“Maybe you can ask her to teach you, then.” Still have no clue what contouring is. I make a mental note to Google it later.
“Forget it. It’s stupid.” She looks at the food with disgust. “And I can’t eat this much, Dad. I’m going to get fat. Is that what you want?”
“What? No!” Why the hell is she worried about being fat? She’s as skinny as a stick. Did Geneva give her crap about her weight? My ex-wife constantly whines about her diet, steps on the scale every morning and evening, and calipers her thighs and triceps on a regular basis.
“You gave me as much food as you.”
I look down. Well…yeah. But only because that’s how the salmon filets were cut! If she must, she should blame the grocery store. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to eat it all of it.”
“Never mind. I’m going to go finish watching that tutorial.” She slides off the chair and goes back to her room.
I stare at the door. I should probably go tell her to come out and eat. Or maybe threaten her. If you don’t eat now, you aren’t getting anything later. That’s what my mother would’ve done.
But somehow I can’t. Vi’s attitude is… Well, it’s messed up because of me. I should’ve known she wasn’t getting the attention and love she needed from her mom because Geneva was too busy screwing around behind my back.
But even that isn’t the biggest reason for my anger and frustration. It’s that Geneva never wanted Vi…and I didn’t realize until it was too late.
Princess hops up on the table. She looks at me long and hard, like she wants something. Instead of scolding her for being on the table, I scratch her head. Narrowing her eyes, she makes a weird half-growl sound in her throat. She’s probably too unhappy about her circumstances to really purr. She was Geneva’s cat, but was abandoned when my ex discovered her fiancé was allergic to felines. To Geneva, the only thing that matters is what she wants, nothing else.
You can always recover, I tell myself. Geneva might be gone, but I’m here. I’m going to take Vi to the damn wedding, give my daughter the closure she needs, and then I’m going to do my best to provide for Vi and give her a life of normalcy.
Chapter Eight
Kim
“You are amazing. Incredible.”
Wyatt’s voice is soft and mellow. And part of me melts away, as though I’m a piece of warm caramel and he’s a source of heat…
Yeah. Like an incinerator.
Not like an incinerator. That’s ridiculous. There has to be a better term…
A bet.
A dumb bet to see who pops your cherry first.
My heart races, but for a very different reason. Cold shivers through me, and I feel the old anger surging.
“I was drunk and taken advantage of.”
Just another bet. And Wyatt wins again.
The fucker smirks as he picks up the scotch—the one my boss loves so much—and raises it in my direction. A toast!
Hilary hands me a phone. “It’s a burner. A hit man. Discreet. Affordable.”
Somebody falls off a balcony with a yell. I don’t think it’s Wyatt.
“You lost again.” He laughs. “I always win, Kim. Always. Looooserrr…”
No! I’m not a loser. I’m not what I used to be. I’m more.
“Lo-ser! Lo-ser!”
“Scaaaaaaarfaaaaace!”
The taunts continue, and the laughter rings —