Page 16 of When Love Changes Everything

I force a tight smile, drawing in a slow breath to keep from snapping. “Love doesn’t work like that, Dad.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze drifting back to the house. “It does when you end up with something like this. Is this where you're staying?”

"I’m staying in the guesthouse," I answer, hoping the conversation will end there. "It’s behind the house."

"Let me see it," he insists, his voice carrying a hint of command.

I had hoped to just grab the keys from Mateo and leave, but it looks like that was nothing more than wishful thinking. "All right," I say, inhaling another slow breath, trying to steady myself. "It's just around the back."

I open the door to the guesthouse and step aside to let my father walk in. "It’s a tiny place," he comments, scanning the room with an air of mild disappointment. "But it’s got a lot of charm."

I watch him walk over to the window and pull the drapes open. "How many acres is this?" he murmurs. "This is the kind of property I’d like to see you in. Not the rundown condo you’re living in."

"I like my place, Dad," I retort, my voice firm despite the knot forming in my stomach. "I’m happy living there. And I don’t need a six-bedroom house when it’s just me."

"Aren't you going to offer your father something to drink?" His tone is sharp and demanding, a reminder of the role he’s always cast me in—dutiful and obedient. "Where are your manners, Annalisa?" he adds, his words steeped in disappointment, as if my sole purpose in life is to cater to his needs.

Chapter 6

Mateo

I am about to knock on the slightly open door when I hear a man's voice, sharp and condescending. "Aren't you going to offer your father something to drink? Where are you manners, Annalisa?"

Annalisa? Is he talking to Lisa? The tone in his voice leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I freeze, my hand hovering over the door. I don’t knock, but I don’t leave either. Instead, I stand listening, a surge of guilt prickling my conscience for eavesdropping. But then, a wave of righteous indignation rises in me. How dare he speak to her that way?

"You’d look so much more presentable if you wore a little makeup," the man's voice rings out, dripping with judgement. "And what is that outfit? A businesswoman doesn’t wear jeans and a T-shirt. Plus, you’re far too thin—it’s not a good look."

The mix of guilt and rising fury is enough to make my heart pound as I struggle with whether to step in or stay silent and walk away.

"I don't like wearing a lot of makeup," Lisa responds quietly. "My weight is normal for my height, and I’m on vacation, Dad. I don’t owe anyone a dress code."

What is he talking about? Her skin is flawless, her body graceful, perfect in those jeans. She's beautiful, inside and out. The words make no sense.

"I can't believe you're still living in that shoebox you call home," he continues, his disappointment so palpable I can almost see him shaking his head. "You’re twenty-five, Annalisa. Where’s your ambition?"

"I have my own business, Dad," she says softly. This isn't the Lisa I know—the confident, fiery woman who can banter with anyone and stand her ground.

"That so-called business of yours will never yield any real profits. Mark my words—you’ll still be doing the same thing thirty years from now with nothing to show for it. I suppose it’s lucky you'll be able to collect on your trust fund now. Without that, your future would be doomed."

I can feel my blood boil at his words, my hands curling into fists. How dare he? I want to pounce on him like a panther stalking itsprey. The fury in my chest burns hot, but I can’t let it consume me. Not yet. This man has no idea who he’s dealing with.

A scoff escapes him, his voice full of contempt. "I can’t believe Aaron and Adam invested their hard-earned money into this... venture of yours. You should’ve never moved to New York. If you’d stayed in California and finished your degree, you’d have a real career in medicine by now—not a job that requires you to dig through other people’s trash."

That’s it. My patience snaps.

I step into the guesthouse, my hand outstretched. "Hi, Mr. Preston," I say, locking eyes with him. Without hesitation, I reach for Lisa, pulling her firmly to my side. "I’m Mateo—Lisa’s… fiancé."

The word tastes foreign on my tongue, a declaration meant as much for him as it is for her. My fingers intertwine with hers, my grip firm and possessive. Every fiber of my being burns to lash out, to confront the man who has the audacity to belittle her. But for Lisa’s sake, I force myself to stay calm—just barely.

Before me stands a man in his mid-sixties, barely five foot five, with a pudgy frame and thinning, almost nonexistent red hair. His piercing blue eyes, cold and devoid of the warmth and spark I see in Lisa’s, are a stark contrast to the energy she carries. There's nothing but hardness in his gaze. I give him a firm handshake, and the way his posture shifts betrays a quiet realization—he knows he’s outmatched. The bravado from earlier is gone, replaced by a subdued surrender. He cowersin my presence, and though he doesn’t speak, he's silently conceding that this is a fight he doesn’t want to endure. Not today, not with me.

"Fiancé?" he utters, his voice tinged with disbelief as his gaze flickers between me and Lisa. I pull her closer, my arm wrapping protectively around her waist, silently willing her to understand.Work with me, hermosa. Follow my lead.

"Yes, Dad," she finally responds. "Mateo and I are engaged." I give her fingers a quick squeeze—a wordless reassurance.That's perfect. We’ve got this.

His face contorts with a mixture of confusion and utter shock, as if he’s been blindsided. "Who are you?" he demands, his voice wavering, the question hanging in the air with an edge of incredulity.

"He's Lily's father, Dad," Lisa replies. "We met about four years ago in Boston when I was visiting Lily and her mom."

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