Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
A snowplow rumbled by on the street, the room taking its time descending back into silence. “My biological father.” He blew out a sharp breath. “Oh shit. That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. My dad . . . Rudy. He isn’t really my dad. And he has no idea.”
Weight pressed down on her sternum. “Yes, he is. He is your dad,” she said firmly, somehow knowing that sentiment was important for him to hear, but there was so much more to unpack. “Help me understand. Your biological father is blackmailing you,” she said slowly. “If you don’t give him money, he’ll inform the public?”
“Yeah,” Beat said, voice rusted through. “Mel . . .”
“Yes?”
“It’s been going on for five years,” he rasped. “The amount of money he wants gets bigger every time he resurfaces.”
“Five years?” Moisture flooded her eyes, her legs beginning to tremble. “Oh my God. How are you living with the . . . the stress of this?”
“I live with it, so they don’t have to.”
“Meaning Octavia and Rudy have no idea? You’ve just been shouldering this all alone?”
He just barely inclined his head.
She felt dizzy. “Where has the money been coming from until now?”
“My own. The money I earn working for the foundation. Cashing in savings bonds, selling stocks. I won’t touch Ovations money, Mel. I won’t fucking touch it.”
“I know you won’t. Of course, you wouldn’t.”
He slowly let out a breath, as if relieved by her belief in him. “Until this year, my own funds were enough, but like I said, the amount escalates.”
“Beat. You have to tell your mother.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “After this life she’s given me, I can handle this one goddamn thing for her. I can stop her being dragged by the press, like they did to you. Being adored is her lifeblood. And my dad . . .” He closed his eyes. “Imagine finding out the wife you’ve been worshipping for over three decades cheated and your son isn’t really your son? I can protect them from that pain.”
“It’s not your job, Beat,” she said in a shaky voice. “You won’t be able to sustain the increasing demand for money forever. Or the stress is going to kill you. Please.”
His eyes remained closed for a breath. “For now, can telling you about this be enough?”
No, she wanted to scream out of fear and frustration. “It can be a good first step,” she said, overruling the urge. “I’m glad you told me.”
A touch of tension left his bunched shoulders. “I’m glad, too.”
She curled her fingers into the hem of her skirt and squeezed. “Who is he?”
“No one of consequence to you, Mel.” His tone held a note of warning. “If you think I’m being unreasonable by protecting my parents from this, you don’t want to see how I’d react if this bullshit came anywhere near you.”
The flash of malice in his gaze gave Melody some idea. She had no choice but to refrain from pressing the issue. For now. She needed him to continue to confide in her. Needed him to be comfortable opening up to her so she could help him. Patience was key. If he’d told no one, not a single person in five years of suffering through the constant blackmail, tonight’s progress was big enough already. “Do you want a drink?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring it in.”
With a weary nod, Beat stood, braced his hands on the breakfast bar for a moment, and watched her beneath drawn-together brows. Then he pushed off and went toward the living room, sinking down onto the couch. Melody retrieved a bottle of whiskey from her cabinet, which she’d actually bought for a cupcake recipe, eons ago, and poured him a glass. After some thought, she poured herself one, too, and carried both into the living area.
Her stocking-clad feet didn’t make a sound. That was probably why he didn’t hear her coming. Probably why he crushed her nightshirt to his nose and inhaled roughly, making a low sound, before doing it again. Desperately taking in the scent of her, no idea she watched from the space in between the kitchen and the living area, her pulse accelerating, a sandbag dropping low, low, low in her belly.
Knowing she had to make her presence known soon, Melody took a step—and the floorboard beneath her foot creaked. Beat dropped the nightshirt guiltily, raking a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, as if knowing he’d been caught.
Melody set the drinks down on her coffee table and sat down beside him.
She only survived five seconds without looking sideways at him, cherishing the way the lamplight highlighted and shadowed his cheekbones, rejoicing in the way he looked in her apartment, among her things. And then she urged him down onto the couch so he was lying on his side. After a few moments of studying him—savoring his quickened breathing, the expansion of his pupils—she followed suit, lying on her side in front of him, her back to his chest.