"That dress looks lovely on you," Father said from behind us. "I think Mother Morwenna will not have any issues."
We turned as one. He stood in the doorway, arms loosely crossed, expression soft and amused. How long had he been there—listening to the whole exchange? The question flickered through my mind, but the moment I met his eyes I knew exactly what to do: play the game I'd perfected long ago. The game of the father's princess.
"Thank you so much~"
The cheer surged inside me again, bright and unstoppable. Mother Elowen caught the shift immediately—her eyes narrowing in quiet recognition of the tactic about to unfold. I moved forward with quicker, lighter steps, the layered skirts whispering against the floor. My hands found his arm and tugged gently—no real force, just invitation. He stepped inside willingly, letting me guide him deeper into the room.
"Father! Please convince your wife that Grandma won't have any issue, like you just said."
Father let out a low, fond giggle as I steered him toward Mother Elowen. She pressed a hand to her forehead in that familiar gesture—half exasperation, half surrender—like she'd seen this performance a hundred times before. Her gaze lifted to meet his, resigned but not entirely closed off.
"Elowen," Father said gently, voice warm and steady, "just look at our daughter. She's all grown up, and I think she can wear it. She can make her own decisions."
She can make her own decisions? This coming from a mama's boy, no less. You can imagine the effect I've had on him.
My relationship with Father has improved beyond measure compared to my previous life. Back then we never spoke comfortably, never brightly; conversations were clipped, distant, overshadowed by Morwenna's presence. Now he listens to every word I say. He never scolds, speaks gently, practically spoils me, and—most astonishingly—steps out from the shell of that mama's boy he once was. Perhaps he always wanted a daughter but never dared say it aloud; he still doesn't. I love this version of him, softer and more present, even if I know he still struggles to think independently.
And YES!—I did manage to protect their marriage in this life. They are still together, and I hope with everything in me that they hold on. It happened because, unlike before, Mother Elowen now has a husband who at least tries to fulfill his role and a daughter who thinks for herself. So far, this second life is going pretty well.
Just wait for my prince charming to show up now—if he exists somewhere.
It looked like Mother Elowen wasn't taking Father's words seriously. She folded her arms tighter across her chest, meeting his gaze with challenging confidence, a spark of defiance in her eyes that hadn't been there moments ago.
"Even if her grandmother approves," she said evenly, "I don't think it's a good idea. People might say something, and that could disturb her grandmother."
Mother Elowen folded her arms tighter, her stance unyielding.
I grabbed Father's arm like a teddy bear, pressing my cheek against his sleeve and looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"Well, they will not say anything because they will be speechless… Right, Father?"
Being a father's princess is so much fun. All I have to do is turn on the adorable, and everything bends in my favor. Father giggled again—low, fond, helpless—nodding as he reached over with his free hand to pet my hair gently, fingers ruffling through the strands.
"They sure will," he agreed, voice warm with amusement. "I'm sure Cassia will love it too…"
Before he could string together more persuasive words, Mother Elowen straightened, her tone sharpening into something professional, almost formal. She held sharp, unwavering eye contact with him.
"Mr. Cedric Thornvale," she said, using his full name like a quiet warning, "please note that if you two approve her and anything happens, you will feel frustrated for sure."
"Huh?"
Father blinked, clearly lost. I felt the same confusion ripple through me—neither of us grasped what she was implying. He recovered with an awkward, slightly flustered start.
"Look," he said, gesturing toward me with the arm I was still clinging to, "you were so passionate about fashion, and she is clearly showing that she is your daughter. You should be happy."
He spoke the words in a low, convincing voice, but my mother is a mother for a reason—gentle persuasion rarely swayed her when duty was involved.
"I'm happy, but—"
Father interrupted by stepping forward. I released his arm without resistance. He reached out, uncrossed Mother Elowen's tightly folded arms with careful hands, and held them in his own. The gesture caught us both off guard—me with a small, delighted gasp, her with a flicker in her eyes that betrayed a moment of unguarded softness.
"Maybe you need a change as well," he said quietly, voice warm and earnest. "Why don't you wear something as stunning as her dress? That way she will not be the center of attention."
Wow. My father was going all in—for me, for us. Mother Elowen paused, the idea of dressing up like she once had sounding painfully beautiful in her silence. Yet concern still lingered in her expression, etched deep.
"But her grandmother will—"
"Well, that's it then," I cut in, words tumbling out in a fast, breathless rush. "Mother and I both will make ourselves pretty for the party day."
Before she could finish her protest—or even flinch—I darted toward Tamsin, grabbed her arm, and tugged her close, already poised to run. The room felt charged with possibility, and I wasn't about to let the moment slip away.
"I will talk to Grandmother myself."
I said it while sprinting for the door, dragging Tamsin along behind me. She choked on a startled sound, feet stumbling to keep up.
"Wait—you can't just—"
As we passed them, Mother Elowen tried to call out, but I had a plan. With a quick shove to Father's back—just enough force to send him stumbling forward toward her—he ended up close enough that she instinctively reached out. Her hands landed flat against his chest; both of them flushed instantly, cheeks blooming pink in surprise and sudden proximity.
"Father," I called over my shoulder with perfect innocence, "maybe you can help her get dressed."
Or maybe undress her. The thought slipped through my mind, naughty and delighted. The distraction worked flawlessly—they stood frozen for a heartbeat, lost in the accidental intimacy, eyes locked and breaths caught.
Tamsin and I could now slip away without needing to rush quite so hard.