Chapter 5 #2
He glances nervously over his shoulder before turning back to me. “I don’t exactly remember much about last night.”
My mouth falls open, appearing insulted a second before I decide to forgive him.
Leaning even closer to him, I tip up on my toes and bring my mouth to his ear. “Darling, if we’d spent the night together, four shots of tequila wouldn’t have erased your memory of me. I’m unforgettable.”
As I pull back, a vibrant shade of red creeps over his face again. His blue eyes brighten but his jaw ticks, a hint of tension.
There he is. The man I remember watching me, giving off vibes like he’d devour me if he were free to do so. But here’s the thing about last night, I’d learned what happened to him and his newly-ex wife.
“So we didn’t—” His gaze drops to my chest, the girls perfectly positioned and a little cleavage peeking out the edge of my square-cut plum-colored dress.
I chew at my lower lip and shake my head.
“Oh, thank God.” A deep exhale relaxes his shoulders a little, and he swipes his hand down his face. When his eyes meet mine again, the bright blue diminishes a bit.
Now, I am hurt.
“Really?” I fist my hand on my cocked hip. I might not have slept with the man, but he doesn’t need to look that relieved.
“I mean, of course, you’re beautiful and—” He waves a hand up and down my body, but I hold up my palm, already cutting him off. I’m tired of weak comebacks and even weaker compliments.
“The sentiment goes both ways, cowboy.”
Ford tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing in that way I’m already familiar with. His jaw clenches again, making his cheeks more prominent, almost sculpted as if by a master. “What do you mean?”
“I’m relieved as well. I mean, I can’t have you falling in love with me after one night.” I wink.
Ford’s face pinkens and his mouth twists as if he’s fighting a smile in response to my quip. He thinks I’m ridiculous. Maybe even cutely quirky, but still ridiculous.
“Cadence.”
The sharp masculine reprimand comes from my right, and I twist to see my father standing too close to me. I’d wonder how much he heard or how long he’d been standing there but it wouldn’t matter. The man takes everything out of context. Making assumptions about me is his favorite pastime.
“Daddy.” My tone is equally edgy and direct, as if I’m holding my breath for more from him.
Stupidly wanting him to accept me for who I am and praise me for what I’ve become.
Ford stiffens beside me from the mention this man is my father, but I release my lungs, knowing pride in me from my dad isn’t going to happen.
His cool, dry hand comes to my upper arm, and he leans it to press an equally cold, distant kiss to my cheek.
“Want to introduce me to your friend.” The implication is clear. He heard enough to assume Ford is a special friend.
No. “Daddy, this is Ford Sylver. Sebastian’s brother.” I point at Ford, who reaches out and shakes hands with my father. I purposely don’t mention my father’s name.
“Which one are you?” Dad counters.
“I play baseball, sir.”
Dad’s brows lift. “The center fielder for Chicago Anchors.” My father’s face softens, impressed by this Sylver. Fame. Fortune. Sport.
Strange how he can be in awe of Ford’s accomplishments but not mine. However, I’m growing less tolerant of a world where men are revered for their achievements and women are belittled for theirs, as if we women didn’t work twice as hard, if not harder, for our success.
“And how long have you two been together?” Dad addresses me, his expression creasing in measured increments of severity as he tries to piece together who Ford and I are to each other.
“We met last night.” Ford’s answer is innocent enough, and truthful, but Daddy takes it as he always does.
“Well, she certainly works fast, doesn’t she?” His suggestive tone has my shoulders falling while I steel my spine.
Lifting my head, I speak out the side of my mouth. “Can we not do this here.”
“Always jealous of your sister. Have to have what she has. Next, you’ll tell me you are pregnant.”
“Dad!” The exclamation is a little louder than necessary but what he’s said is so uncalled for.
My face flames with embarrassment. However, my humiliation is quickly replaced by ire.
How dare he? This type of insult only reinforces the years of unfortunate hope I’d put on my parents and their continued disappointment.
We both know I’ll never be Enya. I’ll never be good like her. I’ll never be good enough, period.
“Not certain it works that fast, sir,” Ford interjects, not correcting my father with the explanation that nothing happened between us and even if it did, we couldn’t be certain in twenty-four hours if I was pregnant or not. “But we can keep working on it.”
My jaw drops. Ford is acting like we did sleep together when I’ve disputed it, and he’s now given my father the idea we will continue sleeping together in hopes I get pregnant. Neither of which I want to happen. Not the man nor the babies.
As I’ve explained numerous times to my parents, I don’t need a man, a child, or a family. I have a career. A lucrative, awe-inspiring, extremely successful career. I take care of me. I define myself.
I glare at Ford whose cliff-like cheeks give nothing away. He’s clearly teasing but his hardened face suggests otherwise.
“Ford,” I mutter.
Further surprising me, Ford slips his arm around me, palming my lower back and drawing me closer to him. He kisses my temple and my father’s mouth falls open.
Slowly, something registers in my father’s eyes. “Aren’t you married?” Dad’s once-impressed expression tightens in slow increments to disapproval.
“I’m separated.”
Lord, have I heard that before.
“Well, I see you’re still on the path of homewrecking, Cadence. I couldn’t be prouder.” Sarcasm drips from my father’s mouth like a vampire after a succulent blood-fest. However, there isn’t a chance my father knows anything about Evan Lauer.
Ford’s fingers on my lower back tighten in my dress. Whether to hold me back or keep him from lunging at my dad, I can’t be certain.
“Maybe you should write a song about it.” Dad continues. “Oh wait. You already did.”
I could be impressed that my father knows the name of one of my songs. What would be more remarkable, though, is if he knew the song was about a father emotionally abandoning his children, wrecking them.
Too stunned to speak, I stay silent. I’ve learned it’s often best not to correct my dad. You can’t change the opinion of those unwilling to listen.
Also, for Enya’s sake, I’m trying to be on my best behavior. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with her future family. She loves these people and by default I want to love them as well. As for the Sylvers, I want them to at least like me.
Biting hard on the inside of my cheek, I watch as my father nods once at Ford before stepping away from us.
He’s the homewrecker. Not me.