Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(58)

Overall, he’s a happy kid. And I fucking miss him.

When I finally pull up to the D mansion, the sky is fading from dusky rose to deep purple over the palm trees. I was supposed to get Remy thirty minutes ago, and my phone has been blowing up in my cupholder the entire ride.

I’m already late, so I check the messages I’ve missed.



Mom: Westley, enough is enough. I’m booking a flight to come see you.



Tyler: Aw, Ma, you just want to soak up the Miami rays and have an excuse to hang around long enough to see me play there weekend after next, don’t you?



Allie: Yeah, she wants to be there to hug you and tell you it’s okay when you wipe out and lose.



Keely: Solid burn!



Britney: Nice, but not productive. West, Mom’s right. You can’t treat this like it’s Sierra Part Two and you’re trying not to get attached. You legally inherited a baby. You’re retired and not moving. And even if god forbid something awful happens, WE’RE YOUR FUCKING FAMILY and you don’t have to protect us. It’s OUR job to protect YOU.



Tyler: Wow. That was deep.



Mom: I also read that Daisy Carter-Kincaid was caught getting trashed at a brunch the other day.



Dad: I want to lick your pussy.



Dad: Tyler is my favorite child.



Dad: I AM GOING TO BANANA-RAMA-JAM-JAM YOU, Tyler is my favorite child.



Allie: NICE on the text replacement prank, Mom.



Mom: I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tyler’s always reprogramming your father’s phone, not me. Westley, where are you? Do I need to call?



Britney: He’s probably stuck in Miami traffic. Or dead. Their drivers are worse than Chicago drivers.



Mom: gif of angry yelling cartoon mom



Dad: gif of Tyler tripping and sliding on the ice into Ares Berger’s ass



Britney: gif of woman spitting drink



Allie: gif of baby falling over laughing



Keely: eye roll emoji I’m calling dragon emoji and we’re booking tickets, because while you yahoos are having fun, WEST IS DEALING WITH A SERIOUS BABY ISSUE, and SOMEONE needs to be there for him.



Mom: gif of a chastised woman



Britney: gif of cute cat asking 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.