Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
“Okay, bye!” I say and then jerk the car door open. I sprint through the rain the short distance to the building and use my body to push open the door.
By the time I look back through the glass door, breathing so hard I’m panting like I’ve just run a mile, Dad’s car is gone.
Eleven
Thursday comes around far too quickly. I feel like the Father-Daughter Dance carries a symbolic significance. Like Dad and I going out into the world officially as father and daughter makes it, I don’t know, more real.
He’s introducing me to the world of his colleagues and friends as his daughter.
Yes, that sort of happened at the wedding, but I barely knew him then. I certainly didn’t call him Dad back then and our level of intimacy was nothing to what it is now.
I spend over two hours getting ready, between the shower and primping and hair and makeup. At first I try for a fancy, mature updo, but at the last minute instinctively know that Dad won’t like it. My makeup is too heavy, too. The dark eye makeup I opted for gives me an air of sophistication that I like—but I can just see him frowning at it. So the last half hour is spent using my makeup remover cream and rushing as I start all over.
I go for natural and simplistic. Instead of lipstick, I opt for a shiny lip-gloss that has the slightest pink tint. My hair still has some curl to it from the attempted updo, but now it hangs in long dark waves down my back, pinned simply at the sides to frame my face.
It all makes me look very young.
I bet Dad will love it.
I step into the dress and carefully zip it up as high as I can reach. Then I head over to Dominick’s room, where I knock on his door.
He opens it, looking absolutely gorgeous in a tux. His eyes immediately widen when he takes me in.
“Holy shit, Sarah,” he breathes out. “You’re a goddess.”
I laugh at his overreaction and turn around, lifting my hair to the side. “Zip me up?”
Even though it’s officially a Father-Daughter Dance, other members of family and plus-ones are welcome at the event.
Dominick’s fingers caress the skin of my back, tracing up my spine and making me shiver before he follows it by zipping up my dress.
I turn back around, smoothing down the skirt of the dress. It’s a sleeveless silk chiffon floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline, tailored to fit my petite frame perfectly. I’ve got on a pair of silver strappy pumps that give me a few extra inches so that I almost reach Dominick’s chin.
“Are you sure I look okay?” I ask nervously.
“You look gorgeous.” He leans down to kiss me but I smack him away.
“Don’t! You’ll mess up my makeup. I want Dad to see me while everything still looks perfect.”
He grins down at me. “My little perfectionist.” He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”
I can’t help the little melty-swoon thing my heart does. God, he really is heart-stoppingly handsome. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I manage through my suddenly dry throat. Then I take his arm and he leads me down the stairs.
Dad’s reaction is similarly gratifying. He’s waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sweet girl, you’ve never been more beautiful. I could eat you up.” He takes me from Dominick’s arm, and before I can say anything about mussing my makeup, he’s devouring my mouth. Well, at least I brought my gloss to refresh in the little clutch I grabbed at the last minute.
“Come on, Dad,” Dominick quips. “Don’t want to be late to your big event. All the donors will be there, after all.”
Dad comes up for air and claps Dom on the back. For a second, there’s the slightest bit of tension that I sometimes think I sense between the two of them, but the next second, Dad’s laughing and ushering me out the door.
To a limo that’s waiting on the curb.
A limo.
I look back at Dad and shake my head.
He’s grinning at me, obviously watching and waiting to see my reaction. “What did you do?” I ask.
“Like Dominick said,” Dad’s grin widens. “It’s my party. Got to arrive in style.” As he walks forward, the driver steps out and comes around to open the door for us. Dad raises a hand and gestures for me to get in first. “My lady,” he says, bowing.
I laugh at how ridiculous he’s being and take his hand as he helps me into the car. Dominick is there too, lifting my dress so I don’t accidently step on it while I get in. It feels like a fairytale. Except that Cinderella was never lucky enough to have two Prince Charmings.
I sit down, still feeling overwhelmed. And we aren’t even at the party yet.