I grin at her. “Listen, lady, I don’t care if I’m scrubbing your toilet bowls on my birthday. I’m just happy to be in New York.”
***
The moment Killian steps through the door from work, I can tell he’s in no mood for talking. He grunts in acknowledgment before taking off his tie and undoing a few buttons.
“I need to talk to you,” I say quickly. “I went to Teagan’s ballet show tonight.”
His brow lifts. “Why?”
Why? What is it with this family questioning me? “To support her. A lot of the other parents go.” I forge on while I’m still feeling brave. “You should go sometime.”
The angry flash in his eyes is my warning that I should shut up. But I have to say this, or I won’t feel settled, and now is as good a time as any with Teagan upstairs in her room.
“Do you know she isn’t getting along with her teacher?” I ask.
“Her teacher is the best in New York,” he says curtly, opening the fridge. “She pushes her hard. Teagan’s going to complain.”
“No, I think it’s more than that. The teacher seems irrationally sharp with her. Much more than the other kids. I think you should do something. Maybe even move her to another class.”
He slams the fridge door shut. “Teagan’s nearly thirteen; she needs to learn to respect authority.”
“I think you should ask Teagan what she wants. Right now, she’s not enjoying ballet. She seems to only be doing it because you want her to.”
He steps closer, his gaze darkening with each step as he corners me against the sink. My throat tightens as if a lump is lodged there. I’m on very shaky ground here.
We’re dangerously close; it feels like #huntsmanpiegate all over again. His eyes never leave my face as he lowers his head to mine.
“Did I ask for your opinion on parenting my daughter?” His voice is low. I would almost prefer it if he shouted at me. “You’ve been living here for a week, and now you’re telling me how to raise my child?”
“You weren’t there,” I say quietly. “You can’t possibly know if what I’m saying is correct.”
Ignoring his glare, I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll to where I’ve taken pictures of Teagan at ballet.
By the way he looks at the phone, you’d think I showed him pictures of animal cruelty.
“Mind your own damn business, Clodagh,” he growls through clenched teeth, jerking away from me.
To my horror, tears prick my eyes. I won’t eat with this arrogant man tonight. I grab my plate and skitter past him, out of the kitchen and down the stairs to my studio.
He doesn’t come after me.
***
Just as I slip into my pajama shorts and vest top, there’s a knock on the studio door.
Bracing myself for round two, I open the door to Killian.
He looks me up and down warily. “Can you be here at eight o’clock next Tuesday night?” He pauses. “I need you to stay with Teagan. I’m going into the ballet school to talk to the teacher.”
“Sure,” I reply, suppressing a smile.
He gives me a slight nod before walking away.
It’s the closest I’ll get to an apology.
***
It’s midnight before I realize I don’t have my phone. I have to set my alarm, but I left it upstairs when I ran off in a rush.
I creep upstairs without turning the lights on to find a large figure on the sofa.
Killian.
Naked except for shorts.
His thick bicep spills over the side of the couch, and the other rests on his bare, toned stomach. His legs are spread apart, one extended over the edge of the couch. There’s no question he’s a beautiful man. Sleeping, he looks almost vulnerable. Boyish.
Is he dreaming?
He lets out a loud, grunty snore, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle.
What if he sleeps here all night and doesn’t get up in time in the morning? Should I wake him? Probably not; he’ll only yell at me.
Ever so gently, I pull the blanket bunched up at his feet up over his legs and stomach.
When I look up, he’s awake and staring right at me.
I freeze. “Sorry, I-”
Abruptly, his hand comes up to my cheek, almost as if forgetting himself.
The heat from his touch radiates into my skin, and I forget how to breathe.
He goes entirely still, neither of us saying a word. An inner battle plays out on his face as he contemplates what to do next.
Kiss me.
Then he drops his hand from my cheek. “Go to bed, Clodagh.”
Killian
Anyone who said “just wait until she’s a teenager” to me over the years, was right on the money.
I thought the “period talk” would be the hardest conversation to navigate, but that was only the beginning. With no blueprint to follow, every day is a wild ride of teenage emotions as I try to blindly fumble my way through the highs and lows.
Today’s emotion of the day is rage, and it’s directed at me, Daddy dearest.
Teagan eyes me with a glare that could cut through steel as I enter the kitchen after my workout. I try not to be too offended; being a father to a teenage daughter has thickened my hide much more than running a billion-dollar corporation.
Her hair is thankfully back to its natural color.
“Morning, beautiful.” I lean in to kiss her forehead, but she swivels in her stool away from me. I’m surprised to see her even out of her room at this time on a Saturday morning.
“Don’t talk to me. I still hate you.”
I exhale heavily in response. “I know, princess.” I wonder if this’ll last until she’s eighteen.
“Don’t call me princess.”