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But that wasn’t the case at all.
Ford was friendly and nice. He made me laugh and actually wanted to spend time together. When the school year began, he took me under his protective wing and introduced me to all of his friends.
Since Ford was popular—I mean, duh, of course he was—I was accepted without question.
Before the marriage, Mom and I scraped by, living paycheck to paycheck. I was able to take a dance class or two by helping out with beginner level ones as a way to pay for them. Once Mom and Crawford tied the knot, I was able to immerse myself in lessons and took them five days a week for hours at a time.
It was utter bliss.
After my new stepfather discovered how important dance was to me, he built a private studio in the basement. It was open and airy with wood floors and mirrored walls. I spent all my time there and it quickly became my happy place.
Within a matter of months, Ford’s father felt like my own. It was devastating when they split up five years later. I was terrified that Crawford would turn his back on me the way my own father had.
As soon as Ford cuts the engine, I blink back to the present and pop open the door, relieved to escape the stifling confines of the vehicle before slamming it shut.
He trails after me as I jog up the wide stone stairs.
“Not even going to wait for me, huh?” he calls out, humor simmering in his deep voice. It’s like the guy is trying to burrow as far as possible under my skin. “How rude.”
It’s tempting to flip him off for a second time but I’m trying to limit myself to one bird a day where Ford is concerned. Trust me, it’s not easy. Plus, I’m well aware that he takes perverse pleasure in riling me up.
The guy is like an overgrown child.
He’d prefer negative attention to no attention at all.
My fingers wrap around the intricate silver door handle before thrusting it open. I whirl around as Ford saunters up the stairs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His gaze stays pinned to mine the entire time.
Just as he reaches the porch, I slam the door shut in his face.
Then I twist the lock.
A smile curls around the edges of my lips. That was almost as satisfying as flipping him off earlier this afternoon.
I don’t take more than two strides inside the double-story foyer with its massive crystal chandelier that hangs from the ceiling as Crawford peeks his head out of his home office.
As soon as he catches sight of me, a genuine smile lights up his features. With his salt-and-pepper hair and clean-shaven jaw, he’s a handsome man in his early fifties. After Mom took off, I assumed it would only be a matter of time before another woman snapped him up—after all, the man is a real catch—but that never happened.
I have the sneaking suspicion he’s still in love with Pamela.
Poor bastard.
He never should have married her in the first place.
At the end of the day, I love my mother. But she wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a politician.
What she loved most was the financial security Crawford provided. And continues to provide with fat alimony payments that are directly deposited into her account every other week. It allows her to continue living the lavish lifestyle she quickly became accustomed to.
“How’s my girl doing?” Crawford asks, opening his arms wide.
That’s all the invitation I need to fly into them. My eyelids feather closed, and my muscles loosen as I sink into the warm embrace. I inhale a deep breath of the sandalwood cologne that clings to him. There’s something comforting and solid about his presence.
It’s now impossible to imagine my life without him filling it.
“I’m fine. How about you?”
“Oh, can’t complain. I’m glad you two are here for dinner. It’s a welcome break.”
“You work way too hard,” I scold. Between his congressional duties and the construction business he owns, he’s constantly burning the candle at both ends.
