Page 26 of Breaking Point

Polite applause fills the room, but I keep my eye on the crowd as the next name is called. “Sofia Vercelli… and Aleksander Benenati!”

My eyes find the couple, and I notice that Aleks beams as he looks down at her. I still don't quite know what to make of them. She waves at the onslaught of attention, clapping as the auctioneer lists several more pairs.

“Olivia Hughes,” he calls, and my attention snaps toward the stage. “And Chase Sutherland!”

Olivia’s back is pin-straight, and even when everyone looks to her with congratulations, her smile is tight. Forced. Surprised.

“Shit,” she mumbles, and it hits me that she doesn’t know what’s happening. She must have the same thought I do because her eyes swing to her father, who whistles and claps as he lifts his drink again.

Even as the auctioneer moves onto the next awards, my eyes scan the crowd before I spot the man who just introduced himself. Chase Sutherland. Then it hits me that I distinctly remember his father, Keith, attending Skar’s wedding last year.

Even though Olivia doesn’t look in his direction, he catches me looking, a cocky smirk playing on his face as he looks toward her again.

My gut tells me there’s something deeper going on here. I make it a point to look into him more.

Chapter Twelve

Olivia

“Dad…” I rub my temples to ease the headache I feel forming in my skull. My hands drop, and I grip the kitchen counter, spinning my coffee mug with one hand.

“You know I just want the best for you,” he continues, scrambling the eggs on the kitchen stove.

Despite the event ending no later than ten last night, I practically had to drag myself out of bed to have breakfast with Dad like I promised. We used to do this at least once a week, but life has gotten busier in recent years. Even so, we’ve made a habit of meeting around the anniversary of Mom’s death.

He arrived promptly at seven this morning, brandishing an amber bottle of sparkling soda from a brand we both like. One of which he split between two crystal glasses shortly after arriving. Opposite my coffee mug, I now sip on a glass while watching him cook.

He continues, back still to me, “Chase is a nice man. Better than most of those boys you’ve dated. He’s well-off and-“

I lift my head from my hand with a sigh. “It’snotabout Chase.”

“He’s a gentleman!” he insists.

“SayingSirand holding a door open doesn’t make you a gentleman,” I remind him though I doubt that he’s still listening.

“Well, he does all of that and more.”

We’ve had this conversation several times already. Or some adjacent variation. He’s tried his hand at setting me up multiple times, and the dates have more often than not ended in disaster. Complete and utter disaster.

I want to believe that my dad’s intentions are pure. In theory, he wants me to have what he had with Mom. Love. Joy. Safety. I’d like to think it’s what any parent wants for their children.

In actuality, he wants me to find someone and settle down. Get married. Have babies. Spend the rest of my days contentedly living life as the trophy wife to a man he approves of… Somehow, any say I have on the matter is trampled on. Every single time.

“Still not the point, Dad. You’re not listening to me.”

He turns, holding a plate of half-burnt toast and eggs. “Then what is this about?”

“It’s about you selling me off on a date without my permission.”

He sets the plate down in front of me before plopping down in a chair with his own. “Okay,” he concedes. “I’m sorry I went behind your back, Button. I am. Please, just tell me you won’t cancel the date.”

I’m considering it, I want to say.

After Chase Sutherland approached me last night, I can’t exactly say I’m looking forward to it. He seems nice enough. He’s handsome. But he also has that trust-fund, Daddy’s-boy air to him. I’ve dated his type before.

And like I said…disaster.

I try not to think of how my last relationship ended. Hurt, alone, and with a heart full of regrets. Not an uncommon experience, I’m sure. But the irony about planning people’s happy endings while not having one of my own is… cruel. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to. But every time Dad does something like this, I’m reminded of it.

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