Page 98 of Wingwoman
“C’mere,” Vivian waved her hand and walked me into a room off the front entrance, shutting the door behind us. It was a beautifully decorated, plush office. A little frilly and feminine for my taste, but tasteful nonetheless. Ruffled blush-pink curtains swept from floor to ceiling, tied back with cream-colored ribbon. The white tufted couch was decorated with damask pillows in varying fabrics and textures.
“This is my office,” Vivian said.
Two desks sat facing away from each other in either corner of the room. “Whose desk is that?” I asked. It looked slightly less girly than the other. Less frills. Simple white wood. The table top area was neatly stacked with papers and turquoise-colored paper clips.
“That’s your dad’s desk,” she said.
“My dad works in here?Withyou?”
“No, your dad works in here…forme. He’s my assistant.”
I blinked. “My dad is working at your interior design firm?” I asked. “Mydad? The man who would choose red and black buffalo plaid for literally everything if he could?”
She leaned back and let out a loud laugh at that. “Well,Ido the designing. But he figures out the carpentry for me and makes some of my ideas come to life.”
Shaking my head, I dropped to the plush couch and let my face fall into my palms.
Beside me, the couch dipped and Vivian’s soft hand draped over my knee. “Hope, honey, what’s wrong?”
“This!” I gestured to the room around us. “This is what’s wrong!” Vivian winced, her expression hurt and confused and I exhaled an exhausted sigh. “I don’t mean it like that, Vivian. I really came here to apologize to you, I promise. And I amso sorryfor what I said to you last night.”
“Okay,” Vivian said carefully. “But… you don’t like me?” she asked.
“No, it’s not that at all.”
“You don’t think I’m good enough for your dad?”
I snorted and turned, tucking my leg under me so I could face her directly. “It’s the opposite,” I admitted, my eyes welling with tears. “I like you a lot. More than I ever expected to. More than I everwantedto. But I worry that my Dad’s not good enough foryou.” I whispered the latter part of that sentence just in case he was within earshot.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my Dad,” I continued. “But I don’t know how much he’s told you about his past marriages—”
“He’s told me everything, Hope.” She slid her palm from my knee to my hand, wrapping it tightly around my fingers with a warm squeeze. “I know all about his other marriages. How quick he was to move on. How terrible many of those women were to you. How terriblehewas to you at times.”
A single blink. That’s all it took for the tear to slip from my eye and glide down my cheek. “You know,” I repeated. It wasn’t a question.
“I know,” she nodded, tears filling her eyes.
I could feel it in my broken heart.
She saw me.
She knew me.
“My daddy was an alcoholic too. A bad man. He spent most of my life in prison.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, dipping my trembling chin to look at the place where her hand draped over mine.
Her fingers gently scooped below my chin, lifting my gaze back to hers. “You don’t be sorry for me and I won’t be sorry for you. Deal?” Viv asked.
I couldn’t answer. I knew the moment I did, I would lose control and start sobbing. Instead, I gave a tight nod.
“The difference is,” she continued, “my daddy died a bad man. But yours? He’s very different now… something I think he’s excited to show you if you’ll let him. He works full-time. Helps care for the animals. He’s been great to my girls—”
I pushed to my feet and started pacing the room. “I know I should be happy. Thrilled that he’s different. B-but… but if what you’re saying is true, then what this all means is that he was willing to change for you… but not me.”
The sob ripped from my chest as I admitted that out loud. “He loved you enough to be the man you needed him to be, butIwasn’t enough to make him better. My love wasn’t enough.”
The comprehension and pity that softened Viv’s face was an even larger gut punch than her words. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a soft whisper of my name.
