Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
‘Good night?’ I ask, taking the steps and collecting a few more stray sticks and twigs.
‘What do you care?’ Darcy retorts, and I pause, half bent over, asking myself that very question. I couldn’t give a shit about her night. Alex’s, on the other hand . . .
I straighten. ‘I don’t.’
‘Then why ask?’
I roll my eyes and make my way to the compost heap, tossing the debris on top and collecting some more sticks from nearby. ‘Is that all, Darcy?’ I turn and find her standing motionless, lost in a bit of a trance. At first, I’m confused, but then I note the direction of her stare. I look down at my bare chest. It’s been years since she’s seen this torso. Back then, it was cut from a very active job and youth. Now it’s still cut, sure, but I have to work a lot damn harder to keep myself in physical shape.
I break the stick in my hand, the crack snapping Darcy right out of her daydream. ‘All right over there?’ I ask on a wicked smirk.
She startles, coming over all flustered. ‘Yes, fine.’ She sniffs and looks around with obvious disdain. Hannah didn’t look at my haven like that. She loves it here. And I loved having her here. Darcy, however, I can’t wait to get rid of.
She treads her way back to her shiny Jaguar carefully on her heels, the disgust never leaving her. ‘Alexandra is in the beauty pageant at the town fete a week from Sunday.’ She opens her door and looks back at me. ‘I’ll want her back that Saturday evening to prepare her.’
Prepare her? For fuck’s sake. She makes our daughter sound like a turkey that needs stuffing. The fucking pageant. Every damn year my daughter is put in some frilly crap, has makeup plastered all over her face and a tiara set on a pile of huge curls. I hate it. And come to think of it . . . ‘She hates it, Darcy. Why d’you make her do it?’
‘I don’t make her,’ she retorts indignantly. ‘She holds the town record, has won every year she’s entered.’
‘Nothing to do with the fact that she’s Lord and Lady Hampton’s granddaughter,’ I mutter.
‘Are you saying the only reason my daughter wins is because of her lineage?’ Darcy balks at me. ‘Some supportive father you are.’
‘Don’t push me, Darcy.’ Typical of this woman, taking my words and twisting them. ‘She’d win if she’d rolled out of bed and turned up in her pajamas.’ My girl’s a stunner. She certainly doesn’t win the pageant each and every year because of her fucking clown outfits. ‘And she’s our fucking daughter.’ I throw the broken sticks down with force, my anger palpable. God, does this woman love pushing my buttons.
Without another word, Darcy slips into her car and pulls away, and I snarl as her sparkling Jag disappears. ‘Urghhh.’ I stamp my way back into the cabin and go straight to the fridge but slam it shut again when I register the time. Too early for a beer. ‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘Oh, Daddy,’ Alex says from the sink. ‘What’s got you all weird this morning?’ Her little head tilts, and I’m unable to stop myself from scowling at her. What’s got me all weird? My morning was perfect. I was happily lost in Hannah. Then your mother showed up and doused my good mood in a healthy helping of Darcy Fucking Hampton. ‘Nothing,’ I grunt, going to the sink to wash my hands, nudging her out of my way with my hip. ‘What the hell have you got on? You look like you’ve been attacked by a crazed glitter fairy.’
Alex chuckles as she passes me a hand towel, and I accept, drying my hands as she watches.
‘I need you to explain something,’ she says, all too casually for my liking.
‘What?’
Pulling open the dishwasher door, she points inside. ‘Why are there two dirty plates and two sets of used cutleries?’
Fuck.
My mind shuts down on me completely. ‘Well . . .’ I clear my throat, shifting from bare foot to bare foot. ‘There was a . . .’ Fuck, fuck, fuck.
‘What?’ she presses, pouting in that way she does when she knows she has my number.
‘I forgot you weren’t here,’ I blurt, my bullshit coming from nowhere. ‘So I made you breakfast.’
‘Our favourite?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you threw it away?’
I shrug.
‘What a waste, Dad.’ She marches to the bin and stamps on the pedal, making the lid flip up. She’s searching for the evidence. The rascal. I laugh like a fool, and she looks back at me.
‘Actually, I ate it.’ Fucking hell, she’s like a super sleuth. I pat my stomach on a ridiculous grin. ‘Go get changed, Cabbage. We have a bridge to finish.’ I turn away from her and start faffing with nothing on the counter, moving shit here and there, anything to avoid the suspicious eyes that are now nailed to my back. It feels like a lifetime, but I eventually hear her bedroom door shut, and I look over my shoulder to see the coast is clear. I sag against the counter, exhausted.