Your Dad will do

M-i-l from hell

I woke with a start to someone rapping insistently on the bedroom door. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, it took me a moment to remember where I was - the opulent guest suite of the Greywood mansion, ironically belonging to the family of my cheating ex.

"Just a minute!" I called out, throwing off the plush duvet and running a hand through my tangled bedhead.

The door cracked open to reveal a prim, blonde maid who eyed me with thinly veiled disdain. Even in my rumpled state, I could tell her neat black uniform likely cost more than my entire wardrobe back home.

"Mrs. Greywood requested I inform you that breakfast is served promptly at 8 am," she said in a clipped tone. "You're expected in the main dining hall in fifteen minutes." With a final disparaging sniff, she retreated and closed the door once more.

I flopped back against the pillows, letting out a groan. Great, even the hired help looked down on the pathetic woman their boss had charitably taken in off the street last night. Though I couldn't exactly blame the maid - I probably did seem like some deadbeat freeloader crashing in the lap of luxury.

Hauling myself out of the sinfully cozy bed, I quickly freshened up in the adjoining marble bathroom. I threw on the same crumpled outfit from the night before, grimacing at my haggard reflection. Fabulous first impression to make on the upper echelons of high society.

When I arrived at the dining hall precisely fifteen minutes later, I faltered in the doorway. Alexander was already seated at the head of an impossibly long, gleaming table. But that wasn't what brought my steps grinding to a sudden halt.

He looked...unfairly good, damn near edible really. Clearly fresh from the shower, his dark hair was still damp and tousled. The plush white robe hung open just enough to offer tantalizing glimpses of his sculpted chest and shoulders. Even from across the room, I could make out the defined valleys and ridges of his body, all coiled power and vitality.

This man could practically be my father, I chastised myself, heat creeping into my cheeks. Yet there was no denying the unmistakable spike of pure, visceral attraction that zinged through me.

Suddenly very aware of my bedraggled state, I tugged self-consciously at the hem of my wrinkled t-shirt as Alexander looked up, those steel-gray eyes locking onto me. A slow, says-he-knows-exactly-how-he-looks smile curved his lips as he rose smoothly from his chair.

"Ruby, good morning. I trust you slept well?" His tone was all polite cordiality, but I could have sworn I caught the barest hint of a husky rasp edging each syllable.

Drawing a steadying breath, I forced my feet to propel me into the room and towards the waiting chair he'd pulled out for me. "Yes, thank you, Alexander. Your...guest suite is extremely comfortable."

Up close, it was even harder to tear my eyes from the intriguing glimpses of his muscular physique peeking out from the robe. Get it together, I chided silently, sliding into the chair before my treacherous gaze could drift anywhere more scandalous.

As Alexander reclaimed his own seat, rolling up the luxurious sleeves of his robe, I had to resist squirming under the weight of his piercing regard. There was an intensity there that made me feel utterly bare in ways that had nothing to do with being underdressed for the dining room.

Something electric, undefined, crackled between us in that hushed moment.

The maids filed in with covered silver trays, moving with Silent, practised efficiency to lay out an extravagant spread before us. Flaky pastries, fresh fruit, steaming omelets, and more mouth-watering dishes than I could readily identify all arranged like a royal feast.

I tried not to gape openly as they poured fragrant coffee and set out fine china with understated elegance. This was how the upper echelons dined every single morning, I realized with a jolt. While I was lucky if I remembered to grab a granola bar on my way out the door.

As the last maid retreated with a respectful bob of her head, he flicked his wrist in a subtle, dismissive gesture.

"There, that should give us some privacy," he remarked lightly, deftly opening a crystal dish of butter. "Now, Ruby, I'd like to hear a bit more about you, if you don't mind indulging my curiosity."

My cheeks warmed at his easy charm and directness. Clearing my throat, I picked up a butter knife simply to have something to do with my hands. "Well, I, uh, I don't know how much there really is to tell, to be honest..."

Alexander's piercing gaze held mine over the rim of his coffee cup as he took a sip. "Indulge me. What about your family, for instance? Any siblings?"

"N-no, no siblings. It was just me and my mom, really." I twisted the knife, unable to meet his intense regard. "My parents split up when I was about one, and dad was never really in the picture much after that."

A crease formed between Alexander's brows as he seemed to digest that nugget. "I'm sorry to hear that," he murmured, something somber flickering across his chiseled features. "That must have been...difficult, for a young girl."

Shrugging, I finally risked a glance back up. "I mean, yeah, I guess. Though Mom was amazing, did everything she could to give me a good life despite being a struggling single parent. If anything, it probably contributed to me being so devastated by Jared's...well, you know."

My voice trailed off, the resurgence of pain catching me off-guard all over again. But Alexander's expression had gone carefully blank, giving nothing away.

"Yes, the sad reality is that sort of family dysfunction can unfortunately become a generational cycle, repeating itself unless consciously broken." His tone was clipped, almost detached, as he refilled his coffee cup with frank, economical movements.

The weighted implication behind his words wasn't lost on me. "You mean...like how you and Jared seemed to have a pretty complicated relationship too? From what little he told me, at least."

I bit my lip, immediately regretting the rash observation. But rather than taking offense, Alexander simply let out a world-weary sigh, settling back in his chair.

"Jared and I have...struggled to see eye-to-eye for most of his adult life, yes," he admitted lowly. "Perhaps that was part of the issue that allowed him to be so selfish and emotionally careless towards you. It's a poor excuse, but there it is."

My heart constricted at the resigned wisdom and unexpected vulnerability in his tone. For all Alexander Greywood's wealth and power, it seemed emotional richness in his closest relationships had long eluded him as well.

In that moment, I felt a sudden, startling rush of kinship and protectiveness towards this fascinating, multi-layered man who had opened his home to me. As if through his solitude, he recognized the same longing for real family in my own vacant past.

My fingers instinctively began inching across the tablecloth before I realized what I was doing. But Alexander caught the unconscious gesture, his stormy gaze flickering down to my hand, then back up to lock with mine.

That same scorching heat, undefined but impossibly heavy with unspoken...something...crackled between us once more. And this time, neither of us looked away, the moment suspended in the weighted quiet.

Alexander's eyes had gone hooded, gleaming with a heated intensity that robbed me of the power of rational thought. A breathless eternity seemed to stretch between us as my body unconsciously arched towards his, craving that connection.

Until a maid's abrupt entrance, shattering the spellbinding moment, caused us both to jerk reflexively apart.

The maid hovered uncertainly in the doorway, eyes darting between Alexander and me like she'd just stumbled into the middle of something intense - which, let's be real, she absolutely had.

"Sir," she began, tone carefully neutral as she addressed Alexander. "Miss Spencer has arrived and is requesting your presence in the parlor."

Wait, Ms Spencer? As in Jared's mom, Catherine - my former monster-in-law from hell? A knot of dread instantly formed in the pit of my stomach at the thought of her patented look of utter disdain and revulsion.

Alexander, meanwhile, had gone perfectly still at the maid's announcement, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. If I didn't know any better, I could've sworn a muscle ticked in that chiseled jaw of his.

"I was not made aware my ex-wife would be gracing us with her company this morning," he said at length, an edge creeping into that low rumble of a voice.

The maid shrank back ever so slightly, which honestly just made me feel worse for her having to deal with the sudden undercurrent of tension permeating the room. "My apologies, sir. Miss Spencer arrived only moments ago and instructed that you join her immediately."

With a curt nod of dismissal, Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose as the maid beat a hasty retreat. When he looked up again, the earlier heat had dimmed from those stormy grays, replaced by something infinitely wearier and more guarded.

"It appears duty calls," he remarked dryly, movements stiff as he pushed back from the table and tugged the plush robe more securely around himself. "You're welcome to enjoy the rest of your breakfast at your leisure, Ruby. I'll...try not to let Catherine ruffle too many feathers during her visit."

I winced at the prospect, memories of my once soon to be mother-in-law's thinly veiled barbs and sneers still stinging even all this time later. No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough in her glacial eyes - never the "proper" wife material to secure her precious son's future.

Forcing a tight smile, I gave a vague wave of my hand. "Don't worry about me. I'm just going to...enjoy the heck out of these pastries while I can."

Try as I might to sound nonchalant and unbothered, I think we both knew I was fooling approximately no one. But Alexander simply offered a weary nod, the briefest ghost of some unreadable emotion flickering across those striking features.

The doors flew open without so much as a courtesy knock, and in swept the lady of the manor herself - though I use that term loosely. Catherine Greywood-- Spencer hadn't been the presiding matriarch of this household for a decade, not since her nuclear-level split from Alexander. But you'd never know it from the regal, proprietary air with which she sailed into the dining room, perfectly styled head held high.

"Alexander, darling, I simply had to come see what sort of trashy little scene you've found yourself mixed up in this time," she announced in that grating, nasal tone, lips pursed in patent disapproval as she swept an assessing glare over me.