Page 6 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Of course, traffic crawls along the freeway, brake lights stretching ahead in a long red ribbon.

In frustration, I tip my head back and force in a breath.

My phone vibrates in my lap before I can sink too far into the quiet. Since I already know it’s my dad, I answer without looking.

He chuckles when I admit I am running late, the sound rich and familiar, carrying the same easy affection he has shown me since I was small enough to ride on his shoulders through the warehouse he used to run.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I promise.” Disappointing him has never been an option. And tonight of all nights, I refuse to let him stand alone.

The fancy Sterling Uptown Hotel comes into view, its grand facade lit up against the darkening sky.

A valet in uniform hurries over to open my door.

I make my way through the lobby and past the patisserie with its dozens of temptations, all of which remind me that I skipped lunch.

When I reach the ballroom, I pause for a second and straighten my shoulders. I want to be seen as calm and composed, rather than a mess of unfinished obligations.

Once I’m more in control, I walk through the double doors.

The low hum of conversation and soft string music wrap around me, and the crystal chandeliers cast a warm light across tables that are dressed with white linens. The centerpieces are bright yellow roses.

My father is off to one side, speaking with a small cluster of people that I assume are also winning awards tonight. His posture is straight and confident in the tailored suit that makes him look every inch the successful businessman he has fought to become.

I cross the floor toward him, and when he sees me, his face lights with that genuine smile that still makes me feel like the most important person in any room.

I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his cheek, the familiar scent of his aftershave surrounding me, grounding me in the same way it has since I was a girl. He squeezes my hand once, brief and reassuring, before we are swept into the evening’s rhythm.

A server passes with a tray of champagne flutes, and I accept one, the crystal cool and delicate against my fingers.

I take a sip, then hand off my glass. Since I haven’t had anything other than a bagel and three mochas, that’s all I can afford to drink.

Besides, I want to be clearheaded when my dad is honored for his part in community revitalization.

Only a handful of people know the truth behind tonight’s celebration. He’s always helped people no one else would touch—small landlords facing foreclosure, families scraping together down payments on properties the banks ignored, tenants who needed one more chance before the system crushed them.

The gray edges of his lending business never felt that way to me when I watched him sit at the kitchen table at midnight, rewriting terms so a single mother could keep her home.

I believe in him the same way I believe in the work I do every day, the way my mother believed in him when she sat beside him at the bookkeeping desk before the cancer stole her strength.

A couple of acquaintances approach, and I field questions about my mother with the same steady calm I use in my practice.

The evening unfolds around us. Dinner is served, then around nine, the mayor arrives.

The ceremony begins, and I video every moment to send to my mother.

When my father’s name is called, pride flares through me, and I can’t help but cheer.

Finally he’s getting the recognition he deserves for being such an amazing person.

I can hardly contain my excitement, and I rush toward him as soon as I can.

“Congrats, Dad!” I give him the biggest hug.

He grins in a way I haven’t seen in years.

I dig my phone from my tiny purse and take a picture of him with the plaque. Then I snap a terrible selfie of the two of us together. I know my mom will love it, no matter how goofy we look.

The event organizer asks him to join the other honorees for a group photo with the mayor. “Go.” Grinning, I shoo him away. “Enjoy every moment.”