Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Little old me… The man could have any girl in the country, and, for whatever reason, he’s picked me. So, it’s not hard for me to forget the seriousness of his look. Once we’re in his car, cruising the ancient, tree-lined avenues that wind from the wealthiest suburbs towards the city, I can feel and see that something’s eating at Mark.
There’s a long, awkward silence before I get the courage to say something. Mark’s focus on the road is as intense as the feeling that’s filled the whole car. The space between us that usually feels like a mile if I can’t hold him feels like an eternity. Is there something I’ve done to upset him?
“Mark, what is it?” I finally ask, not meaning to come out in an accusing tone. I don’t want to be a nag already, but he knows as well as I do that it’s pointless trying to keep things from each other. Even after so little time together, he can read me like a book, and I can sense when he’s anything less than his usual satisfied and in-control self.
There’s a stop sign ahead, and Mark sighs bitterly as he pulls up to it, not even glancing left to right.
“Melissa… it’s your dad,” he finally says, turning his face to meet mine.
Instantly, I feel a stab of something awful in my guts… just like the day Mom died. I open my mouth to ask him, to beg him to tell me what’s happened, but only a dry croak comes out as I feel my body consumed with sudden emotion.
Mark’s eyes are full of the feeling he’s had since we left the house, and I finally manage to get it out. Gripping his huge forearm with both my hands, I demand he tells me what’s wrong.
“What is it? What’s happened to Dad!?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mark
“Nothing’s happened to him,” I groan, shifting in my seat to fish for her phone I may or may not have been keeping it safe for her. I switched it off so we could be alone because I knew Steve would check in eventually on his only daughter. I mean, why wouldn’t he?
She’s twenty-one, in a foreign country for the first time, and as far as he knows, staying in a hotel by herself. The one friend he has in said foreign land is the only one with eyes trusted to keep a lookout for his kid.
“He rang me when you were in the shower,” I explain, noticing Melissa’s expression shift from shock to annoyance to downright cranky with me for not just telling her.
“I thought something awful had happened!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with the emotions only those who’ve lost someone close can know.
She scolds me with a pouting frown as she snatches her phone from my hand before puffing a long breath, making me feel worse for not telling her about her dad’s business plans. How was I supposed to know half the house was in Melissa’s name?
A car toots its horn behind me, and I crawl forward before accelerating across the intersection, relieved to focus on driving if it means avoiding telling her myself. I’m also annoyed more than anything about not being able to keep my mood to myself, but after Steve’s call this morning, it’s been hard to focus on anything else except looking at his stunning daughter.
“I wondered where my phone went,” Melissa murmurs to herself. Powering up the device and punishing me further by ignoring me, she talks to herself as if I’m suddenly invisible. It’s a childish way to behave, but it works. I can’t stand to see her unhappy about the slightest thing, and taking it out on me with the silent treatment would be torture if I allowed it.
“I just wanted us to have today together… alone… just us,” I end up explaining, and because it’s true, it works like magic.
Melissa eagerly leans over and cranes her neck to peck my cheek as I drive. “Sorry,” she whispers, the weight of her hand leaning on my thigh, already bringing my own version of forgiveness to life in my jeans.
“I’ll just call him really quick, though, okay?” she asks, and try as I might, I can’t stop her. I can’t warn her. Not really.
Some things about her father are best coming from him, not me, but I got the whole story earlier this morning. Steve had assured me the transfer of his house to me was ironclad. He’d conveniently forgotten to tell me that when Melissa’s mother died, she’d left her only daughter as an equal beneficiary to her estate, meaning Steve can’t do anything without his daughter’s half with transferring property deeds. He picked a fine time to tell me, too. Adding insult to injury, he pleaded with me to butter Melissa up so she’d agree to sign.