Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Luckily, I didn’t have to explain the weight loss because my father became focused on something else.
Someone else.
I stepped aside as Jay approached, all in black against the vibrant winter flowers surrounding him. He was wearing an expensive black coat, V-neck sweater, pants and black shoes. Jay was clean-shaven, as always. Hair artfully messed in that way that drove me crazy. Dark eyelashes framing his mossy green eyes.
He looked like pure sin. Like trouble. I knew my father saw it. Sensed it. But he held out his hand, nonetheless.
“You’re one handsome motherfucker, aren’t you?” my father said as greeting.
It was small. Tiny. The flicker on Jay’s face. The pause. My father had surprised him. Again, breaking apart whatever expectations Jay had.
There handshake was long, probably very firm in that way men challenged each other. Strong eye contact, of course, my father’s silent warning that he’d kill Jay with his bare hands if he hurt me.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Jay replied, surprising me with his deference to my father.
“You can call me Richard,” my dad told him. “You fuck things up with my daughter, you call me sir.”
I swallowed the hysterical giggle that bubbled up inside me at that statement.
Jay’s eyes flickered to me, face blank. “So noted.”
“Come in, come in,” Dad urged, moving toward the door. “We’ll worry about the bags later.”
My body relaxed ever so slightly as we crossed the threshold and walked into my childhood home. We stepped directly into the living room, the TV muted on a football game. Dad hadn’t updated the leather sofas since I’d moved out, but he had updated the throws and cushions I’d bought for it throughout the years.
Framed photos covered the walls. Me throughout the years. Even the awkward braces and acne years. He’d even framed my very first published styling gig, some catalogue that had barely paid me and had since gone in to bankruptcy.
“Lunch!” my dad exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “The two of you must be starving. The food they serve on planes is glorified cardboard.”
I smiled tightly, really hoping that my father did not ask any further questions about the flight which would cause me to have to either lie to him or confess that we had not flown commercial, but on a private jet. Which would not go over well with my father. Sure, Jay had a look about him that communicated he had a lot of money, and I was sure the SUV we were driving was expensive.
“I made glazed duck salad,” my father announced. His eyes went to Jay who had been inspecting a high school photo of me. “You better not be some kind of vegetarian or even worse, a fucking vegan.”
Jay turned and focused on my father. “No, I’m a meat eater.”
My father nodded. “Good.”
And that was good enough for my father.
For now.
Lunch was spent catching my father up on what had been going on in my life, jobs I had upcoming and what Wren was doing to endanger peace relations between two countries. Then there were updates on Yasmin, Zoe. My father had met all of my girlfriends, charmed them all and considered them all family.
Jay ate, spoke when spoken to, but remained quiet most of the time. I assumed my father was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to ask the questions he wanted to ask.
“Your parents, Jay,” Dad voiced, placing his knife and fork neatly together on his now empty plate. “What did they do?”
I sucked in a breath, hoping my panic and unease wasn’t immediately visible. Though I hadn’t heard anything at all about Jay’s childhood, I’d surmised it was not good. Like, at all. And by process of deduction, I’d figured his parents weren’t good either. At all.
Jay didn’t break eye contact with my father, did not do anything to communicate that this was a sore subject for him or that he felt uncomfortable. Then again, I’d never seen Jay look anything other than capable and in command. I wanted nothing more in the world than to see him unsure, unraveling.
“My father served time in the army,” Jay said after dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “He was injured in the line of duty and put on disability for the rest of his life. My mother worked in a supermarket.”
“Army,” Dad parroted, nodding in approval. “You speak to them often?”
“No,” Jay answered matter of fact. “Both of my parents are dead.”
I blinked at the flat way he’d said that. Though it wasn’t surprising to me, knowing Jay. It shouldn’t have been surprising that his parents were dead. I hadn’t seen a single photo in his home. Hadn’t heard him speaking to anyone on the phone.
Still, a part of me hurt for him. I did not know how I would exist without knowing my father was there for me. Supporting me, listening to me when I needed to talk. A phone call and plane ride away. Life would’ve felt devastatingly lonely and dangerous without him.