Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Just checking some emails. And I don’t feel famous yet.”
“You’re on your way.” I hold up her iPad. “Especially once Blackthorn Wings launches Orthique in a few months.”
She’s still so shy.
She blushes adorably. Like she can’t believe the whole design world noticed Sophie’s bubblegum shoes.
“It feels too good to be true,” she admits, glancing up from her tablet.
“What does?”
“To do something I’m actually passionate about.”
“You’ve always been passionate about shoes,” I say.
“No, I mean orthopedic shoes.”
It’s crazy how lightning can strike ten times overnight.
Her new partners even offered to make Sophie one of the faces leading the marketing campaign. Daria was disgustingly thrilled, but my little girl said she needed time to think about it.
Whatever she decides, I’ll be proud as hell, knowing my daughter will never have to feel shame over her feet again.
“It’s not what I imagined. But it’s way better than making any other shoes,” she says, leaning into my chest and tipping her head back.
“You’re too good at this,” I whisper, kissing her again.
“I know! Crazy, right? I’m not even trying.” She shakes her head. “And none of this would’ve ever happened if Sophie hadn’t walked in late one night and asked for help. I couldn’t let her down, Kane. Not for anything.”
There’s a fucking brick in my throat.
Not just because there’s an angel in my arms, but because I know this is it.
“Can I steal you away from your designs before dinner?”
“This is a working getaway for me,” she says, staring at the tablet I’ve put back on her desk. “But for you, okay.”
Without letting go of her hand, I lead her downstairs and out into the back garden, where the frozen lake glows pink under the winter sunset.
The kids are outside, decked out in all the layers I asked.
I think they’re having a snowman-making competition now, passing the time.
“Wait, where are we going?” Margot asks as I lead her forward.
“You’ll see.”
“You’re not taking me out on that lake?”
“If I was going to murder you, sweetheart, I wouldn’t fall through the ice with you.”
“So romantic.” She laughs. “Seriously, you’re taking me to… the storm shelter?”
“There’s something there I want you to see,” I say, reaching out and opening the huge metal doors.
She hesitates as she looks into the darkness. “I haven’t been down there since Lee…”
“I know.” I touch her face, turning it to face mine. “I promise, there’s nothing there to scare you. Just something you’ll like. We’re replacing the shit memories with better ones today. Trust me.”
After another second, she nods. “Okay.”
First thing I do is bring out the blindfold, slipping it over her eyes.
“Um, how will I get down the stairs like this?” she asks, holding still. “I can’t see anything.”
“That’s the point. I’m going to help you. Are you ready?”
“Nope!” She laughs.
“Perfect.” I take her hand and flick on the new light I had installed.
No more flashlights. I want this place to feel safe, welcoming. The same way it must’ve felt before for her grandparents.
We’ve come full circle, and I want her to appreciate how special that is.
After the showdown, this place was covered in dust and glass shards. The beautiful stained glass window was destroyed.
It took a long damn time to get it cleaned up while she was sleeping during our last trip.
But now the floor is bare. There’s a stained glass panel back where it originally stood, and this time it’s made so it opens easily.
I lead her down and stop in front of it. The backlighting gives off an ethereal glow, like it belongs in an old cathedral.
“Okay,” I whisper, reaching for her blindfold. I slip my fingers into the band and stop.
“You’re really milking this.”
“Only because you’ll freak.”
She leans into me a little. “I’m already happy.”
Slowly, I ease the blindfold off and stand back, watching her reaction as she comes face-to-face with the stained glass.
The stained glass image of us.
Her blonde hair and my dark, her blue eyes and my green, her head on my chest and my arms around her.
“Holy—Kane!” Her voice breaks. “Kane.”
“Yeah?” I barely breathe.
“What? How? When?” She turns to face me, eyes glistening with tears. “Oh my God, did you do this?”
“Took five years off my life,” I admit. “A lot of late nights. Months working with the best back in New York until I felt like I could do it justice.”
“You made this? Are you freaking serious?”
I nod firmly.
“Leonidas Blackthorn wouldn’t have settled for anything less in your grandma’s old studio, would he?”
Her bottom lip quivers.
Slowly, shakingly, she nods, and then she wheels back around to the glass.
It’s not as intricate as the greats, no.
Not the sort of rustic beauty you’d find in a church—that’s not us. It’s vivid and bright and the colors are a little chunky.
Still, it’s a statement piece, as she’d like to say.
Just like Sophie’s shoes.
It’s mine. It’s ours.