Not many can understand the relationship between a daughter and her father, especially the one between my daughter, Veronica, and myself. From the very day Veronica-but we call her Ronnie-was born, my wife used to joke about the baby stealing me away. She couldn't have been more right if she had tried.

Ronnie has always had me wrapped around her little finger, and now, at 22, she's the definition of a spoiled daddy's girl.

“Oh, you got all A’s this semester?” I book her a trip to Hawaii.

“You won the debate competition?” A trip to London.

“You're graduating college, my princess?” I take her on a trip to the Maldives.

Ronnie's mother doesn't protest this because one thing we've learned as a married couple is that she really loves her personal space. In fact, she's happiest when she gets to talk to us from behind a screen.

We get off the flight, and I carry all Ronnie's bags, as usual. I don't know exactly why she needs a suitcase and two carry-ons for a weekend getaway, but I'm not about to ask. She's currently gushing a mile a minute about how she can't wait for the complimentary massages at the hotel I booked, and the swimming pool that overlooks the ocean.

Part of the hotel package included a pickup service, so it doesn't take long to spot our cab and start the drive to the hotel.

“Settle down, princess. If you get any more excited, you might start vibrating in your seat,” I tell her, chuckling good-naturedly.

Ronnie turns those big blue eyes on me before dramatically dropping her head on my shoulder.

“But dadddd,” she whines, and boy does that do something to me. “It's the Maldives! It’s physically impossible to relax!”

“You've been to Hawaii, kid.” I pat her head. “If you've seen one island place, you've practically seen them all.”

The driver glares at me through the rearview mirror, but that's not my problem really. He can be butt hurt all he wants.

Soon enough, we're at the hotel. I've barely dropped the bags in our room when Ronnie starts stripping down. I freeze, swallowing harshly, before I realize she'd worn her bathing suit right beneath her dress. So eager.

“Come on, daddy! Let's goooo!” She starts to tug my hand.

“Oh!” I suddenly grunt, holding my back. “Your old man popped his hip. He'll have to stay right here…”

“Dad, you can't fool me with that anymore!” Ronnie huffs, unimpressed. “You've been doing it since I was 12. I'm all grown up now!”

And grown up she was, with dainty-looking shoulders, smooth skin, and a rack almost as big as her mother's. Man, the things I'll do to her on this trip…

Eventually, I stop being dramatic and let her drag me out of the room. We have to ask for directions twice, but we finally reach the poolside and Ronnie squeals at the sight. Even I have to admit it does look good.

Ronnie jumps in the water almost immediately, leaving me to find a cabana close enough to drop our things so that they'd still be within our line of sight; that’s if I decide to join her. Only to turn around and find two punks sitting at the edge of the pool and talking to her.

My first instinct is to grab them both by the hair and knock their skulls together, but that's extremely dramatic. I haven't pulled shit like that since I was in college. Instead, I sit in the shade and observe at first.