The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(58)

“Go get him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Luke, we should just—” I try to convince him to go, to head to the room, order room service, anything but cause a scene. I don’t want to be here, anyway. It’s just another game my dad is playing, another way to make me feel less than, to remind me of who I am—and who I’m not.

“Go get her father. This is clearly a mix-up, as this is her father’s wedding and she’s his only daughter.” The hostess looks to the manager, who returns the same “eek!” look I’m feeling in my gut before nodding a short, concise nod. The waitress runs off.

“Just a few moments. If you’ll step aside so we can help other guests?” We do as she asks, letting the small line through. Each person checks out, each finely dressed couple on the list. Some I recognize, some giving me snide looks.

“Let’s go.” It’s a plea. A plea for him to let me leave, get out of here, not endure this new drama.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” I say, the whine evident in my voice. “You said we could skip it before.” His face is granite when he speaks.

“I changed my mind. You need to be here to show your face. You deserve to be here more than anyone else as his daughter. Don’t let this game get to you. Let it help you win. Don’t let them think they won, that you ran off with your tail between your legs.” I stare at him, really seeing him, and in there, I see anger—not at me, but for me.

“I don’t care, really, honey. It’s not a big deal.”

“You think I’m going to let you cry in my arms over this fuckwad and the way he makes you feel and let him pull this hours later? Do you think I’m going to let him think he got to you, let him miss out on seeing you, fucking beautiful and intelligent and sweet? Absolutely not. Chin up, sweetheart. Open your eyes. I’m not backing down until you have everything you deserve. And after, I’m sticking around to make sure you keep it.”

My eyes water as I try to keep my composure.

“He’s coming,” Luke says, eyes above my head at something behind me. I turn to look, and he is 0151my dad, tall and trim in a dark blue suit with a woman I vaguely recognize as his fiancé on his arm. God, she’s young. But she could be the spitting image of my mom twenty years ago if I looked deeper. Same dark hair, olive skin. Curvy build. I give it a year before everyone in this room stops seeing those curves as seductive and youthful and starts making quips about new workout routines and fancy diets. I’ve seen it before.

“What seems to be the issue here?” The hostess looks from her manager to me to my father with a fearful expression.

“Uh, sir, this woman says she should be on the list?” He looks at me, giving me a top to toe.

“Cassandra?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“I didn’t know you were coming.” His voice is clipped, uninterested.

“We talked this morning.”

“But you’re not even staying in the hotel,” his bride-to-be says. Veronica. That’s her name.

“We are.” It’s Luke, a strong arm on my waist, holding me to him and holding me up, keeping me from falling down to the ground.

“And who are you?”

“Lucas Dawson.” This is the first time I’ve seen this side of Luke. I know he grew up with money, but his family doesn’t act like it. I know his dad wanted him to go the businessman route, the way of introductions, formal meetings, and firm handshakes. Today, his clothes are similar in quality to our first date—fine brands but expensive shoes. His hand goes out to my dad’s in a masculine showdown of dominance. A showdown I know my father did not expect, a showdown I’m not sure he even knows is happening.

“Dawson. Do you know Jack Dawson?” The businessman’s voice has been switched on, always game for an opportunity to increase his standing, his wealth.

“My father.”

“You don’t say? I was just working on a project with him.”

“I’ll be sure to send my regards to him.” My dad looks to me, another top to toe, taking in my outfit, body, hair, and makeup. As always, it’s clear his mental calculations have come up short.

“What are you doing here with my daughter?”

“I’m lucky enough to be her date this weekend.” His hand tightens on my waist, not for my dad’s benefit and not even for my own. It’s a subtle, tiny moment of frustration. Now he’s seeing it. Seeing what I was dreading, dying to avoid.

“With Cassandra?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do this weekend.” God, the words cut. The fact he’d say this to a perfect stranger with me standing right here… I shouldn’t be surprised, Hell. I’m not. It’s not even the words that shock me—I’ve heard them and variations of them for years, as soon as the facade of good dad faded with ‘good husband.’ But having Luke hear them?

“No place I’d rather be.” My stomach flip-flops at Luke’s words.

“Well, there will be quite a few young, single women here. Maybe I can introduce you to one of the nieces. It would be wonderful to have a family connection to Dawson Financials.” My stomach turns with embarrassment, eyes burning. I want to die, to evaporate into the air, to go into a time machine and tell myself not to come to this stupid, stupid event. But of course, none of that is possible, so I simply move my eyes to the floor, my body going slack like they tell you to do when a bear attacks. Make them think you’re dead so they lose interest. Will that work in this situation?