Page 105 of XXXVII: The Elite
I wave a hand in his direction. “Even if he was her real father, and the chances of that are slim, he’d have to prove he wants her before I’d give him any rights. And he literally has nothing without my say. I’ve researched the hell out of this. It doesn’t matter how much money he has, he couldn’t force a DNA test by claiming we had sex once. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want her, and he doesn’t trust me at all. If I ever said I suspected he was her father, he’d probably accuse me of trying to take more of his money.”
And I don’t even want to think about what it would mean for Cadence. His thinly veiled disdain for me was hard enough to bear these last five years.
If he rejected my little girl, my heart would break in two.
EIGHT
Camden
It smells like her.
How strange. It’s only her clothes in boxes, makeup in giant tin cases, and one pillow she insisted is “more comfortable than the clouds in heaven” when I told her that her new bed already has plenty of them. And yet the whole room smells like Lauren Henderson.
I’m brought back to those moments in high school when I’d open the front door and let her into our house. She’d brush past me with hardly a look, intent on seeing Hunter. Even in the midst of my disdain for her rudeness, her scent would wash over me, and I’d be filled with longing.
Attraction is visceral, and it’s unfortunate. I’ve always wanted her, even when I couldn’t stand her.
And in a few hours, I’ll have her.
That scent of hers will be all over my bed. All over me. God, my heart is racing like I’m on something. I’m so frantic to get her home.
She texted me two hours ago to say that her family was about to leave SeaWorld, but knowing Lauren’s sense of time, it will probably be another two hours from now.
I was so eager to get this night started, I stupidly ended our rehearsal early. Since then, I’ve been wandering around the house trying to pass the time. I tried watching TV, but I couldn’t concentrate. I tried tidying up the kitchen, but my housecleaning service took care of everything, so there was hardly anything to do.
So here I am in her bedroom. I’ve been standing here as if I can piece together the last five years of her life by staring at the piles and boxes of her clothing and makeup.
The doorbell chimes, and my stomach jolts. I keep my steps measured as I walk downstairs, not wanting to show how eager I am, and yet I’m still almost dizzy by the time I make it to the foyer. When I yank open the door, a tingling sensation runs over my skin.
She stands with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, wearing what looks like athletic wear and a messy knot of hair on the top her head, like coming to this house is the most normal thing in the world. Like she’s only been out for a bit, and now she’s home.
She looks tired.
She looks beautiful.
“How was SeaWorld?” I’m surprised at how nonchalant I sound, as if I haven’t spent the last three hours roaming the house like a lonely lapdog whose life revolves around her.
“Ugh,” she groans, pushing past me as she makes her way inside, and that scent washes over me, just like I remember.
“Packed, of course. God, don’t you hate SeaWorld?”
My eyes still closed, I smile to myself. I school my face into a blank expression before turning around. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Her tired green eyes meet mine. “Fucking Logan and Armaan had to go on every single rollercoaster, because they’re apparently both still twelve years old, and then Cadence started crying because the sea otter exhibit was closed, so I had to buy her a forty-dollar stuffed otter in the gift shop. Oh!” She raises both hands in the air, and I want to laugh. She’s so vivacious when she talks—her bright-green eyes expressive, her gestures wild. “And then she left it in the car when I dropped her off at her dad’s, so obviously she loves it and fully appreciates my financial sacrifice.”
When I smile warmly, she looks surprised, and I don’t like it. She’s given me that look almost every time I’ve smiled at her these past few days. Have I really been that much of an asshole these last few years that even a smile is shocking? “You won’t have to worry about forty dollar purchases anymore.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “I still can’t believe you’re paying off all of my student loans. And I get to live in this gorgeous house!” She spreads her arms wide and turns in a circle as she glances around. “I love all the glass. You can see the ocean everywhere. It reminds me of… What’s that famous architect’s name? Something Lloyd Wright…”
“Frank Lloyd Wright.”
Her head snaps in my direction. “Did he design this house?”
My smile stays fixed. I stare at her, trying to read her expression. “Are you joking?”
“No, why would I be joking?”
I gasp out a laugh. “This is a nice house, but not that nice. And it’s new. It was built probably fifty years after Frank Lloyd Wright died.”