Father of the Bride (A Family Affair #2)

Chapter 1

FORD MERCER

“Dad?” My daughter’s voice drifts through the line, chattering and excitement crowding the space around her, wherever she is. Nudging the volume up with my thumb, I reply, “I’m here, I can hear you.”

“He answered,” she relays to whoever she’s with, who I can only assume is Zennie, her partner. Whatever the driving force is behind this call, it must be big. My daughter loves me, but she’s never breathlessly excited that I answered my phone at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night.

“Kat, what’s up? Is everything okay?” If this was a call for bail, it would go and has gone a lot differently. I scratch the side of my jaw, watching Elle pour hot water from the kettle into our mugs. She catches me watching, and cautiously mouths the words, “everything okay?”

Unlike my straight-laced rule-follower type A son Cade, my daughter Kat is wild.

But in the most empowering and freeing ways.

Still, her untamed side has led to me calling my lawyer at two in the morning, tattoos without permission, and a lot of talks that started with “don’t be mad but”.

A call from her at any time of day or night could be harmless, but it could also be “I need you to come get me from airport security because I had a joint in my pocket and got caught”, too.

Shrugging, I return my focus to my daughter, who is now laughing loudly, the vibrant sound of her happiness making my chest tight. I can’t help but smile, too. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m with Zen. And Juliette. Can we stop by?”

My pulse picks up at the mention of Juliette, and sweat beads at my temples, crowding my upper lip out of nowhere. “Yeah, of course. I’m just having tea with Elle.”

“He’s having tea with Elle,” she repeats back to her girlfriend and best friend, making me sound like the oldest, most grandpa-esque man alive. Elle comes by with work projects and life stuff she wants my opinion on, and we have tea. It’s been a thing for years.

“Don’t say it like that–” I start, but Elle snickers from her spot in the kitchen, causing me to abandon the fight. “Yeah, come on over. I’ll unlock the door.”

“This way, yeah, turn up here! You know where my dad lives. C’mon.

He said we can stop by,” Kat says to the women, laughter and chaos still bustling around them.

The windows must be down because over the sound of their laughter and the radio blaring, wind licks at the phone speaker.

“Okay Dad, we’re like, seven and a half minutes away. ”

“Okay, see you in seven and a half minutes then,” I say, ending the call as I tread through the kitchen, to the foyer, unlocking and cracking open the oversized front door.

Cool bay air rolls in, sharp with salt and bite, nipping at my bare feet and nose.

Standing there, letting the chill scour away the swell of heat that always hits from the mention of Juliette before they arrive, Elle approaches me from behind, curving her hand over the top of my shoulder.

“Kat’s on her way?” She squeezes my shoulder and releases, slipping her feet into her heels left abandoned by the door.

I nod, a little dizzied by the spontaneity of Kat’s call and visit. “Yeah, and she’s with Zennie and Juliette.”

Elle, with her heels on, pauses halfway into her coat, one arm in, one out. “All three of them are coming by?”

I tip my head to the side, and let a weighty sigh free from somewhere deep in my belly. “Yeah, all three of them are coming by.”

Elle’s lips twist to the side as she finally shimmies her other arm through the wool coat. She ties the belt at her waist, accentuating her petite frame. She’s a beautiful woman, and yet my sight is set on a curvy blonde that I can’t have, not the woman who is my age and loves me already.

“What?” I ask, noticing the way she rolls her lips together and finger combs her hair.

She’s not doing anything and that, in itself, is everything.

She doesn’t say what she’s thinking. She doesn’t give me a look or allude to anything.

Elle simply raises to her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Have a good night,” she says, patting my shoulder as she reaches for her leather black Coussin Louis Vuitton from the coat rack.

“You can stay.” I tell her, though she already knows.

She smiles, tugging the leather strap of her designer bag up her shoulder. “I know I can. But I’m tired.” Another soft smile. “I’ll call you this week for lunch, okay?”

She leans in, on the balls of her feet, and presses her lips against the corner of my mouth, saying goodbye just as Kat, Zennie and Juliette push through the door, flooding the foyer with pink cheeks and wide smiles, their hair a mess of flyaways from the chilled evening air.

Juliette’s eyes stumble over me, and the smile she flashes is fleeting.

Her eyes flick to Elle, pausing for a moment on her gold designer pumps, then rise slowly to where Elle’s hand still rests, proprietary, on my shoulder.

When Juliette’s stare finally drops to my mouth, the faint trace of Elle’s lipstick suddenly burns like a brand.

Heat flares around my collar, and my mouth turns to cotton.

Kat and Zennie work to help each other out of their coats as they beg Elle to stay. Juliette blinks up at me, her blonde hair fuzzy around her face, eyes bright. “Hi Mr. Mercer,” she greets, using the greeting she’s used since she was thirteen years old.

I step forward and take her purse and camera so she can shrug out of her rain-damp coat the way Kat and Zen already have. “For the millionth time, it’s Ford.”

She turns to hang her coat beside mine on the rack. The sleeves brush, then settle together like they belong there, and the small, stupid intimacy of it sends a jolt straight through me. If that isn’t pathetic, I don’t know what is.

Juliette smooths her palms down her thighs, covered in black leather leggings, and the motion forces my eyes down the endless line of her legs. Her oversized, fuzzy blue sweater has slipped off one shoulder, revealing a stretch of warm, bare skin that looks made for my mouth.

I clear my throat hard and force my gaze to my daughter, who–thank God–is oblivious.

“Couldn’t convince Elle to stay?” I ask as I tread back toward the kitchen, the three of them in tow.

Kat shoots me a sidelong look, eyebrows high. “She’s still here. I told her she had to stay. You didn’t see her take her coat back off and sneak off to the restroom?”

My daughter stares at me like I just forgot the sky is blue. “Wow, Dad. Age is really catching up, huh?” She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright at her own tired joke.

Truth is, the second Juliette Wilson walks into a room, the rest of the world goes out of focus. Peripheral vision? Optional.

“That’s ageist,” I correct, smirking as we settle into the kitchen.

Elle appears a moment later, steely-blonde hair now swept into a low, messy ponytail that somehow makes her look younger and twice as dangerous. She’s kicked off the gold heels and coat again and stands barefoot at the counter, one hand hovering between two cabinet doors like she owns the place.

“Tea or champagne?” she asks, voice light, eyes sharp. “What kind of visit are we having tonight?”

I glance between Kat and Zennie and they’re both vibrating, barely able to contain themselves.

Kat’s grin spreads wide as she leans across Zennie’s lap, grabs her girlfriend’s hand, and thrusts it in my face.

A diamond flashes under the kitchen lights, bright enough to blind, big enough to leave me speechless.

“We’re getting married!” Kat says, voice thinning on the last word, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of happiness.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My eyes burn instantly, a wave of pure joy slamming into me so hard I have to grip the counter. All I’ve ever wanted for my kids was for them to find the person who makes the world make sense. Someone to come home to.

More than the businesses, degrees, awards and accolades–there is no highlight reel without your better half by your side. That I know from experience.

“Katherine,” I whisper, her full name slipping out before I can stop it. I haven’t said it like that in years. She was named after my wife, and no amount of time dulls the pain of her absence, even now, many years later.

I drop to a knee in front of them, gather Kat’s hands first, press my lips to her knuckles, then Zennie’s, and haul them both into my chest so hard I nearly lift them off the floor.

“Congratulations,” I manage, voice rough. “I’m so happy for you both. This is the best news I’ve ever heard.” I shower the tops of their heads with kisses until they squirm, laughing as they shove me off.

Kat jabs a black-lacquered fingernail toward the cabinet, finally answering Elle. “Flutes. ‘Tis the season to celebrate!”

Five glasses appear on the island, and bubbles rise from the champagne, catching the light as the story spills out of the three of them over the next hour.

Kat had been plotting for months, waiting only on the finished custom engagement ring.

She explains the ring-maker’s shop and the custom design, her eyes bright, while Zennie watches her like she hung the moon and every star in the sky.

Then Zennie takes over, voice soft, recounting the exact second she spotted the little velvet box in Kat’s shaking hands.

I watch my daughter smile at Zen, stupidly in love, like the rest of us aren’t even in the room.

They’re the real thing.