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After a night in his huge arms, feeling safe and secure like I’ve never felt before, I wake with a jolt. The sun in the room is too bright for me, and my mouth is dry from me drooling all over the pillow, thinking and dreaming of Mark, most likely the reason.
To make matters worse, Mark’s cheerful, freshly shaved face appears before my morning train-wreck face. He’s beaming from ear to ear and kissing me good morning how a dog must like the taste of anything so gross.
“Morning,” he croons, resting his face in his hands as he squats by the bed, gazing into my eyes like he could do it all day.
“I’m heading to the office. Wanna come? Your dad’s being picked up and will meet us there… if you wanna go,” he remarks.
I bolt upright, holding my head, suddenly feeling the gravity of everything harder than I ever thought I could. I’m not exactly a morning person either, so wherever the hell Mark’s getting his morning chipper routine from, he can cut me in on a share of it.
“How can you act so calmly?” I ask, shaking my head. “How can you smile about it?” I groan, but Mark only smiles wider.
“I’ve laid out some clothes for you,” he says, glancing at his watch, “but we leave in ten, so…” He sounds more like a boss than a husband, but it sure gets my ass moving.
I don’t want to face my father, especially right this minute, but the thought of Mark “taking care of it,” as he’d say, all by himself? No way. I need to get my shit together. I can formulate a battle plan on the way, but I don’t want things to go south with my dad.
I’ll just remind him about what Mom really wanted.
“I didn’t know you had an office?” I half ask, munching on a slice of lukewarm toast as Mark wastes no time giving me the “hurry up” once I get dressed.
He doesn’t mention anything about the suite or where we’ll stay. What will happen to all this stuff? He looks like a man with something bigger on his mind.
There’s a private car waiting out front, the same driver from yesterday.
Yesterday… It feels like a lifetime already.
I can’t waver from my feelings for Mark. I’ve promised myself to him for a lifetime. Nothing can break that promise. Not even my dad.
It’s a slow ride through city traffic until we come to a glass office high-rise.
“Don’t tell me you own this, too?” I try to joke to ease my nerves. Mark laughs heartily, even slapping his huge thigh through his thousand-dollar suit pants.
“Only the top floors,” he says matter-of-factly after wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, still finding whatever I said hilarious.
Zooming up in a private elevator and finding myself in a wide foyer with enormous glass doors and heavy brass handles everywhere, I wonder what exactly Mark does all day when he’s not sweeping young virgins off their feet.
Well-dressed and very busy-looking people slip by. All of them wish “Mr. Meyers” a very good morning before he ushers me into an area I can sense is his part of all this—his office. There’s a reception area and a secretary who rattles off a ton of things. Mark nods and frowns as he listens, finally announcing we’re only to be disturbed when my dad arrives.
“Everything else can wait,” he says firmly, and like everything else he’s said to any of these people, I get the instant impression that when Mark speaks, it’s an order.
Like his home, Mark’s office is big. It’s not crammed with stuff but looks more like a floor of an art gallery with wide open spaces. Heavy furniture and a few pieces of sculpture and art look so valuable I know well enough to steer clear of them.
“Take a seat,” Mark smiles, checking his watch briefly. “Your dad should be here. Ha! We were just talking about you!” he exclaims as my dad appears through one of the many doorways leading to and from the office.
“Daddy!” I exclaim, sounding more alarmed than glad to see him. He creases a smile, and I make an effort to hug him. He feels rigid, like he doesn’t want to be here, but I know how the long-haul flight feels. If he’s just come off the plane, it’s gonna take a while to reorient himself.
“Hi, Honey,” my dad says absently, his eyes shifting to Mark straightaway. “You two have a chance to talk anything over?” he asks, giving a crooked smile that’s more of a grimace.
I get the strong feeling that my dad thinks Mark hasn’t convinced me to sign over my share of the house, and he’d be correct, but not because of anything Mark said or did. It’s my decision.
