Page 117 of The Love You Fight For
I swallow back a laugh, and my father turns his rage-filled eyes on me.
“Samantha, I don’t know what kind of bullshit you’re p?—”
“Careful,” Chris says, his voice low and stern.
My father stops midsentence, and Chris drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Speak to Sam with the respect she deserves or keep your mouth shut.”
A thrill skates down my spine at his tone. At how sternly he delivered his command. It’s even more exciting because my fatherhatesit.
“I don’t know who you think you are,son, but this is none of your business.”
My father squirms a bit in his chair. He’s so pissed. Tonight was supposed to be all about him and now he wants to throw a tantrum while my mother sits quietly beside him, sipping her champagne and probably daydreaming about her lover.
“Itismy business because Sam is my business. You speak to her with respect,Thom, or you don’t speak to her at all. If you can’t do that, then I will be the one to make a scene. And with the shit I know about you? I don’t think you want that on the nightly news.”
My father bristles. He huffs and puffs. He turns a delightful shade of puce. He opens his mouth once to speak but snaps it shut again when Chris leans forward, as if trying to hear him better.
The whole scene is so enjoyable that it’s almost enough to make me forget about what’s to come. I don’t. But Ialmostdo.
“Mother,” I say, dragging my attention off my father, “this is my friend Chris.”
My mother smiles and nods.
“Very nice to meet you, Chris. I always love meeting friends of Samantha’s.”
I resist an eye roll at my mom’s lie, her airy tone giving away her inebriated state. She’s drunk, high, or both, and she’s never met a single friend of mine. My mother needs to live her life of delusion, though, so I bite my tongue. It’s the least I can do for someone who has had to be married to my father for over three decades. I owe her nothing, I know, but I think a small part of me feels bad for her. Or, rather, I feel bad for the woman she used to be before my father ruined her.
“It’s my pleasure,” Chris says to my mom, and I slip a hand under the table to rest it on his knee.
When the lights dim over the tables but brighten on the stage set up at the back of the banquet hall, a hush falls over the crowd, and my muscles stiffen. Chris takes my hand in his and gives it a little squeeze. He leans over in his chair and presses a kiss to my temple, and I relax into him.
My peace. Amid the chaos, he is my peace.
“Light the match, princess,” he whispers into my ear, and I laugh lightly before I stand from my chair.
I let my black shawl fall from my shoulders and drape it over the back of my chair. Chris chuckles, and it shoots straight to my core. I grin down at him and give him a wink, then walk toward the stage.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Sam weavesher way through the tables, and I marvel at her.
The back of her dress is open, stopping just above the curve of her ass, exposing the entirety of her Medusa tattoo. Excitement, pride, and fear war in my gut, but I make myself stay seated. These people have no fucking clue what they’re in for.
Just as Sam steps behind the podium and the crowd hushes, her father starts whispering frantically.
“What the fuck is she doing? What the fuck?”
He stands abruptly, but I turn and catch him by the lapels. His eyes widen, and I smile as I push him back down into his seat.
“Sit the fuck down, Thom. Give your attention to Sam. She’s here for you, after all.”
He glares, but I look away from him. I don’t care what he has to say. Instead, I zero in on my girl as she smiles out into the crowd.
“Good evening,” she says smoothly. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight to celebrate my father, Senator Thom Harper.”
Everyone applauds. She nods, and no one but me notices the slight tremble in her fingers or the almost imperceptibly harsh slant of her eyebrows.
