Page 35 of My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1)

Whoooooo hooooooooo whooooooo!

Booty Sue doesn’t know what to think of the big robot German Shepherd that’s slowly making its way across my parent’s backyard.

The main feature of the robot is that it’s supposed to be a robot.

It moves with emphasized jerky steps, and it doesn’t have a weird hair hide or any sort of covering.

You can see all the wires and bolts, connections, and metals that make it.

All of War’s other creations are the same. He officially got the company up and running last week, and in a few months, the renovations to the old factory he purchased will be complete, and production can begin.

So far, he has a dog, a cat, a snake, a spider, a bird, a lizard, a fish, a bunny, and a ferret constructed as prototypes. And over the past ten months, he dreamed up, assembled, and programmed each one of them himself.

I just completed my first year of college, and while that’s a huge accomplishment, I don’t feel like it’s the same level of grandness that he’s scaled.

I mean, I did well. I even got a ninety-eight in my fine arts class.

It was a lot of work, but writing papers and studying for exams aren’t nearly as cool as designing a robot dog that walks, runs, and obeys commands to lay down, sit, roll over, and shake a paw.

Or, in the case of his other robots, meow, wriggle, climb, swim, crawl, and fly.

Just past Booty Sue, my parents spread out a massive handmade patchwork quilt. It’s been our go-to family picnic blanket for ages. I can’t believe we’ve gone all this time without treating War to a proper backyard picnic.

He’s getting the full works today. We’re having a joint first year of college in the books/robotics company that’s still yet to be named since there are several that War can’t choose between celebration .

“I’ll go and start bringing everything out,” Mom says, which immediately triggers a flurry of activity. My dad fires up the barbeque, Booty Sue keeps wide-eyed hooing at the robot dog making its way to her, and I trail Mom into the house to help.

Granny follows closely after me and takes my arm just inside the open patio door.

“I can tell that you’re both so in love! I’m so darned happy for you, Malphie.”

I brace for something wildly inappropriate to come out of her mouth, but all I get is a big denture grin. She can’t hide the twinkling in her eyes, and sure enough, as Mom starts taking wrapped dishes and plastic containers out of the fridge, she elbows me in the side.

“You rizzed him with your granddaughter ‘tism!”

“Oh my lord, Granny, you should have your tablet confiscated. How do you even know that term?”

“The best part is, the whole home knows it now. I have Irene saying it just about constantly. She’s also learned terms like DILF and zaddie. I’m proud to be a terrible influence. If you’re not having fun, then what’s life even for?”

“You’re right.” I side-hug her. “You’ve been right about everything.”

“Who would have thought that almost getting our legs broken could have wound up so well?”

“Here, you two. If you could take these…” Mom hands me three large plastic bowls stacked on top of each other. I hope their lids hold out. She gives Granny a huge, heaping plate of raw chicken drums. “And if you could deliver those to the barbeque, that would be wonderful.”

“Considering that I’m not into having salmonella for lunch, onto the low and slow they go!”

Knowing Dad, it will be more like flame thrower cooking, but he tries his best. A little char on the chicken never hurt anyone.

Outside, Granny passes the plate to my dad, and I set the bowls down on the picnic table. Within the next thirty minutes, the whole surface will get covered, and we’ll all find a place on the blanket, eating with our plates in our lap.

The sun is out, it’s a wonderful early June day, and my family is together.

Granny approaches War, who is trying to convince Booty Sue that the robot dog is a friend, not a foe. But Booty Sue keeps giving it her signature wide-eyed, worried looks.

“I was just saying to Malphie that it’s amazing what some thuggery did for this family.”

“Granny!” I have to try very hard not to laugh. It’s really not funny.

“What’s Reg doing with himself now?”

“Granny!” This time, my protest is half a warning, but she keeps smiling away innocently.

“He’s doing alright,” War responds.

He lets the robot dog walk off down the yard.

He plans on changing the programming so it will stop for certain smells, just like a real dog.

I suggested that he get it to pee and poo like a real dog.

But he thought it might be better if he could develop a new prototype with a stomach that can be opened from the bottom so the dog can eat garbage as a way to help clean up, and then at home, it can be emptied out later.

“He’s taking finance classes. He took two years’ worth last year, and he’s taking summer classes and going to go for another full load next year.

I think he needs to keep busy to keep himself out of trouble, but he’s really going for it.

He did great, and as far as he’s said, he’s really enjoying it. ”

“How’s his beastly mother?”

War knows Granny well enough by now not to be offended by that either. He’s probably heard more inappropriate things from her in the ten months we’ve known each other than from everyone else in his life combined.

“Candice is…I…well, she’s talking about possibly going to hair school. If she does, I think that would be wonderful. Everyone should pursue their passions and dreams.”

“You, darling, are far too kind.” She swats War lightly on the arm.

“But seriously, you’re the best. You treat my granddaughter well, and you love her.

One day, you’ll both give me the cutest tiny humans ever to walk this earth.

” She sighs, drawing it out dramatically.

“Can I ask when you’re getting started?”

“You cannot!” I wrinkle my nose in disapproval, but it only takes me a few seconds to burst out laughing.

“You do know where the meatloaf is supposed to go, right?” Granny asks.

“Goodness!” War turns about as crimson as the chicken my dad hasn’t even turned once, though it will be blackened.

“I have three years to go before I finish any kind of degree. I haven’t even decided what I want to major in yet, so maybe longer.

Also, War is just getting the company up and running.

We want to have time together, too, before we have children.

There’s traveling, volunteering, getting a real dog, getting married, growing the company, graduating, finding our places in the world—” I’ve been ticking them all off on my fingers, but Granny shoves her hand in my face.

“Babies. Please. Before I die.”

“You had better not! You better live to be two hundred.”

She cackles. “Don’t worry. I’ve been looking into cryogenic options. I could always freeze myself while you put your ovaries on ice.”

“Ha. I’m twenty-five, Granny.”

“And men can go forever,” she finishes, then sniffs. “See that you don’t.”

“We do want kids,” I assure her, looping my arm around her shoulders and hugging her hard.

“Just when all our other plans are done. Our time together, growing as a couple and falling more and more in love, is important to me.” I glance over at Dad working the barbeque, and by working, I mean trying to control the flames that I knew would be inevitable.

Mom comes scurrying out, a giant pitcher of water in hand so he can douse the whole thing.

“I want to be a mom and dad just like my parents. Just like you and Grandpa were for Dad.”

“Speaking of which, I had best go over and take over those grilling duties, or we’re going to be eating lumps of coal for Christmas. I mean this picnic.”

Granny scurries over, so nimble lately that she barely uses her cane at all. I don’t know if I want to wait five years for kids, but I don’t want to tell her that, or she’ll freaking install spy equipment at our house to try and get daily reports on the state of my womb.

Twenty minutes later, we’re all perched on the big blanket, our plates heaped with incredibly blackened chicken and a salad of every kind.

Mom says picnics should be all about the food, and by food, she means all about the salads and desserts.

She’s made potato salad, pasta salad, pink salad, orange salad, chef salad, and broccoli salad.

For dessert, she’s made three kinds of pies and four types of squares.

Booty Sue even has her own bowl with some chicken pulled off the bones and the charred skin removed. She’s keeping a close eye on the robot dog, which is now sitting immobile on the deck.

War is pretty quiet, the delicious middle in the Amalphia and Granny sandwich.

I know it’s because he’s overwhelmed when he comes here, and not in a bad way.

He and his parents might be doing better—they’ve been going to therapy for the past six months to work things out—but they don’t do things like this.

Even when they go to their cabin, it’s not like this.

I don’t know if they’ll ever really love me, but at least they’re not hostile anymore.

They’re actually growing more interested in War’s robotics instead of violently opposing all that he’s trying to do.

War tears into a drum and rams potato salad into his mouth. It’s his favorite, and his plate is mostly chicken with two massive mountains of potato salad. He’ll go back for seconds and thirds, eating like it’s Christmas.

Honestly, with the warm sun on our faces and all these good things happening to us, it feels just like it.

I love being surrounded by family, and I love being able to share this with War.

These are the memories I’ll treasure forever.

It’s pretty wild that it all started with heartbreak and thuggery.

“Mmm. Wow. This is amazing,” War says between bites, which makes my parents and Granny glow .

We looked at the pond as soon as we got here, and War complimented Mom on how healthy the goldfish were looking. She’s been beaming ever since.

He and my dad talked shop about business and robots, and Dad’s been beaming ever since.

Just being here with us has Granny beaming since we picked her up and drove her over.

I’m not sure Booty Sue can beam, but maybe that’s what her wide eyes are trying to accomplish. Doggy love telegraphed.

I know I’ve been beaming for days just from thinking about coming out here.

War is currently looking at me, and yup, he’s beaming too.

We’re all glowing, happy, and lit up, a bunch of beaming beamers back here. The whole backyard is filled with love. I have so many hopes and dreams, but the biggest one, the one that encompasses it all, is that I hope this old patchwork blanket sees many more picnics just like these.

THE END.

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Thank you for spending time with Amalphia and Warrick!