Page 8 of Falling for the Forbidden
I’m wrong, of course. As I get closer to the kitchen, I realise that what I thought was light chitchat is actually a heated argument. Jenny sits at the island, mute, while Dad and Ben argue about responsibilities and appropriate behaviour. The second I join them, they stop what they’re doing. Jenny looks at me and apologies for the noise—I swear all she does is apologise for other people. Dad and Ben continue staring daggers at each other until Ben storms from the room and out the back door.
“He’ll come to his senses, love,” Jenny says softly, placing her arm on Dad’s forearm, but it does little to calm the fire raging in his eyes.
“You keep saying that, but all he does is disobey the rules.”
“He’s just struggling at the moment.”
“He’s a twenty-year-old man, Jenny. He needs to grow up,” Dad spits out. If Jenny is surprised by his outburst, she doesn’t show it.
They take their seats around the table and silently sip on their coffees. The tension surrounding them is almost palpable, and I consider turning on my heels and walking straight out of the house to get away from it all. Mum’s flat is empty. I could spend the weekend there in peace.
I’m starting to fully understand why Ben’s never home.
“Would you like some breakfast, darling?” Jenny asks me, her voice sickly sweet. I know she’s trying to make up for my dad’s attitude, but it’s really not necessary. His temper isn’t news to me.
I agree and sit myself beside Dad, who’s still tense, while Jenny floats around the kitchen. I watch them both, trying to figure them out. I never noticed before, but since moving in with them, the cracks in their relationship are obvious. I still think they genuinely love each other, but there’s some strange kind of tension between them, almost like they’re trying too hard.
Thinking it might take Dad’s mind off whatever was going on with Ben, I bring up what I thought I found with the accounts yesterday.
“You’re wrong,” Dad barks the second I suggest I couldn’t account for fifty grand.
“Probably,” I admit, “but I’d really like to go over it with you so I can—”
“Enough, Lauren. I didn’t give you a job so you could question everything I do. I just need you to do your damn job. Is that too much to ask?” A lump forms in my throat and tears sting my eyes. I feel like a child under his intense, angry stare. “What the hell is wrong with the kids in this house? You’ve both had everything you could ever desire, yet you’re totally incapable of doing the most simple of tasks.”
My lip trembles and I’m about to interrupt to apologise when warm fingers circle my wrist. Sucking in a breath, I’m pulled up and into a solid wall of man. I recognise his scent immediately.
Before I know what’s happening, I find myself in the passenger seat of his BMW with him jogging around to the driver’s side.
As he reverses off the drive, I get my first chance to look at him. Sweat beads his brow, his hair’s a little damp and curling out from his neck, his skin’s flushed, and his chest is heaving. His black t-shirt clings to his body like a second skin, showing off every muscle covering his solid frame.
“Stop it,” he snaps, startling me.
“Stop what?”
“Running your eyes over me like that.”
“Wh—I…uh…was wondering what’s going on.”
“Do you always let him talk to you like that?”
“No. He—”
“Do not make excuses for him, Lauren.” The way my name sounds coming from his lips has my insides clenching. He’s angry, his white-knuckle grip on the wheel shows that, but his voice is also deeper, rougher than usual.
“I…uh…I wasn’t,” I argue, and he gives me a look, casting a glance over at me that tells me he knows I’m lying. “What? I shouldn’t have questioned him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s right. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.”
“Says who?”
“Him and everyone who’s worked for Johnson & Sons for longer than me, I would imagine.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Trust your gut, Lauren. If you think something’s wrong, it probably is.”
“Just like being alone with you feels dangerous?”
