Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,46

she murmured, pushing the door open and stepping out.

Silent, he met her in front of the car and took hold of her hand. The warning to not muddy the boundaries rebounded against his skull as he raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back of it. She glanced at him, and a glint of desire flickered in her eyes. Good. Anything to chase away the shadows.

Just as they cleared the top step, the front door opened, and Douglas Sinclair stood in the entrance. He stared at them, his scrutiny briefly dropping to their clasped hands before shifting back to his daughter.

He didn’t greet them but moved backward and held the door open wider. Yet, nothing about his grim expression was welcoming. More likely he didn’t want the neighbors to have a free show.

Settling a hand on Reagan’s lower back, Ezekiel walked inside, lending her his strength. He valued family loyalty and acceptance. Understood the drive to give one and crave the other. Yet he hated how even while Reagan strode ahead, shoulders soldier-straight, head tilted at a proud angle, she did so with a fine tremor that echoed through her and into his palm.

“Reagan.” Henrietta rose from the couch as soon as they entered the small salon. She crossed the room and cupped her daughter’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Where have you been? We’ve been calling you for days now. Honey, we were all so worried.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Reagan said, covering one of her mother’s hands and patting it. “I had my phone turned off. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Henrietta studied her daughter for a long moment before shifting her scrutiny to Ezekiel. “Ezekiel,” she greeted with a nod. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too, Henrietta,” he replied, slipping his hand up Reagan’s spine to cup the nape of her neck.

“Mom, Dad, I have news,” Reagan announced. “Zeke and I—” She broke off, and he squeezed the back of her neck, silently reassuring her. “Zeke and I are married. We eloped to Las Vegas. I’m sorry that you’re finding out after the fact, but we—”

“I asked her to come away with me, and she did,” he interjected, but she shook her head, giving him a small but sad smile.

“No, he didn’t. I asked him, and I know you’re probably disappointed in my decision to elope, but it was my decision.” She squared her shoulders. “He is my decision.”

Surprise and no small amount of hurt flashed across her mother’s face, but the older woman quickly composed her features. She shifted backward until she stood next to Douglas, who hadn’t spoken. But his stern, forbidding frown might as well as have been a lecture.

Every protective instinct buried inside Ezekiel clawed its way to the surface, and he faced the other man, moving closer to Reagan. Letting it be known that she was his. And dammit, whether that claim had an expiration date or not, he would protect what was his.

“You deliberately went against my wishes, and now you show up here for, what?” Douglas demanded, his voice quiet thunder. “For our blessing? Our forgiveness? Acceptance? Well, you have none of them.”

“No, not your blessing,” Ezekiel said evenly, but he didn’t bother hiding the steel or the warning in it. “And she nor I require forgiveness for a choice we made together as two consenting adults. Would your acceptance of our marriage be important to your daughter? Yes. But it’s not necessary.”

“It is if she—or you—want access to her inheritance,” Douglas snapped. “Which isn’t going to happen. Her grandmother gave me final say over who I deem suitable, and you are not it. Reagan knew that and yet she still defied my wishes, regardless that it would bring hurt and shame onto her family.”

“Douglas,” Henrietta whispered, laying a hand on her husband’s arm.

“No, Henrietta, this needs to be said,” he said. “I—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Reagan quietly interrupted. “It doesn’t need to be said, Dad, because I already know. You’ve made it very clear over the years—ten to be exact—that I have only brought disappointment, embarrassment and pain to this family. God knows I’ve tried to make up for it by being the respectable, obedient daughter, by following every rule you’ve laid down, by placing your needs and opinions above my own. But nothing I’ve done or will do will ever make up for me being less than worthy of the Sinclair name. For being less than perfect.”

“Honey,” Henrietta breathed, reaching a hand toward