“Yes, ma’am.”
I start washing, since if I don’t, I’m not getting a bite.
The doorbell rings, and I glance in that direction. It’s early for visitors. And even if it’s about the party, it’s at Grandma’s place, not here.
“I’ll get it,” Erin says as I rinse the last of the bowls and put the spoons in the dishwasher.
I follow her out in case it’s Shelly—unlikely, but you never know—or Mrs. Morris. I’m not letting Erin experience another round of “Isn’t this awkward and inappropriate” with anybody from my past.
But the person at the door is a man I’ve never seen before. A tall, brown-haired fellow with wide-set hazel eyes. He’s dressed in a crisp suit, his back straight. Disapproval gathers like storm clouds in his gaze as he glares at Erin.
My hackles rise. Who the hell is he to look at Erin like that?
“Dad…?” she whispers.
Dad? I study him more carefully. This is the man who told Erin she was going to end up like her mother, when instead she needed his support and love. Nobody else could’ve destroyed her sense of security and self so effectively.
As though noticing my scrutiny, he looks up. The rebuke in his eyes melts away, replaced by a calculated warmth and precise smile that reminds me of a high-earning used-car salesman.
What a creep.
“You must be David Darling.” He comes forward, past Erin, and extends his hand. “I’m Bill Clare. Erin’s dad.”
Pasting on my most polite smile, I wrap my hand around his, my grip tight enough to grind his bones together, then pump twice, while linking my other hand with Erin. I’m here. You aren’t alone.
“What are you doing here?” Erin asks, her voice a bit unsteady.
“Oh, nothing much. I heard about Alexandra Darling’s party, and her assistant sent me an invitation.”
Ophelia’s too sharp to send one to him. More like he called and begged his way in. Or maybe he thought he could just crash the event. He wouldn’t be the first to try.
“Did she?” I say, but I don’t invite him in. “Then you know the party isn’t here and you’re way too early.”
His expression remains the same. Shameless jerk. “Well, sure. But I wanted to see you. And my daughter.”
Erin tenses. I run my thumb along the back of her hand, communicating silent support.
“I understand you two are engaged now.” His tone’s mildly chiding, but he adds, “That’s excellent. She’s lucky to have you.”
Erin’s mouth is tight, her good humor from spending the morning baking with Mom gone. For that alone, my hate for him increases tenfold. “We’re lucky to have each other.”
“You must love her a lot.”
Her neck muscles harden so fast that I’m afraid she might pull something.
“Of course I do. Why else would I marry her?” I say coldly.
He laughs. It’s the laugh people laugh when they don’t quite believe you.
Asshole. I fantasize about punching him.
“I was thinking,” he starts. “I’m pretty sure Erin already told you about it—”
“Dad, don’t!” Erin says, her face bright red now.
He plows on like she hasn’t said a word. Or maybe he isn’t listening because he doesn’t consider her important. A big mistake. “Don’t you think it’d be great for you to help my campaign?” He flings a bright smile at me. “She would certainly want you to. After all, it’s for everyone’s good that I win the special election. Think about the future.”
Now I see why his presence offends me, why he seems so smarmy. He’s not just a politician, but a politician who wants my money and is willing to use the daughter he’s been browbeating all her life to get it.