Page 19 of Worth the Vow

“Kate? Can you braid my hair?” Aspen asks as she barges into my space, jarring me back from my trip down memory lane. “You look weird. Why are you wearing a dress? Did you borrow that from someone? That’s not your style. You look really uncomfortable.”

“Thanks, kid,” I mutter. “I have somewhere to go where I have to dress presentably. And yes, I can braid your hair.”

“Are you going somewhere with my dad? He’s in a suit.”

“He’s almost always in a suit,” I respond wryly. Honestly, I’ve only seen him dressed casually a handful of times. He’s typically even in a sport coat and slacks for kid events.

That one time I walked in on him in nothing but a pair of sweats hanging so low on his waist I could see the V … good heavens above. I’ve never met anyone as busy as Dominic, but clearly he finds time to work out. He might infuriate me, but the pecs on that man deserve to be celebrated.

“Sit on the bed so I can braid your hair,” I tell Aspen, motioning for her to move over to my bed. It’s been a few months since I moved in with Dom and his kids, and while I was initially apprehensive about the move, it ended up being really good for all of us. I’m right here when the kids need me, and I’ve saved a ton of money in rent, since Dominic won’t let me pay for using his guest room. And honestly, I love this house.

Set in the furthest corner of a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Eternity Springs, Dom’s house is picture perfect on a cul-de-sac. A much-loved wooden swing hangs from the oversized front porch, and a basketball hoop sits beside the driveway. Carter’s bicycle is always crashed somewhere in the front yard, and I’ve never seen the driveway without some chalk art on it.

This home is a family home, and I know it’s due to Dominic’s overwhelming love and adoration for his kids. He has two loves: his family and his work. He may look at me like I’m a nagging pimple on his chin, but the unconditional love and support he has for his kids just oozes from his pores. Aspen, Carter, and Sienna are so damn lucky to have him as their dad.

“I got in trouble at school again yesterday,” Aspen says quietly.

“Oh, really? Why?” I ask.

“Because that little bitch Greyson pulled my braid again, so I socked him in the face,” she says bluntly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I said that little bitch —”

“Oh, I heard that part. If your dad hears you say that, you’ll be in big trouble,” I warn her. Personally, I bet Greyson is a little bitch. I know his mother, and she’s awful. Apple probably doesn’t fall too far from that tree.

“How else am I supposed to talk about him?” Aspen asks.

“You don’t have to call people names to get your point across.”

She shrugs. “But that told you exactly what I wanted. He’s a little bitch.”

“Aspen!” I hiss, looking at my open door. The guest room at Dom’s house is in the basement, but he has this infuriating ability to stealthily move around the house. He could be right outside my door and I wouldn’t know. “We can discuss different adjectives for describing Greyson another day. But you’re saying he pulled your hair, and you responded by hitting him? That seems a little excessive for pulling your hair.”

“He pulled me down to the ground at recess. It hurt.”

He pulled her down … oh, fuck no. “Did Greyson get reprimanded for his behavior? I thought an aide was supposed to watch him at recess.”

“She said she didn’t see anything.”

“Well that’s complete bullshit.”

“That’s what I said!” Aspen shouts.

“You said it was bullshit?”

“Yes. And then I got in trouble for that, but I said you say bullshit all the time, and you don’t get in trouble. Then Dad was really mad.”

Well, that explains the even frostier attitude toward me last night. Dominic has this aggravating tendency to internalize his thoughts and feelings, but at the same time have an external reaction that tells me he’s upset about something. But if I ask what the problem is, he won’t tell me. He takes forever to process his thoughts before he’s comfortable approaching me.

It is, for lack of a better word, bullshit.

“Okay, no more profanity at school,” I tell Aspen.

“But I can say bullshit at home?” she asks hopefully.

“No, you cannot,” her father’s voice speaks loudly from the doorway, making me shriek and pull Aspen’s hair.

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