Page 127 of More Than Pen Pals

He halts and turns to look me in the eye. “I don’t know, but I have your back. I promise you that.” Then he holds his elbow out and I loop my arm back through his and squeeze tightly.

“Thank you.”

He leads us forward and I spot the couple at the table in the corner. Although they look older than in the pictures Ash sent me, I would recognize them anywhere. Ash’s mom is smiling at me, and his dad looks like he’s about to murder someone. She stands as we approach, but he doesn’t.

Randall says, “Mom, Dad, this is Leslie Beckett. Leslie, this is my mom, Ruth, and my dad, Walter.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel.

His dad gives me the once over and doesn’t even offer a brief nod. But his mom surprises me by rounding the table and giving me a hug.

She whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry about this, dear. He wasn’t supposed to know.”

I’m not sure what Mr. Hamilton wasn’t supposed to know—that I exist, that I’ll soon be dating his son, that this dinner was happening, or all the above.

We take our seats, and Ash’s dad says, “So, Leslie, why do you think I should let you date my son after the way you deceived him as a child?”

Randall reaches for my hand under the table, and I grip his fingers. “I apologized to Ash for what I did when I was ten years old, and I feel terrible about it.” My eyes narrow at him and I decide to throw caution to the wind and stand up for myself and for Ash. I refuse to let this man run all over me. “But to be honest, I don’t think you get to have any say in who your son dates. He definitely doesn’t need your permission—nor do I.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Mrs. Hamilton barely suppress a smile, while Randall squeezes my hand.

“You’re the feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Walter,” his wife warns, “let’s be civil and get to know Ashley’s young lady. That’s why we’re here.”

He downs the amber liquid in his lowball glass in one gulp, sets it down, and says, “I’m always civil. And that’s not why I’m here. I am here because all of you,” he circles his finger around to include the rest of us, “and my other son seem to be deceiving me. Speaking of Ash, where the devil is he?”

“Why do you think we’ve deceived you?” Randall asks his father.

Mr. Hamilton turns his steely gaze on his son. “For starters, I discovered you and your brother have been wasting my firm’s time and money by thinking you can help a bunch of godforsaken immigrants who have no right to be in this country.”

Mrs. Hamilton’s eyebrows shoot up, and she only halfway attempts to suppress her latest smile. My heart warms to her, as I take her reaction to mean she’ll be in full support of the foundation.

“Who told you about that?” Randall demands.

“Does it matter?” his father retorts. “You will cease this activity immediately. And this duplicitous woman,” he jabs his finger at me, “will apologize for dragging you into it.”

“She will not,” Mrs. Hamilton replies before I can. “Walter Hamilton, you are acting like a boor. Stop it this instant.”

He presses his lips together and glares at her. It boggles my mind that this man raised Ash and Randall. They did warn me, but I didn’t fully believe it until I experienced him for myself. Tears fill my eyes at the thought that the man I love grew up with this man as his father, yet somehow Ash turned into the most amazing man I’ve ever known.

I don’t want Mr. Hamilton to misinterpret my tears, so I stand and grab my purse. “I need to use the ladies’ room.” Then I walk away from the table with my head held high.

I reach the restroom, dab my eyes, reapply my eyeliner, and take more than a few deep breaths. Another woman enters, and I give her a fake smile through the mirror. The bathroom is fancy enough to have cushioned chairs, so I sit for a minute to compose myself. I don’t want to return to that table, but I can’t let Ash down. If he can deal with his father, so can I.

When I push through the door, I run smack into Mr. Hamilton. His hand closes around my upper arm, and he drags me down the hallway.

I wrest myself from his grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What doyouthinkyou’redoing? You’re going to ruin my son’s life. Ash is destined for great things, and I will not let him be influenced by a woman like you.”

The man only met me a few minutes ago. How does he know anything about what I’m like?

He continues. “You will apologize to both of my sons, and you’ll ensure they have nothing to do with this Diego Sanchez publicity stunt. You dragged them into it, and you will get them out of it. And then you’ll never speak to either of them ever again. Do you hear me?”

I snort. “I hear you, but I have no intention of obeying you.”

“You will obey me,” he says with a snarl, “or else.”

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