Page 71 of Sweet Nightmare

“Okay. What do you know about this guy?”

“Khaos.”

“What an odd name.”

“It’s a stage name.” I laugh.

“Okay. What do you know about this Khaos?” he asks, teasing me.

“He’s handsome.”

Lucan stares at me.

I frown. “What?”

“Don’t you ever call another man handsome in my presence.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, don’t be jealous. Did you know he grew up here in New York?”

“And?”

“I looked him up before arranging their meeting.”

“You mean you stalked him.”

“Nooo. I researched him. There’s a difference.”

“That’s stalking, mio cuore.”

My husband looks thoroughly amused, which is infinitely more annoying than if he were actually upset.

“You watched interviews,” he guesses.

“I did.”

Lucan bursts out laughing.

The jerk.

“I was being thorough.”

“You were matchmaking.”

“I was mothering.”

“Same thing.”

Honestly, he isn’t entirely wrong.

What I don’t tell him is that my research didn’t begin with Stephen Choi, better known as Khaos. It began with our daughter.

A year ago, I walked into her penthouse while she’s away competing and noticed music playing through her speakers. The artist was one named Khaos.

Months later, I discovered another playlist on her computer.

Then another.

Eventually, I found a special-edition vinyl record tucked away in her childhood room.