Life is messy. Love is even messier. I like things clean and orderly. Pretty, even. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to Tony earlier. He is flat-out pretty.
Not that he’s feminine. He’s just the personification of male beauty. All that unruly black hair that fell into those dark, mysterious eyes. His sculpted lips. If my memory serves, he even had a tiny dent in his chin.
I bet it’s kissable, that dent.
Suddenly feeling restless, I head downstairs to talk to Dad about what we’re doing tonight.
“Country club dinner, Hay,” is what he tells me when I find him in his study, sitting in front of his giant iMac and nursing what looks like a scotch on the rocks. “This evening I want to show off all my girls.”
I make a face behind him, and somehow, he spots me. “Don’t look like that. It’ll be fun.”
My gaze drifts, locking on the window where I can see my own reflection. I roll my eyes at myself and Dad smiles. He’s watching the window too.
“I’m twenty years old,” I remind him. “You don’t need to show me off to your cronies.”
“I show off Lauri and Palmer all the time. Since you’re never around anymore, you’re the one I want to show off the most.” He smiles. Rattles the ice in his glass before he takes a sip, his gaze locking on mine in the window’s reflection. “Despite the fact that you want to be a teacher.”
I reach over and tug on the ends of his hair, making him yelp. “Being a teacher is a noble profession.”
“Being a teacher is a thankless job. Snot-nosed kids hanging all over you all day and ungrateful parents complaining to you how you just don’t understand Johnny when he bullies all the other kids.” Dad shakes his head, setting his glass down before he whirls around in his office chair to face me. “All for approximately fifty thousand dollars a year, and that’s if you’re lucky. How are you going to live on a wage like that?”
“I know I won’t be living around here.” The housing market in San Francisco and the Bay Area is ridiculously expensive. “Besides, I have you to help me,” I say smugly.
Deep down, I don’t mean it. I want to survive on my own, without Daddy’s money. I want to be independent, unlike my mother, who is still on Dad’s bankroll despite the fact she hasn’t been married to him for years.
I refuse to live that way. Before I marry a guy—if I ever marry one because my views on love don’t romanticize that situation whatsoever—I want to make sure I’m completely independent and can take care of myself.
I don’t need a man. Not now.
Not ever.
“Looks like I’ll be cutting you off at twenty-one,” he says lightly, but I can tell by the darkness of his eyes that he halfway means it.
“And I’m totally kidding.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive. I should’ve never said I have him to help me. “I can make my own way.”
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure you can. You’ll find some pretty boy at the country club tonight and end up marrying him. He’ll be rich as hell thanks to his father, and you’ll both be set for life. That’s my prediction.”
Anger makes my blood run hot and I drop my arms, clenching my hands into fists. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to marry some rich, sexist asshole, especially because I don’t plan on ever getting married.”
“Uh huh.” Dad’s smug expression sort of makes me want to sock him in the face. “Just watch. I know how this goes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m starting to get offended.
“Look at you, Hayden. I know plenty of men who have sons around your age. They’ll take one look at you and ask me how we can hook you up with junior,” he says.
“That’s so gross.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not an animal you can barter with for a deal.”
“You’d be surprised how many mergers are made through marriage, still to this day.” He raises a brow. “I’ve already got my sights set on someone for Palmer.”
Yikes. That sounds awful. “Does Palmer know this?”
“She’s aware.”
That’s all he says. She’s aware.
Aware that our father has set her up with someone he hopes she’ll eventually marry? I wonder if he paid off the guy’s dad? So freaking disgusting.
“I’m not going,” I say firmly. “I’ll head back to Fresno tonight.”
I turn on my heel, ready to make my escape from his suddenly stifling office when I hear him speak.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I meant what I said about cutting you off.”
His voice is sharp. A tone I haven’t heard him use on me in a long time. Not since I was sixteen and snuck out of the house to go over to a boy’s house for a party, where I got drunk. Oh, my dad was so pissed at me. I was grounded for weeks.
Totally worth it, though. I made out with Chad Radwell that night. He was eighteen and on the varsity baseball team.
I glance over my shoulder, hating how neutral my father’s expression is. Innocent, despite the implied threat in his voice. I’m sure my emotions are written all over my face, because his softens, and his tone changes, turning almost cajoling.
“Come on, Hay. Do this for your dad. I’m not asking you to accept anyone’s engagement offer tonight. Just—see if any of these boys you meet could have…potential.”
“I don’t live here.”
“It doesn’t matter. We live in a modern world. You could have Zoom dates,” he suggests, a chuckle escaping him. “You could come home for the weekend. Lots of sons don’t live here either. They’re scattered all over the country, attending college. Working.”
“I’m not interested in an old fart,” I warn him, and now he flat out laughs.
“Of course you’re not. I wouldn’t pair you up with anyone older than…thirty.”
“Oh. So someone around Lauri’s age then.” That was probably a shitty thing to say, but come on.
It’s the truth.
“Yes, exactly.” His expression is now warm and inviting, and I feel myself start to soften as well. He does this sort of thing sometimes. Emotional blackmail. Bargaining chips to get what he wants.
It’s frustrating.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say, which is the truth. I haven’t been to the country club in a long time. It’s something I avoid as much as possible.
“Go shopping. Take Palmer,” he suggests, checking his Rolex. “You still have time. We won’t leave for the club until six-thirty. Seven at the latest.”
I’m not about to turn down a shopping trip. He knows me far too well. “You don’t mind?”
He rises to his feet and stops directly in front of me, reaching out to gently clasp my upper arms and stare into my eyes. Sincere, warm Dad is replacing mean, cold Dad of a few minutes ago. “Of course, I don’t mind. Get whatever you want. Dress. Shoes. New makeup. Jewelry. Whatever.”
My mind races at the possibilities. I like to think I want to change the world as a teacher, one six-year-old at a time, but I also know the truth: sometimes, I’m a materialistic bitch who likes shopping at Chanel and Gucci.