Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
What it was like for Mom, having that attention, feeling like a fragile vase.
He understood, but he didn't shake the betrayal.
They kept the wedding date, but they moved the ceremony into the chapel at the hospital. No one believed it was Lee's idea, but it was.
She was demanding as a bride, sure, but that's Lee. She knows what she wants. She doesn't accept less.
She had specific ideas for her dress, flowers, cake, but she knows what matters: family.
That’s probably why they’re trying now, so soon after getting married. They want their kid to meet his paternal grandfather.
Harrison is good friends with Simon’s younger brother, Liam. Their fathers were good friends. After Simon’s dad died, Preston helped out, suggested sending Liam and Bash to the secluded all-boys boarding school Harrison attended.
Harrison and Liam are good friends. They have been since they were kids. It’s strange—Liam is all trouble, all the time, and Harrison is dead serious—but it makes sense too.
They get each other.
They respect each other.
They’re practically brothers. Preston is practically Liam’s father.
Is this hard on him too?
On Simon’s other brothers?
On Simon?
"Are you close?" I ask. "With Preston?"
"No. I was older when our father died. I didn’t appreciate him trying to fill that role."
"Do you now?"
"Yes. I didn’t realize it then, but my brothers needed it. I needed the help."
"You admit it?"
"Our secret." He smiles.
My heart thuds against my chest. That smile. Fuck. "He’s a warm guy, Preston."
"Different than my father."
"More like mine," I say. "My adopted father."
"Do you call him that?"
"No. I call him Daddy."
"You do?"
"I know. I’m in my thirties and I still call my father Daddy. I’m a Freudian nightmare."
"It’s sweet."
"I’m not sure I can take your word for it."
He raises a brow.
"Not if you’re into that."
"Women calling me Daddy?"
I nod.
"No. Not my thing."
"What is your thing?"
"Do you want to talk about sex?"
Yes. No. Maybe. "I should probably finish dinner first."
"Probably." He lobs the ball back to me. Pauses. Waits.
I can discuss family, film, finance.
Or I can talk about my desire to mount him.
Ask him his favorite position.
Push the conversation to X-rated areas.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Why don’t I want to be called Daddy?"
I nod.
"I picture my kids calling me Daddy. Not—"
"An eighteen-year-old with daddy issues?"
"Is that what you think of me?"
I motion a little.
He smiles, not offended, but not above it all either. A real smile.
A panty-melting smile.
"Do you really picture kids?" I ask.
"I did. I’ve always thought about family. My brothers. Then Opal. But I never asked if I wanted it. I assumed I’d get married and have children, because it was my duty."
"Have you ever come close?"
His eyes flit to my bare ring finger. "Not as close as you."
Right. I was engaged. And I called it off, even though he was perfect, and we looked perfect together. People still ask why, even though it was years ago.
"What happened?"
"With Sol?" I uncross and recross my legs. It’s strange talking about this with him. Why is it so strange talking about this with him? "He was a sweet guy. Giving and kind."
"Handsome."
"You noticed?"
"Of course."
"Were you jealous?"
"I told myself I wasn’t." He takes a long sip of his tea. "But I was."
"Why?"
"My father didn’t want me to marry you."
"How did that come up?"
"He had… old-fashioned views."
Oh. "He actually said that?"
"He used the right words, but I knew what he meant."
"But how…" Why was Simon’s dad talking about the possibility of us getting married? "Why did he consider it?"
"I liked you."
"He knew?"
"I didn’t hide it. He was old-fashioned about women too. He commented on whether or not a ‘young lady’ was ‘marriage material’ or not."
"What did you say to him?"
"Nothing." He looks to his food. "I should have stood up to him. Told him he was wrong. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was seventeen. I wasn’t thinking about marriage. And you hated my guts."
"I did."
"So what did it matter if my father objected?"
I swallow hard.
"That was what I told myself. But it did matter. I should have said something. If I was a better man, I would have."
"Now?"
"He’s gone. He can’t offer his input anymore."
"So you would…"
"Marry you? Is that a proposal?"
"Marry a black woman?"
"If I loved her."
I take another bite of my food. It’s still good, that mix of oil and herbs and fresh eggplant, but it’s different, somehow. Deeper. Richer. Tinted with our conversation.
"I expected to be married by now. I expected to have my father’s life. I didn’t question it."
"Pretty blond wife who stayed home?"
"My mother wasn’t blond."
"Even so."
"You have a fixation," he says.
"Maybe."
"Why?"
"I just see it for you."
"Ah."
"What? What ah?"
"The captain of the swim team," he says. "She was blond. We were crowned homecoming king and queen."
"It wasn’t that."
He raises a brow wasn’t it.
"You just seem like a guy who marries a blonde."
Again, he raises a brow really?
Maybe I’m stereotyping now. It’s not fair. Lee is blond, and she’s a force of nature. But she’s also the kind of woman Simon would marry in every but one—her personality.