Page 13 of Hot Momosa

My head throbbed in time with my racing pulse. If I didn’t calm down, I’d end up with a killer migraine.

What felt like hours later, my father’s voice came through the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We have quite the mess on our hands.”

I drew a quick breath. “I’m sorry about the photos, but Leo and I—”

“Are over.” He cleared his throat. “I love you, sweetheart, but that boy has been trouble since the day you met him. I spoke to Harrison. He’s rightfully upset, but he’s willing to go through with the engagement.”

Of course he is, but it has nothing to do with his feelings for me and everything to do with his career aspirations.“I can’t marry a man I don’t love. Not even for you.”

“I’d hoped the two of you would hit it off.” He sighed. “Couldn’t you try again? You’ve both been under a lot of pressure, but I know he cares for you and Gunnar.”

“I’ve tried for over a year. And for the record, Harry doesn’t want anything to do with Gunnar, Dad.”

“I believe you’re wrong about that.”

“Regardless, I don’t love him.” I hated to disappoint my father, but wet kindling had more chance of producing sparks than me and Harry.

“Robert’s going to fix things with the press. In the meantime, I need you to come home and stay here until after the election.”

I hadn’t lived under their roof since I’d left for college. The idea of moving my son into that house of horrors sent a chill down my spine. “I can’t do that.”

“Because of your mother?” He sounded as tired as I felt.

“I can’t have Gunnar around her, Dad. I just can’t.” More specifically, I couldn’t have him around the two of them together. They were like ammonia and bleach, perfectly fine on their own but toxic when mixed.

“Then it’s best if you distance yourself from me and the campaign.” He murmured to someone else in the room.

My chest tightened. “Distance how? Are you firing me?”

“I’m sorry, Dahlia. The one thing I’ve asked of you is that you stop seeing Leo Marchionni. That family is dangerous to more than my political career. Do you really think it’s a coincidence this business with the stalker started around the time you got back from Sicily and began seeing Harrison?”

“You can’t possibly believe Leo has anything to do with that.” Actually, he probably did believe Leo was behind the frightening letters and phone calls. My father hated anything and everything Marchionni, except Gunnar. Then again, he considered the child one-hundred percent Calhoun.

He cleared his throat. “If you’re here—”

“You and Robert can keep an eye on me.” I loved my dad, but he’d asked too much. I was a grown woman. Sure, I’d screwed up and allowed myself to be photographed with Leo, but that didn’t mean I needed a chaperone.

“I hate to cut this short, but I’m late for a meeting. Come home, Dahlia. Robert will help you hire movers.”

I choked back angry tears and tried to see the situation from his perspective. I’d all but handed the press a loaded gun. I could understand why he’d gone into papa bear mode. However, that didn’t change the fact I couldn’t bring my son into that environment.

My father said something I didn’t catch.

Rather than asking for clarification, I stood my ground. “I’m not moving into the governor’s mansion.”

“I wish you’d reconsider.” Robert sighed. “But think about it. Those photos have sent the campaign into crisis mode. It’s time we circled the wagons, Dahlia-bug.”

He hadn’t used my childhood nick-name in years. I couldn’t decide if he’d done to manipulate me or because he’d overstepped his boundaries. Either way, it was a heck-of-a-lot better than insulting me.

“We can discuss damage control over the phone.”

He sighed again, this time even more dramatically than the first. “I didn’t want to have to mention this, but Waylon gave me permission to force your hand. He does subsidize your lifestyle, after all.”

I’d heard the threat a million times before. Although I’d worked for my father’s administration for years, few people, including my dad, considered me an actual employee. To make matters worse, my parents owned the house I’d lived in since Gunnar had been born. Early on, they’d helped pay for his nanny and healthcare and the million other things a child needed. Not because I’d asked them to, because they’d left me no choice. Child support payments created a paper trail, and God forbid, someone caught on and linked the all-mighty Calhouns to a mafia family.

I needed to think fast, but my brain moved in slow motion. “My car is at the Marchionnis’.”

“I’ll send a driver.” He spoke as if the matter was settled.

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