But he’s not talking like I did, all professional with polished politeness. There’s a warmth there I haven’t heard before.
It makes him sound softer. Human, even.
Weird for a man who could cosplay as Wolverine.
“Tell me about your day.” I canhearhis smile.
I stop in the hall, unable to resist a little eavesdropping, staring at the alcove by the window where Holden sits.
A small, tinny voice comes through the speaker. One guess who’s on the other end.
The adorable, enthusiastic little girl I met when he showed up. Kit sounds like she’s telling him about some history project. Russian-inspired.
I’m no expert on Russian history, but I have the brief, overwhelming and totally inappropriate urge to crash their conversation to ask if she lovesAnastasialike I do.
Only the best animated movie ever.
I even did a project on Rasputin for a history class in college and the real deal wasbonkers.It’s pretty rare to find men who crawl out of the wilderness to hypnotize royalty while they fuck their way through the entire royal court.
Of course, I can’t mention that now. But hey, maybe when she’s older.
I mean, not that I’ll know her when she’s old enough to talk about the nitty-gritty of the freaky mystic con man who had the Tsarina in his palm until he was shot repeatedly and drowned. Probably better she doesn’t know about his murder or sex life until she’s in college.
A bit of rough,my history professor agreed.
But the high society ladies did love it, though. I get it, even if my tastes have always veered toward straight-edge, put together guys with just a hint of edge.
No judging.
Holden glances up and scowls when he sees me. It doesn’t help that I’m smiling like a soppy idiot at him.
His face tightens, icing over.
Goodbye loving father, hello emotionless hardass.
“Kit, I’ve got to go,” he says gruffly. “Remember, you can’t say a single word about the egg, homework or not. And when Grandma tells you it’s time for bed, you listen, okay? No reading past lights out.”
The exasperated “Daaaad” that comes through the speaker makes me laugh. I bite my tongue.
“I know, I know. I’m the worst, keeping my brilliant daughter from burning her eyes out until dawn on history books.” He glances at me, then away, stiffening in his seat. “Love you.”
“Love you too! Even when you’re mean,” she chirps back through the speaker.
My heart.
Holden ends the call and turns back to face me, tucking his phone away.
“Just look at you,” I tease, shaking my head. “Father of the year. I’m going to throw your name in for the trophy.”
“Never asked for an audience or a title.” He snorts and closes the laptop next to him.
“Sorry. It’s just nice, hearing you talk normal.” I resist the urge to walk up and pound his chest to see if it echoes. “Maybe thereisa beating heart in there somewhere.”
“And maybe you’re pushing your luck, smartass,” he throws back. “She’s a good kid, though.”
“You must miss her.”
“Sure do.”
