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Once I reached adulthood, he’d answered the many questions he’d once evaded about their relationship. It turned out that Alondra had put on a pretense when they first met. A pretense that fizzled away during their two-year-long marriage. A marriage that he was positive would never have lasted even if he hadn’t fallen for Troy.
Plastering a serene smile on my face so that my dads wouldn’t sense that I was in a funk, I dropped my phone into my purse, exited the car, and crossed to the front door of the massive stately mansion. It was Troy who answered, wearing his usual crooked smile.
Affection flooded me. I knew that some people didn’t understand why I’d call him ‘Dad’ when he wasn’t my biological father, but I didn’t see how that was at all relevant. He was as much a father to me as Ansel.
“Hey, darling girl, come on through.” Troy kissed my cheek as I entered.
His cologne washed over me, as comforting as his rich brown eyes that always held a smile. The tall, broad, dark-skinned male had been a model in his early years before falling into acting. He’d been scouted as a teen.
Right then, I admired his gold shirt, the cuffs black like the tip of his collar. It was stylish and edgy like most of his wardrobe. He rarely wore simple tees or sweaters. “Love the shirt. It’s very you.”
“When do I not look good?” he asked, closing the door.
“Rarely,” I replied, teasing him.
He gave me a look of mock offense. “The answer is ‘never.’”
“Uh-huh.”
He sniffed, leading the way into the fabulous kitchen. “Our daughter is criticizing my dress sense.”
Ansel looked up from the vegetable he was slicing on the cutting board, his brow lifting.
I gave Troy’s hard chest a poke. “I did no such thing. Stop trying to stir the pot.” Crossing to Ansel, I kissed his bristly cheek. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hello, baby.” He set down the knife, turned away from the countertop, and gave me a quick hug, enveloping me in his thick arms. He was even taller and broader than Troy. Just one big, blond teddy bear. “Hope you’re hungry,” he added, releasing me.
“Starving.” Especially now that I was breathing in air laced with the scents of herbs and spices. I came for dinner at least once a week, sometimes bringing along one of my friends if they weren’t busy. No one turned down an opportunity to enjoy Ansel’s cooking unless they had to.“Need any help?”
Ansel shook his head. “No, you just sit and relax.”
I gratefully accepted a glass of wine from Troy as we both took a seat at the breakfast bar.
Eyes the same blue-green as mine flicked to me. “Everything going well with work?”
I nodded. “Yep, I’m having fun with my current project. What about you two?”
We fired casual questions at each other, catching up and exchanging funny anecdotes. But I differed from all three of my parents in one very essential way—I wasterribleat acting. So I wasn’t all that surprised when both men turned to me, their expressions full of concern.
Troy nudged me. “Tell us what’s wrong.” It was a sweet invitation to confide, not a nosy demand.
I flicked a hand. “It’s not important.”
“It is if it’s bothering you.” Ansel slightly adjusted the position of a pot lid. “What happened?”
“Nothing terrible, I promise.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t relevant.” Ansel crossed to the other side of the breakfast bar and leaned across it, planting his lower arms on its surface. “Let it out, baby. You know you’ll feel better for offloading it.”
“I also know that it won’t make great dinner conversation.”
“Dinner’s not quite ready yet, so we can talk about this before we eat. Then you can enjoy the rest of your evening instead of mentally chewing on whatever’s bothering you.”
“Talk to us,” coaxed Troy, squeezing my arm. “What is it?”
I rubbed at my face. “Alondra. Need I say more?”
Ansel’s mouth firmed. “She hasn’t done another interview where she’s presented herself as the perfect mother, has she?”
