Page 29 of Big Daddy Christmas
Holden’s own phone buzzed in his pocket, distracting him from the friendly argument happening around him. Wondering if maybe his own babygirl had joined in the naughty selfie trend, he pulled his phone free.
It was Frankie, but she wasn’t texting, she was calling. Worry pricked at the back of his mind as he rose from the couch and headed for the relative privacy of the kitchen to answer her call.
“Frankie? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Daddy.” Her voice was strained, as if she was holding back tears, and every nerve on his body went on alert.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Talk to me, baby.”
“No, I’m not hurt. I’m okay.” The quiet sniffle that punctuated her words did nothing to lend any credence to that statement. “I’m just… I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to. It’s just, I’ve been so stressed about the wedding and I didn’t wanna look bloated in all the photos and I’m sorry, Daddy, I know it was wrong, please don’t hate me.”
It took a moment for her words to fully register. And when they did, it was like a physical punch to the gut. “Francesca.” Though it killed him, he put a bit of steel into his voice. Experience had taught him that in moments like this she needed his authority, his dominance.
She needed her Daddy.
“I need you to breathe for me. Deep inhale.” He paused, waiting for the sound of her dragging in air. “Good girl. Hold that breath for me, baby. One, two, three, four. Now breathe out slowly. One, two, three, four.”
It took three more sets before she let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m better now. Sorry.”
“No apologies needed. That’s what Daddies are for. But I do need you to tell me what’s going on. Have you been skipping meals?”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Fuck. How had he missed this, again?
He’d gotten complacent, that’s how. For months she’d been doing great, going to all her therapy appointments, their joint appointments, her monthly check-ins with her physician. Everything had been going so well, in fact, that he’d let himself get distracted with Harlan Redding’s trial and the wedding and the holidays.
“How many drinks have you had tonight, Francesca?”
“Um. I’m on my third glass of wine.”
“And have you had anything to eat?”
“A-A mini quiche.”
“All right. Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to make yourself a plate of food. You are going to send me a picture of your plate before you’ve eaten and after you’ve eaten. And no more wine for you. Water only, for the rest of the night.”
“Yes, Daddy. Lottie already made me a plate.”
He could kiss Lottie at moments like this. “Good girl. I’ll be there in a few hours to pick you up and then we can talk more about this at home.”
“Are you mad?”
It was a fair question, and he gave himself a moment to sit with it, to consider his own feelings.
And realized what he was, more than anything, was humbled that she felt safe enough with him to come to him the way she had, before she’d gotten herself backed into a corner like before.
“No, baby. I’m not mad. But we are going to be having a long conversation about this.”
“Yes, Daddy. Um, I should probably go before the others start to worry about me.”
“Don’t forget to send me those pictures, and I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
Ending the call, he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. It was tempting to make his excuses and leave early to pick her up, but it was the night before her best friend’s wedding and he didn’t want to ruin that for her.
