Page 62 of Lovestruck at Sundown
Fuck.
“I’ve already seen these,” I said with a straight face, tossing the magazine and pages back on the table, not bothering to look at the rest. Although I was sure my dad recognized the disgust I failed to disguise and the anger blazing through my veins.
It was unfair to have been portrayed that way. I knew this wouldn’t affect things with William, but I didn’t want him to worry or get upset when he was gone, and he still had a few weeksleft before he would return.
“I’m afraid you’re not done.” My father leaned back on his chair, propped his elbow on the armrest, and held his tumbler close to his fabricated and rehearsed stoic face.
Sighing with evident annoyance, I perused the articles, which were all a rehash of the same story. But the last page jumped to my attention. I brought it closer to my face and saw a photo of William stepping out of a restaurant with a woman close behind him. They were both covering their faces from the flashing lights.
I skimmed through the nasty gossip piece that implied William wouldn’t settle down anytime soon for anyone and questioned the legitimacy of our relationship.
Not only was this getting messy, but I couldn’t help but feel jealous about who this mystery woman was. She wasn’t William’s co-star; the one he mentioned was married. Not that there weren’t any more actors in the film. I just didn’t know who they all were. And this woman could’ve been an actress or a friend. But either option made my stomach churn.
There had to be an explanation for the photos. I’d learned in the past how these things are fabricated to benefit the interest of whoever is behind the story. And not only that, but William had proved time and time again that I could trust him. And I did.
So I lied.
“That’s a friend of William’s,” I said calmly. “He told me he’d be meeting her for dinner.”
“Mmm.” My dad drained his drink and settled the short tumbler on the table with a calculated thump. “What’s her name?”
Damn it. “R-Rosie.” But I hesitated a second too long before answering.
“You don’t need to cover for him,” my dad said. “We all know his reputation,and—”
“Stop.” The single word came out of my mouth like a plea.
“I don’t need yours to become tainted by this.” He ignored me and carried on with his argument. “This is just the beginning of what’s coming your way. And soon, you’ll realize that he won’t change. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
“Dad, please.”
“He can’t,” he carried on with his monologue. “The power and influence he has over women due to his celebrity status will always weigh more in the relationship scale. He can have anyone he wants at the snap of his fingers, and—”
Luckily, our server came to the rescue by bringing the first of five courses to our table, making my father stop talking. He offered a brief explanation of our dish and excused himself.
The roasted red pepper bisque looked exquisite, but my appetite was gone.
“Why did you even bother to meet up with me?” I grabbed my purse and bunched up the strap in my hands, a clear indication that I intended to leave. “You seem thrilled with the idea of seeing my relationship with William fall apart. If you genuinely loved and respected me, you wouldn’t go out of your way to compile this bullshit dossier for me.”
“Language,” he gritted out.
“And no, I don’t know who that woman is, but Itrusthim,” I confessed. “Not that you would know the meaning of that word.”
“Enough!” He cleared his throat and looked around the tables close to us, but everyone seemed unfazed as they talked and laughed with their loved ones.
“I’m leaving.” I shook my head with disappointment, feeling my breaths getting shallower and more agitated by the second. “You don’t have to pretend to care anymore.”
I pushed back the chair and braced my hands on the armrestto lift myself from my seat when my dad snapped, “Sit.”
I did, but the movement was slow, and I made sure my gaze was fixed on his.
“Eat.” He looked around the place again, but everyone was too happy and cheery to give a damn about our pathetic interaction. He grabbed his spoon like he was hosting a dinner for the president and tasted the soup in that rehearsed elegant way. “You can leave after we’re done with our Thanksgiving dinner. But you will not humiliate me.”
Tears pooled in my eyes, but I swallowed them back, along with a spoonful of soup after the other.
We remained painfully silent for the rest of our five-course meal, and once the check arrived, I offered to pay my half just to piss him off. But the four glasses of wine I ordered to get through dinner must’ve bugged him even more. I quickly realized it was a mistake to drink that much. It only made me feel sadder, angrier, and more miserable than ever.
He dismissed my offer to pay by silently lifting a brow at me and tossing his Centurion Card inside the leather billfold.
