Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,11

Dad wearing his silk pajamas and house shoes. Even in his nightwear, he looked polished, like he could step into a board room and take command. To be fair, the buttons and lapels helped.

“Darjeeling?” he asked, gesturing toward the mugs.

I nodded.

“It was your mother’s—”

“Favorite,” I finished with a sad smile. “I know.” I nudged a cup his way.

He picked it up and sat at the bar. With his eyes closed, he took a tentative sip, and his lips formed a soft smile. Would the taste make me feel that same way?

I took a seat near him. “Is it okay if we talk?” I asked.

Slowly lowering his cup, he nodded. “What’s going on?”

I wrapped my hand around my mug, feeling the warmth transfer from the ceramic to my skin. It was almost too hot, but I held on anyway. As I took a deep breath, hints of citrus and more savory notes filled my nose. It took me back to being an eleven-year-old girl, lifting the cup to my mother’s lips.

A tear rolled down my cheek, and I wiped it away. “Daddy, I don’t want to get married to Ryde.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, and his shoulders straightened as he opened his mouth to argue.

“Please, Daddy, let me get it out.”

Seemingly frustrated, he obliged all the same.

“For eleven years, I watched you and Mom together. The perfect team. You reached for the stars, and she kept your feet on the ground. You showed her how precious she was, and she adored you. When you weren’t around, I’d watch her iron your clothes, even though we could have hired it out a million times over. She’d say, ‘Why would I let someone else do it when my husband can wear my love every day?’”

He closed his eyes against the memory, but I kept going.

“Daddy, I deserve the chance to have that kind of love. I deserve to have someone who loves me like the moon loves the stars, always shining for each other.”

“You don’t understand,” he said simply. “Marriage isn’t about choosing someone. It’s about choosing love.”

Hope began slipping from my chest, and I was flailing, desperate to hold on to it before my dad shut everything down. “How can you choose it when you don’t exist?”

“You might not understand now, but I hope you will eventually.”

“When?” I asked, tears flowing freeing now. “When will I understand? When I’m fifty and in a loveless marriage? When Ryde is cheating on set because his culture doesn’t teach him to ‘choose love’?”

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice forceful.

My fingers squeezed so tightly around the cup, it slipped from my fingers and slid across the island, sending the liquid everywhere and the mug crashing to the ground.

For a long moment, my father looked at the mess, then he turned to me. The problem? His expression didn’t change. To him, I was a mess. Something that needed to be cleaned up.

Even worse? Maybe he was right.

“Wipe up the tea,” he said. “The housekeepers can get the pieces.” He stood from the counter, leaving his cup of tea half drank.

With him out of sight, I collapsed, just like the cup, onto the floor, surrounded by shards of ceramic and my hope.

Today had been long, hard, and not what I had hoped for. I hadn’t even realized how much hope I had been holding on to until it was snatched away. I sobbed into my hands, crying for my future, for my mother, for all I had lost, and all I would never have the chance to gain.

Nine

Instead of working out like I usually did in the morning, I dressed for school. Dad and I had our second teen lesson scheduled bright and early with RydeI couldn’t tell which was worse—seeing my dad after our conversation last night or facing Ryde knowing he was my future.

I walked downstairs to head to the garage and found Beth in the kitchen. My heart sank a little that Dad didn’t want to talk or even attempt to repair the damage that had been done last night. All the broken pieces had been swept up, but nothing had been fixed.

At the sound of my footsteps, she looked up and smiled at me. “Good morning, sweetie. How’d you sleep?”

“Not long enough,” I said, patting underneath my eyes.

Smiling, she shook her head. “Oh, to be seventeen again.”

“Trade you?” I said.

She chuckled and batted her hand through the air. “Want me to make you some coffee?”

I readjusted my backpack on my shoulder and said, “Nah, I’ll