Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

Unlike my father’s trial, Pratt’s was over fast. With evidence stacked against him, they didn’t want to drag it out longer than it needed to be. He was found guilty for the premediated first-degree murder of Anthony Saint James and sentenced to life without parole, with twenty additional years added for each manufacturing charge. I was cooking dinner for Theo and myself when the sentencing was announced on every news channel known to man, with reporters mentioning the lack of commentary I’d made since Pratt’s arrest.

It wasn’t for the news’ lack of trying. Reporters had called and emailed, but I refused to talk. Sophie and Lydia were both targeted, and agreed it was better not to speak on the matter, even though Sophie had made it known she had thoughts on what she wanted Richard Pratt to know regarding her brother’s death. I wasn’t sure how Lydia talked her down from it, but nobody had gotten one word from any Saint James family member.

Thankfully, nobody had found my new address, which meant my lawn wasn’t littered with men and women holding cameras and microphones. There were no pictures surfacing of me or judgmental comments if I was out wearing leggings and baggy shirts, or old shoes, or any articles on my fluctuating weight from the time I’d moved to the time I’d settled into my new life, to the time Pratt’s trial ended. The anxiety of waiting for something bad to happen had made the first few weeks in the new house tough while news updates on the trial went viral, but nobody had ever pulled me in like I feared. I’d eaten. I’d painted. Sometimes, I’d join Theo in the gym he’d hired people to help set up in the large basement of our four-bedroom home.

It was four days after Richard Pratt was escorted to Rikers Island when I got a call from the prison’s rep telling me about a settlement I’d be getting for the death of my father by negligence of the prison guards. I’d all but dropped my paint palette on myself when they told me how much it was for.

Now, I was squeezing the much larger hand tucked in mine and staring at the blueprints of the old warehouse where my parents had fallen in love, before they began construction. The settlement had been more money than I knew what to do with, and I’d seen what high dollar amounts did to people, so I chose to put it to use. The place my parents loved was being turned into a recreational center for disadvantaged youth, where there would be classes for anything you could imagine. Painting. Dancing. Swimming. Thanks to Ripley, the center would host various groups for addiction, alcoholism, and eating disorders every week for those who needed help—the people like Kat, and the people like me, and the hundreds of others that hadn’t found the support they needed.

Even though Theo had asked multiple times if I was sure I wanted to put all the money into the project, there wasn’t any question. It was the only other thing, besides loving him, that I was sure about in my entire life.

When the Anthony and Elizabeth Saint James Recreation Center opened, it had garnered the kind of attention that put hope back into the Saint James name that had long since dissolved after my father’s arrest.

I was no longer Adele, daughter of the former corrupt New York State governor.

I was Della.

Lover of Theodore West.

Painter of human reality.

And everyday fighter.

There was always going to be somebody who had something negative to say about the way I lived, but I was learning to cope with the acceptance that it was impossible to please everyone. Like the Lauren’s of the world who’d publicly spoken out about how her family, who was evidently also Evan Wallace’s, had never gotten the justice from my father. They received no payout compensation for his wrongdoings then, and received nothing from the Pratt scandal, seeking anything after the settlement I’d received had made national news.

I’d chosen not to follow the story, focusing solely on the future. If I thought about Evan drugging my drink because he was angry, or Lauren seeking restitution by bringing me down, I wouldn’t get to experience life away from the world I’d stepped out of. I hoped them the best, that Evan would sober up, that Lauren would be successful, and that their family found peace in any way they could. Like I had.

The bubble that had surrounded Theo and I in our new home was impenetrable. And when he’d said those four little words to me after finding me in my make-shift art studio, where my “Color Me Pretty” pictures hung with pride across the wall, I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life with him without one doubt in my mind, always dancing atop his shoes, watching TV that he may or may not have hated, and feeding him every recipe I taught myself.

“Do you want Denny’s?”

Want another father’s best friend romance from B. Celeste? Read Ollie and Charlie’s story in Kindle Unlimited!

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Age is just a number.

Just like he's just a boy and I'm just a girl.

Except that's not true, is it?

Because fifteen may be a number, but it's bigger than that. Bigger than us.

It's a number that separates us.

An excuse that keeps us apart.

But I'm not willing to give in until I get what I want.

After all, how many other girls can bring a grown man to his knees with one little smile?