Page 85 of The Billionaires' Gamble
But as Marissa hustles forward with a plate for me, the banter continues. I spear a piece of cantaloupe and try to convince myself that the ache in my chest is indigestion rather than wishing I were close to either one of my parents.
“I’m surprised King’s not out here eating all the bacon,” Ford says.
“King’s taking breakfast to Gabe. He’s still overseeing some renovations at his house.” That sounds nicer than ‘running away from commitments.’
“Right. Ford said he bought at the other end of the lane.”
“Yeah.” Now that I think of it, it’s literally the last house on the road.
Dad glances toward the pool house. “Is Alex up?”
I fight a blush. Seriously, why is my mind in the gutter right now?
“I’m pretty sure Alex has already eaten.”
Unfortunately, he turns his full attention my way. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than yesterday.” I try for a reassuring smile. The truth is, I’m taking it a literal moment at a time. Which probably explains why I feel a bit like a spinning top. Grace and focusing on what’s happening in the next minute are the only things I can see to move forward.
I’m terrified I’m going to have a breakdown and become overwhelmed with everything that happened and just lose it.
I don’t want to lose it.
I want out of the nightmare and into my fairy tale.
Dad looks like he wants to say something but can’t decide on the words. Instead, he taps the edge of his spoon against a hard-boiled egg, cracking the shell.
“Enough about me.” I’m honestly sick of being in my own head. Mired in my own life. I just want to live. “Where’s Sutton?”
“At brunch with Bertie,” Ford answers.
Ahh. His sister. He and Ford call her everything but her given name, Beatrice, because it drives her crazy. Aren’t brothers fun?
The phone next to my father’s right hand vibrates on the tabletop. After a quick glance, he presses a button and flips the phone over.
“I’m sorry you were both dragged into this mess.”
I know it’s only going to get worse. I don’t need to look at the news to know that. And I’ll wager every cent in my bank account that I don’t have a job to go back to.
My father’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and he gives me a funny look, lowering the bite of eggs to his plate. “It’s not your fault, Katherine.”
His tone is firmer than I’ve heard it from him in a long time, not in anger, but in earnestness.
“Oh, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be any less arduous.”
His expression doesn’t even change. He’s just… steadfast. “And we’ll get through it. We’ll help you through it and do our best to shield you?—”
“Think that job’s taken,” Ford mutters. His brilliant blue eyes are extra bright in the morning sun.
“Right. About that—” Dad’s words trail off.
Oh god. I knew this was going to come up. I take a breath, sip my mimosa, and focus on the fact that he didn’t lose his marbles when I showed up with three men in tow.
I don’t want any more lies or caginess. I don’t want a parent in my life who doesn’t love me for me, no matter how bad my skin is, or how red my hair is, or who I choose as partners.
Yesterday’s events gave me crystal clear clarity and for the first time, maybe ever, I feel like I don’t need to hide.
The shackles of shame fall away. My spine straightens, and I lift my chin as I look at my father.
