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Fairy tales helped me believe that not every man was like my daddy.
“Sure, Princess Jessie. Read to me.”
My father was weak and selfish, and he didn’t love us enough, if he even loved us at all.
for one moment he didn’t look like Callen Hayes the famous composer, the playboy of classical music—he looked like Callen, the prince and hero of my girlish heart.
Jessie Creswell. My Jessie Creswell.
“I remember everything about those years.”
I remember everything about you, Callen. You were my prince and my pirate, my savior and my friend.
“I thought about kissing you for a year before I worked up the nerve.
From the jealousy I’d felt when I’d seen him touch her hand, you’d have thought I walked in on them twisted around each other naked. It was immediate and overwhelming, and it scared the living hell out of me.
“My prince, returned for me at last.”
She was Jessie—Princess Jessie—pure and sweet and good.
Jessie’s sincere smile made me feel as if I could do anything. As long as she believed, I could as well.
We had one chance, one life, and then it was gone. Live fiercely and without regret.
The truth was, Callen had always been my prince, and I realized now that no one since had ever measured up.
“Jessie,” I repeated, her name anchoring me somehow,
she seemed to know what I was thinking because she answered the question I’d been too afraid to ask. “Yes, I want you, too.”
and for a moment my eyes drank in the sensual beauty of her:
in that moment I did feel like a prince. Her prince.
He was beautiful, my prince finally returned, and I knew I loved him. Maybe I’d never stopped.
My gift. My fate. My love.
“I’m here to save you,” he said,
Dear Jessie, I’m sorry and I love you.
