Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,20

it’s that life is too short and love too precious to allow things such as opinions and unfavorable press to determine how we live. Then there’s the fact that we are innocent, even if the court of public opinion has judged us. Family, our true friends and members of the Cattleman’s Club believe in and support us. And they will support and protect Reagan as well. As a member yourself, you understand the power and strength of that influence.”

Her father didn’t immediately reply, but he continued to silently study Ezekiel.

“And I believe the Wingates are innocent as well, Dad,” Reagan said. “We’ve known them for years, and they’ve always proven themselves to be upstanding, good people. The incidents of the last few weeks shouldn’t change that.” She inhaled a breath, reaching for Ezekiel’s hand, but before she could wrap her fingers around his, he was already entwining them together. “He’s a good man. An honorable one. I wouldn’t choose a man who didn’t deserve my heart and your trust.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she flinched. Wished she could snatch them back. But they were already out there, and from the twist of her father’s lips, and the lowering of her mother’s lashes, hiding her gaze, she could read their thoughts.

The last one you chose was a real winner, wasn’t he? Got you pregnant, then abandoned you.

We don’t trust your judgment, much less your capability of picking a worthy man.

Fury flared bright and hot inside her. And underneath? Underneath lurked the aged but still pulsing wounds of hurt and humiliation. I’m not that girl anymore. When will you stop penalizing me for my mistakes? When will you love me again?

“And this sudden decision to marry wouldn’t have anything to do with your grandmother’s will?” her father retorted with a bite of sarcasm.

Hypocrite. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around Ezekiel’s. How did he dare to ask her that when he’d been throwing random man after man in front of her to marry her off? The only difference now was that she’d found Ezekiel instead of her father cherry-picking him.

“Dad, I don’t need—”

“Excuse me, Douglas,” Ezekiel interjected, his grip on her gentle but firm. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about your daughter. She’s not just beautiful, but kind, selfless, sensitive, whip smart, so sensitive that at times I want to wrap her up and hide her away so more unscrupulous people can’t take advantage of her tender heart. That’s who I want to be for her. A protector. Her champion. And her husband.”

It’s fake. It’s all for the pretense, she reminded herself as she stared up at Ezekiel, blinking. And yet...no one had ever spoken up for her, much less about her, so eloquently and beautifully. In this small instant, she almost believed him.

Almost believed those things of herself.

“I don’t appreciate you cutting me off, but for that, I’ll make an exception and like it,” she whispered.

Again, that half smile lifted a corner of his mouth, and when he shifted that gaze down to her, she tingled. Her skin. The blood in her veins.

The sex between her legs.

No. Nononono. Her brain sent a Mayday signal to her flesh.

“I don’t know if I deserve Reagan, but I will do everything in my power to try,” Ezekiel said, squeezing her fingers.

Affection brightened his eyes, and it wasn’t feigned for her parents’ benefit; she knew that. He did like her. “I know you have doubts, and I can’t blame you for them. But not about how I will care for your daughter.”

Her father stared at Ezekiel in silence, and he met Douglas’s stare without flinching or lowering his gaze. Not many men could do that. And she caught the glint of begrudging respect in her father’s eyes.

“You have our blessing,” Douglas finally said. He extended his hand toward Ezekiel.

And as the two men clasped hands, her mother beamed.

“Well, thank God that’s out of the way. Goodness, Douglas, that was so dramatic,” Henrietta tsked, moving forward to envelop Reagan in her arms. The familiar scent of Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium embraced her as well, and for a moment, Reagan closed her eyes and breathed in the hints of vanilla, jasmine and orange blossom. Pulling back, Henrietta smiled at Reagan. “Congratulations, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she murmured, guilt a hard kernel lodged behind her breastbone.

“Have you two thought about a date yet?” her mother asked, and Reagan swore she could glimpse the swirl of wedding dresses, flowers and invitations floating above her head. “What