wanting to look too eager, I count to twenty before I grab Dad’s gift and exit my room, making my way to the dining area.
A feast greets me. Breadsticks, clams, two of my favorite Italian entrees, and a delectable-looking tiramisu sit in packages across the table. In the center is a huge bottle of expensive champagne, the kind my dad buys his partners and clients to celebrate a successful lawsuit.
“I-I’m speechless. You didn’t have to do all of this,” I say, waving a hand at the table.
The side of Roman’s mouth turns up in a half grin, one of his many sexy quirks. “I said I’d take care of you; promised your da. I know he always goes all out for your birthday. And this is your twenty-first, so it’s the least I can do.”
I blush as my mind goes to a dirty place, thinking about what else he could do for me, like spread me across the table and dine on me rather than the Italian food.
Roman pulls a chair out for me, and I slide my hands over the back of my dress as I sit, sensing his eyes on me. He scoots me in before sitting across from me.
We dig in for a good twenty minutes, mostly sharing small talk and exclamations of pleasure that I would love to hear in another room of the house—the bedroom, in case that wasn’t clear.
“How’s school?” Roman asks, popping a gnocchi into his mouth.
“Good. We’re studying Renaissance to Baroque from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries, and how people saw themselves and their place in the universe greatly affected art, architecture, and sculpture.”
“Sounds… interesting.”
I laugh. “No, it doesn’t unless you’re an art geek like me.”
“I’m proud of you,” Roman says. “You know what you want, and you’re pursuing your dream.”
“I’m a long way off an art gallery of my own,” I say wistfully. “But it’s good to aim high, right?”
He smiles. “Always.”
I place my fork down, forcing myself to stop eating before I’m stuffed. I want to save room for the champagne before my stomach bloats to the size of a hot air balloon.
I lean back in my chair and grin. “Thank you for this.”
“Of course.” Roman dabs at his mouth. “Would you like to open your gift from your da?”
I nod, reaching for the small foil-wrapped package. I tear off the paper to reveal a velvet box and open the lid to reveal gift vouchers for my favorite boutique and an exquisite pair of diamond earrings. A small, handwritten note from Dad is tucked inside. I unfold it and read it aloud.
“Happy twenty-first, Bumble. These will look just as beautiful on you as they did on your mom.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and Roman’s handkerchief appears in front of my blurry eyes.
“Thank you.” I take it and dab at the tears on my cheeks. “He couldn’t have given me a better gift. He doesn’t talk about her much, so to have something of my mom’s is… priceless.”
“Aye, lass. It’s still too painful for him, even after all these years,” Roman says softly. “They were soul mates, and that kind of love doesn’t come around very often.”