Thirty-Four
ESSIE
“I can’t believe I did that,” I murmur for the fourth or fifth time while pacing the foyer.
“Come here,” Valeria requests, pulling me into a hug. “Maybe Lander and Everett’s fight worked.”
Cora scoffs and fiddles with one of her rings. “Lander and Everett’s fights have only succeeded in making both of us draft prenups…but maybe Dalton can convince Alyssa she misheard you.”
We’re all silent for a beat. If a plan hinges on Dalton—the most straightforward person in the District of Columbia—successfully gaslighting his mother…
“Everyone is going to find out,” I murmur grimly.
“Find out what?” my dad asks, coming around the corner. His arms are laden with garment bags, and he stops when he sees Valeria hugging me and Cora standing with her arms crossed. “You girls okay?”
“We’re fine,” I lie.
He dips his chin. “Anyway, the tailor dropped off the tuxes for the boys and me. Can you help me out? I don’t know everyone’s sizes.”
“I’ll do it,” Dalton intervenes, appearing in the foyer. He takes the garment bags before I can and gives me a meaningful look. “Can we talk?”
His expression makes my stomach tighten. Unease has taken over his usually placid mien, and it tugs at my gut like a barbed hook.
“Actually, I need to talk to you first, Ess,” my dad says, oblivious to how oblivious he is.
Dalton’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t object. He pins me with a focused stare, and I breathe out, forcing back tears. I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine.
When Dalton seems satisfied I’m okay, he nods. “Find me when you’re done,” he requests before he motions for my friends to follow him upstairs.
Once we’re alone, Dad’s posture is easy and loose. He tilts back against the antique wooden staircase and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Tons going on, but we didn’t resolve things at brunch a few weeks ago. I wanted to say how proud I am of you and your job, kiddo. I know you work a ton.”
“Thanks, Dad. That’s great,” I say, forcing a smile—anything to get this over with.
Dad smiles back, looking satisfied with himself. “And I figured I’d throw it out there: You don’t always have to work so hard. You have your hands full, but our family is growing. Alyssa sees you as a daughter now. Obviously, she’s going to look out for you—”
I’m confused at first. “Look out for me…” But when clarity strikes, it’s a bitch slap. “Are you saying I don’t have to work because you’re marrying into money?”
“I know how much you like—”
“I like making money,” I interject before he can say something to make me hate him irreparably.
His eyebrows rise. “I thought a break could be helpful for a couple years. You could be traveling, or—”
“Like you did?” I question, aware my voice is rising. I step closer. “You think it’s weird I’m a workhorse and want to be paid for it? Get it in your head, Dad: You made me like this . Do you think normal little girls dream about being investment bankers? No. I had to learn to take care of myself and everyone around me, and surprise— I’m good at it. I live for it . For you to tell me to let someone else pay my way through life is insulting.”
Dad’s confusion pisses me off. “I was trying to be helpful,” he insists, taking a step back—and he has the audacity to scoff. “I was trying to give you a break.”
“A break?” I demand, advancing toward him and letting the simmering frustration from the last year finally boil over. “ A break ? All I’ve ever wanted is someone to take care of me.”
“I called—”
“Where were you when Meg Connors bullied me? Where were you when everyone’s Christmas stockings were full except for mine? Being a father is about actually taking care of people.”
He frowns, and I hate how much he looks like my brothers when he frowns—how much he looks like me . “What has gotten into you?”
“I’ve always been this way,” I reply, feeling my voice break. “And if you didn’t know, it’s because you’re not a real father.”
Without waiting for a response, I charge upstairs, heart pounding and tears threatening to spill. I’m heading to my room when Dalton’s door flings open. He scoops me up at the same time I launch myself into his arms, and with my face against his chest, I begin crying—really crying. My chest heaves with labored sobs, and I can’t stop.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s murmuring, layering kisses on my hair. “You did amazing. You said everything you needed to.”
“He’s so—”
“I know,” Dalton whispers, using the cuff of his sweatshirt to wipe away a tear. “Trust me, I know. I can’t tell you how many times I sat on this bed and cried about my own shitbag father.”
I pull back, sniffling and trying to find evenness in my lungs. It’s difficult for me to imagine a father ever thinking Dalton wasn’t good enough.
“Growing up, I had my mom,” Dalton goes on, pushing another tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Lander and Everett too. But it kills me that you didn’t have anyone to look out for you.”
“I have you and our friends, and… oh no —your mom—”
“Mom isn’t mad, and nobody else is going to find out,” he promises. “But…”
My hands are starting to tremble, and I ask, “We’re done, aren’t we?” And when Dalton doesn’t answer, another tear slips down my cheek.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, and eventually the tears stop. But I’m trying to swallow past the lump in my throat, and it feels like trying to swallow a heart.
“What can I do?” Dalton asks, running his hands over my sides.
“I don’t know. I can’t tell you how sick it makes me to know I’ll see you married to another woman one day. I’ll have to meet the kids she gave you, and—”
“Essie,” he interjects. And when I look away, he touches my chin and turns my face toward his. “Look at me. You may not be mine yet, but I’m yours. I would give you anything .”
His stare is unwavering. The thing is, I know he would.
Dalton shifts his hand, and his hold on my jaw is firm and possessive and so enamored. “There’s nothing anyone could do to make me less than yours and yours alone. I’ve wanted you for two years, and if I have to wait decades, I will. You’ll never see me with a wife or my own kids unless their yours too. I’m yours, Essie. I’m going to be yours forever.”
“Forever is—”
“Forever,” he reiterates, never breaking eye contact. “I vow it. I’m never going to get over you.”
I breathe out slowly, agonizingly slowly, wishing I could prolong this moment. “I feel the same way,” I reply, threading my hands through his hair.
I close my eyes and skim my lips against his. A beat later, stopping is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
I move from his lap and go to the door, where I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I look back at Dalton, and like the day I met him, I can’t comprehend how a man could be so incomprehensibly good inside and out—and that he was almost mine.
“I wish we’d had forever,” I murmur. “I think we both deserve it.”
And I wasn’t lying. I’m never going to get over him.