Page 47 of Filthy Mouth
“You’re sure about this, Daddy?” I asked as we started up the drive toward the manor.
“What did our contract say?”
The farcical fuck contract was the shortest one I’d ever signed.
“Daddy will spoil, protect, and fuck me,” I murmured, cautious now that we were approaching a cluster of guests.
His smirk deepened, grip tightening around my fingers.
I relaxed as we stepped inside. The simmering stress melted when he slipped his hand from mine to circle my waist. For the first time at one of these blasted functions, I wasn’t walking in alone. I finally had someone in my corner.
We were ushered toward the gardens, laughter and chamber music spilling through the open French doors. The air outside was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the faint scent of roses. Designer gowns swished past, cufflinks caught the light, and the usual crowd of stuffy old men puffed themselves up like peacocks. I had no idea why my father and Delphina insisted I attend these things—they belonged to them, not me.
I scanned the garden as we descended the marble steps past the pretentious water fountain. No sign of the dragons yet.
“Benedict, how the devil are you?”
I didn’t recognise the man, but I recognised Daddy’s switch—the smooth, polite mask he wore for society. I bit back a smile. Beneath that veneer lay the indecent bastard who’d had me panting in his car less than an hour ago.
The Hadlows’garden really was a marvel. Not a leaf dared stray from its place—towering trees and clipped hedges framed paved walkways, miniature mazes curling in useless patterns. Beyond the fountain, long tables gleamed with crystal glasses and polished cutlery, centred around an extravagant floral display. The warm spring evening hummed with chatter, champagne flutes, and the clink of silver trays. At the far end, a winding path vanished into shadows. My mind wandered. Would Daddy be up for some outdoor sports later?
Fingers clawed into my arm, and I swung around to see Delphina.
“I’d like a word with you,” she hissed, nails digging like she thought she owned me.
Her blonde quiff stood so high it practically needed scaffolding. She’d used half the city’s hairspray supply for that monstrosity. Behind her, Mini-Me Annabelle was glued to my father’s arm like gum on a shoe.
“You utterly humiliated my brother.”
“I suggest you take your claws out of Poppy before I do it for you,” Benedict said, calm but sharp enough to cut glass.
Delphina blinked, loosened her grip, and went for her necklace instead, like that string of pearls was a comfort blanket. Her eyes skimmed over Benedict from head to toe, calculating. They were close enough in age that I saw the flicker of interest spark. Great. Just what I needed—Delphina eyeing up my filthy Daddy.
I slid my hand into his and smiled when her eyes narrowed as Daddy tightened his grip on my hand.
That’s right, he’s mine, bitch.
“And who might you be?” she asked, voice pitched so high that half the garden turned to look. I was honestly surprised the champagne glasses didn’t shatter.
By then, Father and Annabelle had joined us. Father looked as clueless as ever, his triple chin wobbling while he tried to figure out what was happening. Annabelle looked smug, like she was starring in some debutante drama.
“I need a drink,” I muttered, pulling free from Daddy and heading for the bar across the garden. My arm throbbed where her nails had dug in, but that was nothing new. She’d done worse when I was a child.
“I told you,” Delphina’s shrill voice carried after me.“She’s severely lacking in discipline and manners. Thank heavens she didn’t rub off on my Annabelle.”
After all these years, she still couldn’t find anything original to say.
I spied the champagne tower and abandoned the bar. A clever stand propped it up, but from a distance it looked like a free-standing miracle.
I swiped two glasses from the middle, because why not tempt fate, and turned to see how Daddy was faring. His eyes were locked on me, but my father’s bulk sat between us like some pompous gatekeeper. Delphina and Annabelle huddled together as always, their heads tilted in the same conspiratorial pose. Again, nothing new.
I sipped from my first glass while raising the second towards Daddy in a silent toast, grinning when he frowned. My father looked like he was boring him to death. All the ex-politician had to do was open his mouth, and half the guests would rather drown themselves in the fountain.
Daddy must’ve thought the same, because he muttered something to my father before pushing past the trio and cutting a straight line through the garden. His dark hair slipped forward over one cheek, his white shirt blazing against the black like sin wrapped in silk. Each step across the grass was unhurried, deliberate, and when he hit the path, the click of polished shoes echoed like a countdown.
By the time he reached me, my thighs were damp. I should’ve worn knickers.
He plucked the glass from my hand and downed it in one go.
