Wreck the Halls(81)

She took a step in his direction. “Whatever it is, we can handle it.”

Those nods turned into headshakes. “There’s nothing for you to handle, Mel.”

“Let me be the judge of that?”

Beat wanted to argue, that much was plain, but he followed Melody in silence to the kitchen instead. He pulled out a chair at the breakfast bar and watched as she removed fixings from the fridge—ham, cheese, mayo—and whole grain bread from the pantry. Having this man watch her make sandwiches was a new experience, to say the least. The butter knife felt awkward in her hands. Her fingers tingled, along with the backs of her thighs. She could feel him wondering where the tops of her stockings ended and that intuition caused her to drop the knife twice before successfully cutting the sandwiches in half.

After plating the snack, she settled it on the counter in between them.

“I love watching you do . . . Jesus, everything,” he said, his teeth sinking into the bread. Chewing. “I want to hate every single person watching your daily life on the live stream, but I understand the obsession. You move like everything you’re doing is new. Like you’re experiencing it for the first time and want to get it right.”

Her sandwich was paused halfway to her mouth. “Example?”

“Like settling into a seat on the plane. Studying the survival manual, figuring out what each button does, testing out five sitting positions until you find a comfortable one.”

“You’ve been watching me closely.”

A small, humorless laugh escaped him. “Some might say too closely.”

“Not me,” she whispered. “I like knowing you do.”

Beat’s hand fisted on the breakfast bar. “Come here, Peach,” he ordered gruffly. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Talk first,” she forced out. “I’m not going to be distracted.”

His gaze traveled down the front of her body. “Your nipples say otherwise.”

“Beat.”

“Okay.” He raked a hand down his face, appearing to gather himself. Gather courage? When he let the hand drop, several seconds passed without him saying anything. “Mel, I need the network money because I’m being blackmailed.”

That last word clattered into the kitchen like a falling drawer full of silverware. It was the last thing in the world she expected him to say. Maybe because this man was the most wonderful being alive, in her eyes, and she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to cause him harm, whether physical, emotional, or financial. “Blackmailed?” She braced her head in her hands, trying to keep her racing thoughts from melting out of her ears. “By who?”

A snowplow rumbled by on the street, the room taking its time descending back into silence. “My biological father.” He blew out a sharp breath. “Oh shit. That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. My dad . . . Rudy. He isn’t really my dad. And he has no idea.”

Weight pressed down on her sternum. “Yes, he is. He is your dad,” she said firmly, somehow knowing that sentiment was important for him to hear, but there was so much more to unpack. “Help me understand. Your biological father is blackmailing you,” she said slowly. “If you don’t give him money, he’ll inform the public?”

“Yeah,” Beat said, voice rusted through. “Mel . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s been going on for five years,” he rasped. “The amount of money he wants gets bigger every time he resurfaces.”

“Five years?” Moisture flooded her eyes, her legs beginning to tremble. “Oh my God. How are you living with the . . . the stress of this?”

“I live with it, so they don’t have to.”

“Meaning Octavia and Rudy have no idea? You’ve just been shouldering this all alone?”

He just barely inclined his head.

She felt dizzy. “Where has the money been coming from until now?”

“My own. The money I earn working for the foundation. Cashing in savings bonds, selling stocks. I won’t touch Ovations money, Mel. I won’t fucking touch it.”

“I know you won’t. Of course, you wouldn’t.”

He slowly let out a breath, as if relieved by her belief in him. “Until this year, my own funds were enough, but like I said, the amount escalates.”

“Beat. You have to tell your mother.”

“No,” he said emphatically. “After this life she’s given me, I can handle this one goddamn thing for her. I can stop her being dragged by the press, like they did to you. Being adored is her lifeblood. And my dad . . .” He closed his eyes. “Imagine finding out the wife you’ve been worshipping for over three decades cheated and your son isn’t really your son? I can protect them from that pain.”

“It’s not your job, Beat,” she said in a shaky voice. “You won’t be able to sustain the increasing demand for money forever. Or the stress is going to kill you. Please.”

His eyes remained closed for a breath. “For now, can telling you about this be enough?”

No, she wanted to scream out of fear and frustration. “It can be a good first step,” she said, overruling the urge. “I’m glad you told me.”

A touch of tension left his bunched shoulders. “I’m glad, too.”