Under His Eye: Falling for Stepdaddy

Wedding Prep

Even weeks after I returned to college, I was still in shock that my mother was going to get remarried.

With my father dying so young, I only have a few personal memories of him. I remember injuring my finger somehow and crying, and then he scooped me up in those great big arms of his, and I instantly felt better. I also remember lying in bed as he read a story to me, his voice so comforting as I drifted off to sleep.

But most of what I knew about my daddy came from my mother. She always kept a picture of him prominently displayed on the mantle, and she would tell me stories about how they met and the dates they went on.

She always seemed so content with her memories of him, never once going on a date or expressing any interest in another man in my entire life, so her getting swept off her feet by Malcolm really threw me for a loop.

I can still remember the day I came back to my dorm room after class and there was a piece of mail waiting for me. Just by the ornateness of the envelope I knew what it was, and my hands were shaking badly when I opened it to discover a formal invitation to the wedding of Emma Swanson and Malcolm Kent written out in fancy handwritten calligraphy.

My mother, however, was oblivious to my concerns. She was constantly sending me pictures of cakes or flower arrangements, asking me what I thought of them. She also sent me pictures of Malcolm's estate, where the wedding was to take place, which blew my mind. Frankly, it almost looked like an English lord's manor or something, a huge ornate building surrounded by lush gardens and acres of manicured grass.

Eager to find something that might change my mother's mind, I decided to do more research on Malcolm Kent. Among other things, I discovered that he had a son named Jack who was about my age.

Jack was always grinning confidently in his pictures, but he lacked the gravitas of his father, making him come across as cocksure and arrogant. Furthermore, he was one of those guys who is good-looking and knows it, instantly marking him as an insufferable bore.

For all these reasons and more, I was finding it very hard to concentrate on my studies. I kept getting distracted in class as I imagined myself having to call Malcolm "dad," which of course was ridiculous.

I could also see myself getting stuck having to talk to his stupid son, who would probably try to impress me with his lavish lifestyle and globetrotting exploits. But a part of me was curious what it would be like to investigate all those rooms in Malcolm's estate, prying into corners and seeing what dark secrets I might uncover.

As time went on, I kept noticing all the older men on campus. With so many immature boys around, these older gentlemen stood out, dignified in their bearing and much wiser than their younger counterparts. Whether it was the dean as he gave an address or some of my professors, I couldn't help but think that we need more older men in society to lead us and guide us.

My literature professor was an excellent case study of this with short, well-kept silver hair and always dressed in a suit. His lessons were crisp and to the point, and I found myself learning quite a lot under his tutelage. Books I'd once considered impenetrable thickets of old-timey jargon became insightful explorations into the human condition.

One day, I stayed behind to ask him a question about an essay we were required to write. I'm not sure if I had given him the wrong impression from the low-cut top I was wearing or what, but he put his hand on my knee and started telling me how pretty I was.

I was quite flattered that he'd notice a lowly nobody like myself, but when he asked me out, I regretfully turned him down. As tempting as the offer was, I just didn't think I had anything to offer him - a man like that needed a sophisticated, well-read woman who was his intellectual equal.

As time went on, as much as I hated to admit it, I realized that the wedding was going to happen, so I forced myself to accept it. After all, my mother was a grown woman, and she certainly deserved to be loved. I just wish it could've been to a man more like her instead of a billionaire playboy with a string of broken marriages behind him.

Maybe I was just worrying too much, I told myself. Maybe attending such a lavish wedding with no expenses spared might turn out to be pretty cool. If nothing else, it would be a change of pace, and all of my friends were definitely going to be jealous once they saw me partying at a mansion.

But like I said, I love my mother, so if this is what made her happy, then at the end of the day, I was going to support it regardless of how I personally felt about the situation.

Before I knew it, finals were over, and it was time to head back home for the summer. But there was not going to be any chilling out and relaxing by the pool because I would only have just enough time to get my bridesmaid dress fitted and run a few last-minute errands.

The wedding, you see, was taking place just one week later.