Page 16 of Daddy Down Under

“But hotels like this? Is this something you grow so used to that you don’t appreciate it anymore?”

“No. Standard chain hotels, sure. Oliver always gets me the best rooms, but they’re pretty generic, even if they’re luxurious by any standard. But this…” I gestured at the room. “This is a whole different level. This is history, and that’s why I value it. I love the historical details, and I hope I’ll never stop appreciating that…or the life I have.”

“You grew up poor?”

I hesitated. “Not poor, but definitely not rich. I grew up in Queens, where my dad was a salesman for commercial refrigerators and my mom worked in the post office. We had what we needed but not much more, so going to college would be my ticket to riches, so to speak. When I started becoming successful, I bought my parents a home outside of Albany. They wanted to get out of the City, and they love it there.”

Ocean let his hand slide along the fabric of the velvet couch. “I grew up with wealth.”

“Preston came from money.”

He nodded. “I know. I also know his parents were not happy he married my mother.”

I sighed. “No, they weren’t. They did show up at the wedding, but it was under protest. They accused Marcia of getting pregnant on purpose.”

“Did she?”

I’d asked myself that question too, and while I wasn’t one hundred percent certain, I could offer him my conclusion. “It seems unlikely. She really was religious, and having premarital sex was already against her beliefs.”

Ocean paled. “He didn’t…force her, did he?”

He sure knew how to ask the hard questions. “Physically, no, but he could be very persuasive. He was a smooth talker. For a long time, he fooled me into believing he truly was my friend.”

Ocean took my hand and laced our fingers together. “I wish I could say he fooled me into believing he was my dad. I discovered early on that I was nothing to him but a trophy, a pawn he wanted to use to his advantage.”

“You deserved better. I wish I…” I wasn’t even sure what I was wishing. That I had been there? That I would’ve stepped in? But I hadn’t noticed anything odd about Preston’s behavior toward Ocean—or Palmer, as he’d been known then.

He leaned into me for a moment. “I know. My mom loved me with all her heart, broken and imperfect as it was.”

“She did. I hope you have good memories of her.”

“I do. The best.” He swallowed. “You know what I miss? Her apple cinnamon bread. It was amazing, and every time I taste that combination, I think of her.”

“Oh, I remember that. Hers was the best.”

We stood like that for a moment, and then Ocean stepped back. “Enough with the sad stuff,” he said, a little forced, but I understood. He wandered over to the windows, whistling low. “Check out that view. Wow.”

I joined him, our shoulders nearly touching. The cityscape of Melbourne stretched out before us, a tapestry of old and new, bustling with life. For a moment, I forgot about everything else, lost in the beauty of it all.

“Pretty amazing, right?” Ocean’s voice was soft, almost reverent.

I turned to look at him, struck by the way the sunlight played across his features, highlighting the ocean-blue of his eyes. “Yeah,” I said, not entirely sure if I was talking about the view or him.

I watched him, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. It wasn’t just his physical beauty—though that was enough to make anyone weak at the knees. No, it was the way he moved through the world, utterly comfortable in his own skin. The way he seemed to find joy in the smallest things.

We stood there for a while, and something inside me unclenched, like I was releasing a breath I’d been holding for god knew how long.

“Let’s unpack,” Ocean said. “Where do you want me?”

It took me a moment to realize the meaning behind his question. “The choice is yours, but if we are going to end up in bed together anyway, I would prefer to do it in the king-size bed. This is one area where size really matters.”

“Excellent,” Ocean said, and was it my imagination, or did he seem relieved?

He grabbed his backpack and unceremoniously dumped the contents on the bed, then proceeded to neatly place it all in one of the closets.

“I hadn’t pegged you as the organized type,” I said as I took my suit jacket off and hung it on a hanger. That would need to be dry-cleaned, as would my pants after ending up on a restroom stall floor.

“I’m not, but I’ve learned to be. When you move around as much as I do and always share your living space with others, you quickly learn to keep things tidy.”

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