Page 25 of My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1)

Chapter thirteen

Warrick

I meant to have that talk with Amalphia yesterday, but I got home just before eleven, which was insane.

It was far later than I’d even anticipated.

To say I was bagged would be doing an injustice to bags all over, but I truly was.

Paper fucking bagged, reusable bagged, garbage bagged, all the bags.

I found dinner in the fridge with a note.

Get some rest, War. Oh, and warm up this stir-fry for two minutes. If you go longer, it turns to rubber, and if it’s shorter, it’ll be cold in spots, and no one wants cold veggies.

She’d written a happy face emoji underneath.

I ate, showered, fell into bed, and was pretty much asleep instantly.

Then, I pulled myself out of bed at four this morning just to do it all over again.

It’s not possible to keep up this pace, but I feel like even a month straight wouldn’t be enough.

I’ve thought about quitting before and starting my own company or just spending my time doing something I love, but the threat of parental disapproval has always kept me in check.

Family. You don’t get to choose them, and in my parents’ case, they’d make my life a nightmare, the likes of which would paint Candice in the sweetest of saintly glows.

I did send Amalphia a text around noon today, when I took a ten-minute lunch break, telling her that I was sorry I got home late and left early.

I truly wasn’t trying to avoid the conversation.

She responded back almost immediately, telling me it was fine.

I hate that word. A few seconds later, she seemed to remember that and gave me the it’s all good, truly, truly, three thumbs-up text that made me smile like a tool bag.

My god, if Amalphia asked me to write her poetry, I’d probably give it a go just because it would make her smile and laugh, and I’d do just about anything to see and hear more of that.

As I pull into the garage now, near eight, I wince at the time. I meant to leave earlier, but then paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork happened.

Happened as in, it was already there, and I got sucked in, chewed up, and spat out by it, all without feeling like I was making a dent.

Amalphia has been so mature and understanding, and when I looked at my watch and realized it was already seven, and I still had to get home, I knew I could only push it so far.

She hasn’t gotten mad or thrown anything in my face, and she hasn’t demanded attention.

She’s been quietly confident and understanding, as always, but how long before she feels like I’m taking advantage?

I enter the house, rolling my shoulders backward, then switching it up and giving them a good rotation in the other direction.

I gyrate my head like there’s a club beat playing in my living room, but only until it cracks, and then I go the other direction.

I need to get my ass back to the gym. And probably to a chiropractor.

Err, not for my ass. My neck.

And perhaps a few other uncooperative body parts.

Anyway…

I turn the corner and come face to face with a wall in my living room.

No, it’s not a wall. It’s a…a…holy gander goose legs, what on earth is a cardboard castle doing taking up almost the entire room? The couch has been shoved back against the wall, and since my house is eighty percent literal emptiness, it has freed up a fuck of a lot of space.

I was gearing up for a conversation that I still have no idea how to have. I wasn’t prepared for a box castle on a scale of… adult fun .

“Well, this is unexpected,” I mumble to myself.

“Surprise!” The front door, or drawbridge moat thing—how can you tell I never had a castle as a kid and know shit nothing about them—lowers down, and Amalphia crawls out.

She stays on her knees and throws her arms wide open at either side.

She’s beaming, her eyes glowing, looking so pretty that my body doesn’t even know which organ to pump blood to first.

Kidding. Of course it’s my cock.

Yes, I’m that guy who pops a boner for my son’s ex-girlfriend when she tumbles out of a giant homemade castle.

I might need more help than I thought.

Also, she’s on her knees, and that very sight is doing unexpected things to me. I didn’t even know I had a kink like that, but apparently, all things Amalphia are kinks for me, including things like hugs, foot baths, and cardboard.

I guess I’m standing here for a few more seconds than is duly appropriate to be in favor of being surprised because Amalphia’s face falls, and my stomach echoes her reaction.

“You don’t like it,” she states flatly. She jumps up in a valiant effort to be cool about her crushing disappointment and even tries to smile. “That’s okay. It wasn’t supposed to be a serious surprise. I’ll get it cleaned up and get dinner made and—”

“No.”

“Okay, your face is saying no, as in you’re seriously pissed, and your voice is pretty much going in the same direction, but your left eye is twitching, which means you’re either annoyed or amused.

And now your lip is doing this knee-jerk thing, or err, lip-jerk thing and spasm-ish reaction, which means you’re getting more annoyed by the second, or you’re making peace with this, and…

I’ll just stop now and let you tell me because you’re a grown man and you’re fully capable of doing just that.

” She cups her hands and mimes the action of putting on headphones. “Listening ears on now. And…go.”

She’s so sweet and earnest, and all I can do is stand here, not breathing, not doing anything at all. And certainly not talking.

Her face falls even further. If it had fallen before, it’s crumpled now. And I did that. I made her think this whole thing that hasn’t happened yet has already gone south.

“I…” Great. One word. Excellent start. “I…I…like it.”

I like her bright yellow peplum dress with the swingy skirt and all the flowers smattered all over it.

I also like her flashy pink sequin leggings and her bright green flip-flops.

The floral scarf in her hair with the huge green and purple flowers really brings it all together.

It’s bright. It’s wild. It’s unique. It’s so definitely her .

I try to tell her just how beautiful she is and how much I appreciate her being unafraid to do her, but I can’t make my tongue work.

In my defense, maybe being one hundred percent awkward is one hundred percent on the BINGO card for how to go about having a conversation on how to thrust your already bruised, weary heart into the high-risk, shark-infested waters of letting another person have complete control over being able to utterly crush you.

I know Amalphia would never do that. I know it. But muscle memory is a hard thing to just delete, and twenty-one years of history and lessons in keeping yourself locked down, walled up, and safe is hard to hit the backspace key on.

This is the full card blackout, and the free space is probably the person you’ve unexpectedly fallen for while trying not to fall at all, and it is so wildly inappropriate that it doesn’t even measure on the charts.

That said, I need to pull my head out of my ass. None of this is Amalphia’s fault.

For the love of cardboard awesomeness, she made me a box fort.

“You told your granny about us?” There’s no hint of betrayal in my tone. Maybe just a slight inflection in my voice that betrays how worried I am because, technically, there’s not an us at all.

“Not really. I may have asked for advice, but what I told her isn’t going to go any further than that. I just needed someone to talk to. I’m sorry.”

“No!” I exclaim. Her face is getting that crestfallen look again. “I didn’t mean it was a bad thing.” I wave my hand at the fort. “Any of it.”

The only way I can think to salvage this is to get inside and have this not-so-awesome conversation in the Fort of Awesomeness.

I just want to hold her, kiss her, and let her know she’s the most magical magic. I want to treasure her and make her happy.

How do I get from here to there?

I race for it, sure that Amalphia will follow me inside.

The thing is historically accurate, as far as most castles go.

She’s carved the walls, even making little cutouts just in case she plans to dump hot oil during a siege.

The ramparts are serrated at the top, and there are curved turrets on all four sides, each with a colored flag. Red, blue, green, yellow.

The door is up, but I spot the cardboard handle on the side. When I tug on it, the door lowers down on two pieces of rope.

I have to say, this is grade-A engineering.

Why did I never think to do this on my own?

Robot dogs and man caves are cool and all, but this is extra . It’s like asking for a sandwich and then finding out it comes with homemade spicy pickles.

The door is cut perfectly and rounded at the top.

I thrust myself inside, eager to prove just how much I appreciate Amalphia’s efforts and how I didn’t mean to be an alpha a-hole about her talking to her family.

She can tell her granny anything she likes.

I’m just clamming up when I need to be jamming out, at least when it comes to words.

The doorway is the perfect size for Amalphia but not so much for a grown man.

There’s no way I’m going to be able to fit sideways. I manage to get one shoulder in and then twist it so it touches the floor.

I wedge in tighter than a champagne cork.

Well…shit. I guess this is just another version of sideways.

I’m not many things, but one thing I know for sure is going to be an issue in about three point six seven seconds? Claustrophobia. Small spaces are a hard nope.

My rational brain computes that this is cardboard, and I’m not really stuck, but my animal brain goes on an immediate tirade about being jammed into a tight little hole, never to see the light of day again.

There’s no way out and no way in other than to probably break my shoulder and cut off my own arm.

“Warrick? Are you okay?”