“Maybe, yeah,” he says. “But the fact that he’s been so dismantled by you and yet still wants you to be a part of his life is something completely unheard of.”
I want to tell him that the only reason why I’m a part of Kayden’s life is purely professional. Though I’m not sure I still believe it. The weird feelings I get makes it so confusing to be around him. I simply can’t afford to think about them any deeper, especially when I just got out of a three-year relationship in the worst possible way.
When we finally pull up at our destination, Evans whistles at the huge, sprawling mansion in front of him.
It has a loud, French aristocratic feel: a gazillion windows lining every available wall, gaudy gold trimmings, and a driveway so wide you could fit a dozen cars in it. My dad has always longed for the pristine, upper-class fixtures to complement the wealth he’s accumulated through his divorces. It’s a shame he doesn’t have the taste to back it up.
“Holy shit,” Evans swears. “You’re like 90210 rich.”
“I’m not. My dad is,” I say as I climb out of the car and come up from behind to take the rest of my stuff from the trunk. “The alimony from his three previous marriages paid for all of this. So I wouldn’t exactly call him entrepreneur of the decade.”
“Sienna.” My dad bursts from the door, clad in a gold Versace shirt and a pair of khakis with pockets lining every inch of them. His outfit screams I’m going through a midlifecrisis. It honestly baffles me how he’s been able to court all these women with his God-awful sense of fashion.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Evans as I tap on the hood of his car.
“Anytime.” He winks at me before pulling out of the driveway.
My dad’s lips make a flat, disapproving line when I walk up to him. He eyes the distressed black denim jacket that barely covers my gym attire, along with my battered training shoes.
“You didn’t have time to change into something a bit nicer?”
“This is nice,” I insist, narrowing my eyes. How does a black tank top and gym tights not constitute as nice? “It’s what I wear all the time.”
“Right. I suppose it’s because of your fighting job.” My dad pauses, allowing the discontentment to reach his eyes.
“Well, I’m sure we have something better for you to change into in the house,” he says, though a little uncertain. He places a hand behind my back and guides me inside. “Come in. Let’s get the festivities under way.”
***
After setting my bags in the guest room and changing into a clean-cut baby-pink flare dress my dad brought for me, I linger around the living room for a while, eyes scanning the newly added furniture. There’s a couple more expensive-looking paintings on the walls, inside thick intricate frames.
Flowers are perched on every available surface imaginable, scenting the room with a sickly, funeral home–like smell.
I miss the modest suburban home where we used to live before my parents separated. We had a lot of good memories there. Beth and I sharing a small bedroom, bunking in each other’s beds and gossiping about which of the two of us had the best chance at the cute transfer student’s heart (we decided we both had equal opportunity to strike since I sat beside him in homeroom but Beth was in Model United Nations with him). Then, waking up the next morning with Mom downstairs in the kitchen, a warm smile on her face, cooking up another batch of waffles for us because Dad had already eaten the first round. The three of us making a mess in the kitchen trying to help her prep, making us late for school.
This new house just feels too sterile. A neat façade on the outside but a lifeless carcass inside.
“Sienna?” A soft, squeaky voice sounds from behind me.
A groan rips out of me. I should have known coming here would mean I’d have to face her. She’s standing by the doorway leading to the kitchen, and I try to side step her but she won’t budge.
“Get out of my way, Beth,” I snap.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Jax told me to stand up for myself.”
“So you do everything he tells you now?” I reel back, choking back a dry laugh. “Right, I almost forgot about your goody-two-shoes act. It’s hard to still see you that way.”
Her eyes flicker with hurt. “What’s it going to take to get you to forgive me?”
“Nothing. Like I said before, you’re dead to me.”
I make another attempt at escaping again but she blocks me with her arm, covering access to the doorway. I cut her an annoyed glare.
“Please. I want to try to fix this,” Beth says.
“Beth,” I hiss. “If you don’t get out of my fucking way—”
“Hello, girls,” a strong, feminine voice sounds soothingly from the other side of the doorway. “What’s going on here?”