Page 7 of Protected By the SEAL
“No,” Morgana says.
“Oh, you simply must go. Though I suppose international travel is expensive on a bank teller’s salary.”
“Financial advisor,” I correct, edge creeping into my voice. “She’s a financial advisor. Morgana is very good at what she does.”
Belinda’s smile tightens. “Of course. I meant—”
“We know what you meant,” I cut her off.
Jennifer whispers something to Emma, and they both laugh, not bothering to hide their amusement. The sound makes my blood boil. These people are supposed to be Morgana’s family, but they’re picking her apart like vultures.
“You know,” Aunt Carol says, studying me over her wineglass, “you look very fit, Kane. What kind of work do you do?”
“Security consulting.”
“Like a mall cop?” Sarah asks, and the cousins dissolve into fits of giggles.
“Kane was a Navy SEAL. He did three tours in Afghanistan. Bronze Star, Purple Heart. He’s a hero.” Everyone turns to the sound of Morgana’s clear and confident voice.
Pride surges through me at her fierce defense.That’s my girl.
“Military,” Morgana’s mother says faintly. “How intense.”
“Well,” Aunt Carol clears her throat. “That’s very impressive.”
The rest of the tasting continues in relative silence, but I catch the looks. When Jennifer makes another dig about Morgana’s dress size disguised as concern about her health, I’ve had enough. How the hell she shares DNA with them, I’ll never understand.
“We need some air,” I announce, helping Morgana off her barstool.
“But we haven’t finished,” her mother protests.
“We’ve had enough.”
I guide Morgana out of the tasting room, through the main building, and onto a quiet terrace overlooking the vineyards. She pulls free the second we’re alone, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I’m fine,” she says before I can ask.
“No, Morgana. You’re not.”
“I told you they were like this. I warned you.”
“Warning me and living it are different things.” I move closer, but don’t touch her despite every fiber of my being yelling at me to take her in my arms and never let go. “That comment about your job was uncalled for.
“Belinda’s always been like that. Everything’s a competition. And your dress size, your salary, your vacations…it’s all fair game.”
“It’s bullshit.”
She laughs, but it sounds brittle. “Yeah, well. Welcome to family gatherings with the Simons.”
“How long have they been doing this to you?”
“Forever?” She turns to face the view, golden afternoon light catching in her hair. “It got worse after Dad died. He was the only one who defended me and stood up to everyone else.”
I move behind her, close enough that she can lean back if she wants. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you’ve had to deal with this alone. That they make you feel like you’re not enough when you’re…,” I stop myself, words crowding my throat. Everything. You’re everything.
