Page 10 of Tempt Her

Careful: that’s how it happens. Care, in evil hands, is also control.

If I could go back, I would’ve wiped away my tears long enough to read the paperwork I was signing.

Gentry’s mom slid a stack of contracts before me and said, “You’re one of our family now, dear. This will protect you.”

Protect me? No.

It protected every asset Gentry owns. Even as his wife, I get nothing but what I brought into our marriage—my sweet dad—who was everyone’s favorite softball coach.

Love for my dad is all I have left.

And he doesn’t even say my name anymore.

Still, Iwillsee him tomorrow morning or Gentry’s getting laxatives crunched into powder in his V8 juice.

Trick #2: If you use a lighter, you can re-weld the plastic lid of a bottle closed again, just enough to make it seem freshly snapped open.

But not even that plot for revenge lifts my broken spirit as the doorbell rings promptly at ten o’clock.

Opening the door to Ford, Mateo, and Luke, “Good morning,” I plaster on a fake smile.

I didn’t have a dirty fantasy about one of them last night. I just fell into darkness, blanketed by isolation.

Ice shivers across Ford’s blue eyes. “Mrs. Evans.”

Great. He’s faking it too. Big smile. Polite words. Angry tone. Mean eyes.

Why be such an asshole when I didn’t do anything?

They step into the foyer, each carrying a black utility bin with supplies, I assume.

“Ma’am,” Ford clips with tight lips, “we need to determine the order of our work so that we don’t disrupt the wife of thesenator’shousehold.” He glances around. “Is he here? Since he’s in control?”

It almost breaks me. Gentry’s cruelty. My loneliness. How I fake being happy while misery thins my burning breath.

And Ford’s cruelty now?

He’s right. Gentry is in control. And it hurts like hell.

“He’s not here.” Tears bite at my eyes. “Sorry, but you’ll have to work with me.”

Mateo winces at his boss’s harsh tone. He explains, “We like painting one room at a time so we stay out of your way. Where’s the best room to start?”

Mateo’s smile is warm. His eyes are kind. It only contrasts with the pain in my heart, my ribs aching to break with a sob.

“The dining room is fine.” I gesture to it on my right. “Then, I guess, the parlor over there.” I point left to the stately room on the other side of the foyer, but I can’t hold it back anymore. I’ve dealt with enough assholes to last a lifetime. “Excuse me, please.”

I turn and race for the kitchen, willing my tears not to fall.

“Dude.” I hear Luke hiss low, chastising Ford. “Why are you being such a fucking dick?”

I’d like to know too.

Why can I put up with Gentry’s shit for years, but now, after two days of not seeing my dad and then one minute with a man who clearly hates me for living; why is it breaking me open?

Forcing tears back, I start baking muffins for tomorrow, opening a can of pineapple tidbits to drain while I peel a zucchini.

Rips of tape and snaps of plastic begin to fill the air as the guys prep their first room. Their easy banter fills the quiet house. I can hear Luke’s jokes and Mateo’s quips in response.

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