Page 30 of The Game

“I like you that way. You are unashamedly forthright. You don’t respect social niceties that enable men like him to behave like that. Most people would ignore or laugh off Ian. But you didn’t, and you know what? He might listen. This attitude is just one of the things that I adore about you.”

I groaned and swept her into my arms, kissing the hell out of her perfect mouth. I wanted to get into that far more. I desperately needed to know her feelings for me were changing and solidifying like mine were for her. Except we didn’t have time.

This evening, my daughters were coming to stay. It would be a new test for our relationship and one I meant to ace, meaning we couldn’t be late.

With the suit secured and Emmeline dressed again, we drove home. Shortly after, a taxi pulled up.

Emmeline crushed my hand in hers. “That’s them, isn’t it?”

“Deep breath. They’re going to love you. You know why? Because I do.” I threw open the door and jogged out to them.

As predicted, Petra flung herself at me with wide eyes for Emmeline. “Is that her, Dad? She’s so pretty.”

“It is. This is Emmeline. Em, this is Petra and Maisie.”

I had an open chat thread with my girls where we sent mostly memes and emojis to each other every day. A few days ago, I’d shared a photograph of me with Emmeline so they knew they’d be meeting her. My youngest was thrilled. My oldest? Not so much.

Maisie slouched from the cab and gave Emmeline a dark stare, poking her tongue into her cheek. She looked so like me with her grouchy judgement, it was ridiculous. Luckily, that meant I knew exactly how to bring her along.

I dragged her into a one-armed hug—about as much as I could get from the teenager now—and towed her in out of the cold. “Training go well last night?”

She grunted, scowling at her sister now who’d dared smile at whatever Emmeline was telling her. “Not really.”

“Any area in particular that’s bothering you?”

Maisie had done martial arts from age six, but last year had declared she wanted to follow me into being an MMA fighter. I’d set her up with a training regime but mostly stayed out of it, assuming she wanted to learn the basics before asking her ultra-uncool father for guidance.

In the hall, she tossed down her bag and kicked it. “Striking. I suck at it. My trainer has been trying to teach me about the kinetic chain, and it just won’t go from my head to my body.”

The kinetic chain was the principle of using a chain of force from the ground up to put ultimate power behind your move. Every muscle aligned and balanced to deliver the strike. It meant the difference between a hit and a knockout.

My specialist subject.

I raised a shoulder. “You’re asking the expert. Over the weekend, I’ll walk you through it. I can even take you to my gym one day, if you’ll let me help.”

It was the right thing to say. With teenagers, it was hard to be sure they were either listening or gave a crap. But I couldn’t miss her tiny sign that I was on the right track.

“Maybe,” she gave up.

Which meant a big fat yes to me. It also almost dragged a smile to her face when Emmeline brought her into the conversation with an insta-enamoured Petra.

Our weekend went so smoothly, it was a dream.

Christmas was coming, so we piled in my car and drove out to buy a tree, acting like the family I wanted us to become. I gave Maisie the training session which didn’t go horribly. Petra and Emmeline made paper decorations. We even went to a farmers’ market where I bored the girls about eating healthily.

On Sunday night, I asked Maisie to help me cook dinner.

She chopped vegetables, and I loaded a chicken into the oven then rested my elbows on the counter beside her. “Verdict time. What do you think of Emmeline?”

She shrugged.

If there was one thing she valued more than her attack skills, it was insider knowledge.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Maisie gaped. “Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

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