Page 2 of Dirty Secret

No, Dad, it's still stealing if you pocketed the cash when you promised the person the money was going to a worthy cause.

"Felipe still needs a date for the annual Children's Hope Gala in six weeks. That celebrity baker that you obsess over will be there."

"You mean Nadyia Goldman?"

I had always dreamed of being a professional baker. Had even gone through the Academy of Cuisine pastry program. My parents didn't know about that as a future political wife wasn't supposed to be a professional baker. It was okay that I liked to bake, but anything more would be frowned upon.

The only thing I never did, was complete the program. I would have had to apprentice somewhere. Which meant I would work at a bakery or restaurant. If there was one thing a White family member never did, was work in the service industry. My parents would have freaked.

"Yes, her. I thought you and Felipe could go together. You two are close anyway."

There'd be a double orgasm from my parents if Felipe and I ended up married—that’s the only reason they tolerated my friendship with him. The Aragon family had more political clout and history than our family. Not a dynasty like the Fitzwilliam family as they have had presidents and Supreme Court justices in their lineage dating back to the mid-nineteenth century.

There had been a high-ranking Aragon in Washington since the early twentieth century. Whereas the White family started in politics with my dad and my mother followed. They fear it would die with them as my two older brothers wanted nothing to do with the family business.

As for me, my parents knew I didn't have the resolve to be a politician. The most I could do was bake, alone, in my recently restored kitchen, and then stuff my face with my baked goods.

I'd say I was one step down from a lonely cat woman. Maybe instead of the press nicknaming me "the perfect daughter," they could change it to "the sad cookie lady."

Despite my sad life, they believed I still had the chance to marry into a proper political family.

"What a good idea. It’d be great to go with Felipe," I said without joy in my voice.

I loved my friend but having this arranged by my father caused the hairs to rise on the back of my neck.

"Good. I'll let him know. Heidi, I have to run. Bills to be signed and—"

"History to be made. Yeah, I know, Dad. Thanks for the help. Goodbye—"

My father hung up before I finished. He didn't have time for goodbyes or much of anything that wasn't career related. With him, it was get to the point or get out of his way.

I opened the email on my phone. A quick tap and I watched the two-minute video from the link Debra sent. The valve in the video was yellow. I scanned the walls around the room for a colorful handle.

Beside the washer and dryer, I discovered a yellow valve like the one in the video. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I used all my might and turned it. Realizing after I slipped and fell that the handle didn't require that much effort.

The water stopped. With a sigh, I leaned back against my basement wall with my ass in a puddle.

The respite didn't last as I noticed water everywhere. Not good. That was going to be a big thing. I had to call someone to clean up to prevent mold. I hated dealing with problems; I'd rather have someone else handle it.

I believe I discovered why my parents could so easily manipulate me over the years.

With my body still trembling, I decided to put all the work the basement entailed out of my head and went upstairs to dry off.

It didn't take me long to clean up and put on fresh, dry clothes that were in my bedroom on the top floor of my townhouse. The rumble from my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning. I grabbed my phone that I tossed on my mustard-yellow quilted bed cover. Within a minute, I had ordered breakfast and coffee to be delivered from my favorite bakery, Bake & Take, using their delivery app.

On my way downstairs, I heard the doorbell ring as my bare foot hit the last mahogany step to the main floor.

Perfect timing. My stomach was about to form a coup unless I fed it.

With a smile on my face and ready to give the delivery person any amount of money they asked for just so I could taste their delicious bagels, I opened my gray-painted front door.

I made a quick assessment of the situation as I stared in shock at the person on the other side of my door. The old woman across the street, walking her dog, was now at possible risk of a heart attack from the scream of shock bubbling up my throat. Not wanting to live with that on my conscience, I decided to slam the door instead.

My heart pounded with wild abandon in my chest. That couldn't be the delivery guy. The man who stood on the other side of my door . . .. The one I just slammed the door on, he didn't work for Bake & Take, did he?

That would mean, to procure that delicious everything bagel and cup of coffee made from perfectly roasted beans that my stomach craved like an addict, I'd be forced to interact with him—something I never wanted to do.

I had watched him for weeks. Okay, months, if I was honest. Sometimes I ran inside when I saw him turn a corner on the sidewalk. Every time, my skin prickled and my heart raced.

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