Page 19 of My Daddy Valentine

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. This is getting exhausting. I keep my smile tight, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Like I said a couple of weeks. Not long, but we’re... serious.”

A deep silence settles over the table, and my father’s gaze lingers on Simon, searching for any sign of doubt. I’m not sure if I can hold it together much longer. I want to scream, to tell him how much I hate playing this part. I want to show him that this isn’t just about impressing him—it’s about me, finally standing on my own. But I can’t.

“So,” my father says, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly, “what exactly are your plans, Simon? What kind of future do you have in mind for Ella?”

I feel Simon’s hand move from my back to rest on my thigh, his touch surprisingly warm through the fabric of my dress. It’s a subtle move, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by me, and certainly not by my father.

Simon shifts, his posture confident as always. “Honestly, I’ve been focused on finding the right person to share my life with.”

My father doesn’t seem satisfied. He’s staring at Simon, his eyes calculating, trying to figure him out. “Right. A man who knows what he wants. Sounds... promising.”

It’s clear he’s still not buying it. But I can’t worry about that now. Not with everyone watching us so closely.

“So, how’s the wedding prep going?” Simon asks, shifting the conversation away from us. It’s a small thing, but it works.Kimmy jumps in, eager to talk about her upcoming nuptials, and I try to relax, but the weight of my father’s gaze is still heavy on my shoulders.

Dinner passes uneventfully, though I can’t shake the feeling that my father is still sizing us up, watching every move. When the plates are cleared, and the conversation shifts to the upcoming events of the weekend, my father leans back in his chair and looks at Simon one last time.

“You know, you two make a good-looking couple,” he says, his voice soft but piercing. “I’m glad Ella’s finally found someone who seems like arealmatch for her.”

His words feel like a backhanded compliment, but I swallow it down. Simon just smiles, his expression unfazed.

I force a smile and glance at Simon, but my heart is pounding in my chest. It’s all so much. So many questions, so much scrutiny, and the overwhelming pressure to make this whole thing feel real.

As dinner wraps up, Simon stands, offering me his hand. I take it, a little surprised by the warmth of his touch. It’s strange how comfortable I am with him. How much easier it is to pretend when he’s beside me, when his hand is on my back, his presence reassuring.

We head toward the door, the family still caught up in their own conversations, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve made it through the night. But then, as we reach the hallway, something inside me snaps.

Without thinking, I turn to Simon, my heart racing. The heat between us is too much to ignore, and in that moment, I just want to prove something to everyone. To him. To me.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward me, and press my lips to his.

The kiss is immediate. Wild. Raw. There’s no gentleness in it—just a rush of heat, of wanting, of feeling like I’m finally in control of something. His lips are warm against mine, his breath mingling with mine as his hands move to my waist, pulling me closer. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t stop.

The kiss deepens, and everything else fades into the background. The noise of the family, the glances I know we’re getting from everyone—it all disappears. The only thing that exists right now is the press of Simon’s lips, his body against mine, the way his hand tightens at the back of my neck.

It’s a kiss I’ve never had before. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s hot, possessive, like we’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.

And then, as quickly as it started, it ends.

I pull back, my breath coming in short bursts, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure Simon can hear it. I look up at him, my fingers still gripping his shirt. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss.

For a second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. If this whole thing was too much, too fast.

But Simon doesn’t move away. He doesn’t look scared.

Instead, he leans in again, his lips brushing mine one more time. The kiss is slower this time, more deliberate, and when he pulls back, his eyes are dark, heated.

“You’re crazy,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

I smile, my heart still racing. “I know.”

As we walk back up to our room, I can’t help but feel a spark between us, a fire that’s just been lit and refuses to die. I’ve crossed a line, and so has he. But I can’t bring myself to regret it.

When we enter the room, I move toward the window, trying to catch my breath, trying to shake the feeling of his touch. But Simon follows me, his hand gently resting on my arm.

“I didn’t mean to cross that line,” I say, my voice quiet, apologetic.

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says softly, before his lips crash against mine again, this time with more intensity, more purpose.

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