Bella
Iwas sure my face was scorching as my father studied me closely. I bustled around the kitchen, making him tea the way he liked it.
“I’d like to speak to my daughter alone if that’s allowed,” Alfie muttered at Stone, glaring at him.
Stone looked impeccable. You’d barely know that he’d just been grinding me into the wall, dry-humping me all the way to heaven. On the other hand, I was sure I was a sweaty, disheveled mess.
“Dad—” I began, shocked at his rudeness.
“It’s fine. Bella can do what she wants, which she knows,” Stone replied, his dark eyes catching mine.
A flash of heat shot through me at his smoldering gaze. That look promised something later. It promised the continuation of before, and fuck if that didn’t make me a slippery mess all over again. I watched his broad back disappearing down the hall before turning my attention to my father, who was watching me with an increasingly red face.
“Un-fucking-believable. The nerve of that man,” Alfie muttered.
I took the steaming kettle off the boil and filled two cups with water. “What? The nerve of expecting to be paid back?”
“For Christ’s sake, Bella. Are you on his side now?”
“Side?” I asked incredulously. “What do you mean side? Are we in high school?”
Alfie blinked at me, clearly surprised. Guilt rose in my throat. How could I forget? I didn’t shout at my father or make trouble for him. I was the reason his life sucked. I’d had to repeat that an awful lot lately. Since coming to Thorn Hill, it was harder and harder to remember.
“Bella, love, I’m worried about you. Stone Preston isn’t a good man. His father was terrible, a real piece of work. Violent and cunning, he made his money in terrible ways, and I’ll bet his son is no different.”
“I think lending you money wasn’t a usual thing for Stone. He has proper investments,” I said, immediately dismissing Alfie’s words. Stone hardly had zoom meetings to threaten people, did he?
“He’s manipulative and charming… just like his father. Be careful here. I don’t like you being here,” Alfie continued.
My patience was running low, and I banged his cup down a little too aggressively, spilling tea on my hand. “Ow!” I went to the sink, ran the cold water, and stuck my hand beneath it.
“Be careful! You don’t want to mark up your hands, love. You’re a beauty queen, just like your mother. The next pageant is only a few months away,” Alfie said as he followed me to the sink and lingered at my side.
“I’m not doing another one, dad. I told you that,” I reminded him.
He snorted. “That was before you won. You’re a winner now. You have to go for it, see where it takes you. Hold your hand under longer–don’t let it mark your skin.” He reached for my hand, and I jerked it away. The anger that was always simmering beneath the surface when I was around my father was boiling dangerously high.
“I won’t be doing it again, so don’t ask me, and leave my hand. A little mark doesn’t matter,” I snapped. I thought about Stone’s left hand. “A big mark doesn’t matter either, come to think of it. There’s more to life than looking pretty all the time.”
Alfie stepped back, visibly shaken.
Guilt swarmed over me. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re not thinking straight. Once all this dust settles, you’ll see how good it is for you. Stone wouldn’t have agreed to the repayment terms if you hadn’t been my little beauty queen, would he? Who knows what he would have done to your poor old dad?” Alfie muttered, gripping his scalding tea tightly and taking a swig.
I let out a frustrated sigh and tried to push my annoyance at the man who’d raised me back down in my chest. It could explode after he left and not before.
“Everything is fine. We have an agreement. I’m keeping my part, and Stone is keeping his. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Alfie laughed, a bitter and twisted sound. He spun away from me to peer out the window at the gardens. “That’s because you don’t know any better. I know this house. I know this family. You don’t want to get on Stone’s bad side. But you won’t. I saw the way he looked at you. He’ll be good to you. Is that gardener still here? Samuel?”
I nodded.
He let out a bitter laugh. “Stone and he were always thick as thieves. He’s buttering up the millionaire to keep his cushy life. Stone takes care of the ones he likes.” Alfie gave me a sideways look that made my blood run cold. What the fuck?
“Look, Dad, if you’re not here to see me, you’d better go. This whole situation is what it is, and it’s not terrible,” I told him, trying to release my anger and head off the direction of Alfie’s thoughts. Like always around my father, I fought not to let my irritation show.
“Just promise one thing, Bella. Promise your old man,” Alfie said, getting up to take my hand. I resisted the urge to pull it away.
“What?”
“If Stone is partial to you, if he likes you, honey, make sure to talk good about me to him. You never know when I might need another loan, and if he is fond of you, he’ll be more forgiving the next time. You’re my beauty queen. My beautiful girl. What man wouldn’t be partial to you? Just be sure to look your best. What is that outfit you have on? He won’t look at you like a woman if you wear shapeless stuff around him.”
I stared at my father, my words turning to ash in my mouth. Next time? He was already thinking about when he’d owe Stone again without paying off the first debt. I hated him at that moment more than anything else in the world. I hated him.
“That’s not happening, so just forget it.”
Alfie frowned at me like I was the dumbest person on the planet, and to him, I probably was. He saw nothing wrong with whoring me out to squeeze more money from the man of the house.
“I think that’s shortsighted, Bella, love. If not that, then when are you going to get back to work? We need the paycheck from the diner and the bar.”
All my love for this man went up in a puff of smoke, curling up inside my chest like acid. “You’re telling me you need me to get back to my menial jobs while working here for free to pay off your debt?” I asked, my voice even. “If you want to pick up my shifts, go ahead.”
“Bella, you know I have to man Joanie’s. The bookstore is all I have left of your mother, and it’s her legacy. It’s not my fault that business has been so poor.”
The rage passed quickly, crushed under the weight of my usual cycle of guilt. It’s my fault he didn’t have a family to go home to. My fault he had financial problems after my mother died.
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