Chapter 7
Ariel dragged her dad Howell into the living room, piling on the drama. “Dad, we can’t keep Joanna. Yeah, she’s my sister, but she’s a total pain!
“Back in the village, she twisted my pinky in front of everyone. And at the door? She was straight–up rude to me and Mom, acting like she’s the boss.
“She’s gonna make the Newburns look like a hot mess, Dad.”
Samara cozied up on Howell’s other side, gripping his arm and laying it on thick. “Ariel’s plenty for this family. I know you want a lively house, but Joanna?
“She’s from the middle of nowhere, full of bad habits. No way she’s vibing with our awesome boys.
“She’s got no class, either. Snapped at me and Ariel in the car. Keep her here, and it’s gonna be chaos.”
Howell was a sharp–looking guy–polished, with an old–school charm, his gold–rimmed glasses giving him a classy, bookish air.
But as the mother–daughter duo trashed Joanna, his brow furrowed.
He was getting up there in years and just wanted a house full of life.
Problem was, his kids were weirdos–always MIA, barely talking. The sprawling villa felt like a ghost town.
Only Ariel, his youngest, brought some spark with her constant energy.
Older now, he just wanted a home that felt alive. When he heard Samara had another daughter, he thought bringing her in might help.
He was done with his sons; he wanted some sweet daughters instead.
But now, hearing this, he wondered if he’d moved too fast. A kid from the sticks might just stir up trouble.
He stepped into the living room, giving Samara’s arm a soft pat. “Yeah, I might’ve jumped the gun.
“You’re right–we’ve got enough people. An outsider could mess things up… Wait, Simon, you got a girlfriend?”
His face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas.
Howell, in his fifties, was stoked to see his son with a girl, especially since Jihui was clearly into her, chatting nonstop.
He grinned wide. “Nice job, kid! Treat her right, okay? Don’t be like your brothers–people are whispering they’re gay, asexual, you name it. Never even seen ‘em bring a guy home.”
Howell was out of ideas. His oldest, twenty–five, was all about work, no drama.
The second, twenty–two, was buried in research, no love life.
The third, nineteen, lived for his art, no friends.
The fourth, eighteen, was a charmer, but Howell hadn’t met a single one of his flings.
Sometimes, he wondered if his own wild days had cursed him, dooming his sons to act like saints.
1/2
Chapter 7
So, seeing Simon with a girl? She was looking better by the minute.
“Matthew, you get this girl some coffee yet?” Howell asked.
The butler, Matthew Perkins, bowed his head. “I warmed some milk, but she said it was too hot and broke the glass.”
Ariel’s eyes gleamed. “See, Dad? I told you she’s trouble! That glass was 300 thousand bucks at auction, and she-”
“She didn’t get hurt, did she?” Howell cut in, all concern. “Why so careless? Was the milk too hot? Simon, come on, man, cool it off for her! You’re grown–can’t you take care of a girl?”
Ariel and Samara were stunned.
Ariel had never gotten that kind of treatment. Her mom was the one cooling her drinks–her brothers never bothered.
Samara couldn’t figure out why her husband was babying this nobody.
She glanced at Joanna and Simon, then it clicked. “Honey, you’re off. That’s not Simon’s girlfriend. That’s my daughter, Joanna.”
The room went dead quiet.
Howell and Simon shouted in unison, “That’s my little girl?!”
Joanna braced for Howell to boot her out. Every novel she’d read had the poor country girl getting dissed by the stepdad, sidelined, stuck with scraps.
But Howell walked over, giving her a warm once–over with a big grin.
“Well, hot damn, look at you! Stunning!” he exclaimed. “Why so skinny, though? Not eating enough? Welcome to the Newburns, kid. We might not have it all, but food? We got you covered!”
Chapter 8
