Page 104 of Breakout
“Okay, okay, sorry. What happened when you went outside?”
“Your dad was there,” she says, making my heart freeze.
“Excuse me? Did you just say my dad?” I ask as I step outside.
“He knows, Beck,” she hisses.
“What do you mean he knows?”
“He knows that we are married.”
“Peyton, I need you to tell me exactly what he said.”
She quickly fills me in on the basics. How he knows we’re married, doesn’t know about her wealth, how he offered to pay her, and she refused.
“I knew he was a bastard, but Jesus,” I hiss as I run a hand through my hair.
“I’m going home,” she tells me.
“Wait for me. I’ll come get you.” I urge her.
“No, I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary. I’m going to go to the dorm and take a shower. You can come by when I’m done.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Positive.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you at your place the minute you text,” I tell her.
“All right. Later.” She hangs up before I can say anything.
Anger courses through me the more I think about the fact that he cornered her in a dark parking lot.
Phone still in hand, I pull up his number and hit dial.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to call me. Meet me at The Carriage House,” he says in lieu of a greeting.
“I’ll be there in ten,” I grit out before I hang up.
I cut through the quad and make my way to my car. The entire drive over to the café, I stew in my anger, getting more riled up the closer I get to him.
As soon as I see him, I want to punch him in his smug face as he flirts with the waitress.
He might talk shit about respecting the family name, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t know what respect is. He must feel my anger because he turns toward me.
“You’re late. It’s becoming a habit,” he criticizes.
“How fucking dare you approach my wife in a dark parking lot?” I hiss.
His eyes narrow. “First of all, watch your goddamn tone. Second, yourwife”—he sneers the word—“is being dramatic. It’s a perfectly lit parking lot.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”
“What’s unbelievable, Beckett, is that you would run off and marry the first woman you meet that you know we wouldn’t approve of. Then to make matters worse, you didn’t sign a prenup.”
“I didn’t marry the first girl I met, Dad. If I had done that, I would have been married a long time ago. As for a prenup, trust me when I say I don’t need one.”
He looks at me sympathetically. “Let me tell you something, son. The only men who don’t believe in prenups are fools who end up losing their asses when the relationship ends in divorce. Now, I contacted Steven, and he’s willing to backdate one. We just need to get her signature.”
