Chapter 1

The air backstage at the Grand Convention Center always smelled of hairspray, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of anxiety. It was a scent that had become inextricably linked with my childhood, a perfume of anticipation and performance. I slipped through the heavy velvet curtains separating the chaotic backstage area from the quieter, more exclusive corridor that led to the private dressing rooms, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the concrete floor. I was late. The show was starting in ten minutes, and my hair was a bird’s nest, my makeup smudged at the corners of my eyes from the rush. But the first thing I saw wasn’t my stylist, or my manager, or the frantic assistants with steaming irons. It was him. Daddy was standing alone in the narrow alcove between a rack of silk gowns and a wall of mirrors, checking his watch. He looked immaculate, as if he’d stepped out of a 1970s boardroom advertisement, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit that hugged his broad shoulders without constriction. The fabric was expensive, Italian wool, the color of storm clouds. His tie was a deep, bruised purple, matching the lighting in the corridor. He didn’t look like