Page 19 of Tangled in Temptation

My peaceful morning was interrupted by the loud, heavy footsteps of a surly teenager. I didn’t have to wonder who it was. She walked into the kitchen and sneered at me before she went straight to the refrigerator.

I sipped my coffee, watching her move around the kitchen with a practiced nonchalance. Cabinet doors opened and slammed shut. She didn’t look at me. I could feel her anger radiating off her in violent waves. I knew better than to say anything so offensive like ‘good morning’ or ask about her well-being. It was better if I kept my mouth shut. It was too damn early for a war with a teenager. She opened the fridge again, snatched out a water bottle, and stomped away again.

Having a teenager was hard. Having a teenager who was struggling and feeling utterly helpless was a special kind of torment. I wished I had the right to stand up for her, to help her navigate the storm raging within her. But the truth was, I was just a bystander in her life, not a parent, not a guardian. I had no say, no control. I sipped my coffee, fortifying my strength to get through another day.

The thought of asking Regina if Paisley could stay with me lingered in my mind. Yet I knew the potential fallout. There would undoubtedly be a scene with Regina throwing herself into hysterics, or worse, her viewing Paisley as some commodity and asking me to pay for the privilege of having her live with me. She was not above selling her daughter to the highest bidder. No one believed she was a doting mother.

I got up and poured myself another cup of coffee. I glanced at the clock. I was slowly developing a routine. I’d had to let go some of the servants Regina had hired, but I’d kept the housekeeper and cook simply because I was too busy to clean the massive house and I didn’t want it to ever go back to the dusty, musty mess it had been.

My chef would be arriving soon to start on the day’s meal preparations. That was something that was a necessity with a teenager in the house. I sure as hell didn’t know how to cook, and I didn’t want her eating Hot Pockets for lunch and dinner every night. If I hoped to convince Regina to let her stay, I had to prove I could feed her more than whatever was sold in the freezer section. As if on cue, the door swung open, and the chef walked in.

“Morning, Timothy,” he greeted, setting down the bags of groceries he’d brought with him. “Any special guests today?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “No, just me and Paisley.”

“Any requests for dinner?”

I shook my head. “Whatever you’ve got planned is good enough for me. You haven’t let us down yet.”

He smiled. “What about Paisley? Anything special she might like.”

I sighed. “I’m sure there are a lot of things she wants, but neither me or you is going to be able to give them to her.”

He chuckled as he unpacked the groceries. “Ah, the teen years. I’ll make something satisfying and healthy that will appeal to a teenager.”

“Thanks.”

I took my coffee and left him to do his thing in the kitchen. I started upstairs, listening for the sounds of music but heard nothing. The weight of responsibility weighed on me. I was going to go to my office to work, but something told me I had to try one more time. I needed to try and talk to her. I could only imagine how alone she was feeling in that moment.

I stood outside her door and braced myself for battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had to try. I raised my hand, hesitated, and then knocked, the sound echoing through the hushed corridor. I didn’t hear anything and wondered if she might have gone out back. That was the downside to such a large house. It was hard to know if she was even in the house.

I knocked again. “Paisley, it’s me. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Enter,” she called out, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes, pushing open the door to find her sprawled on her bed, a pillow shielding her face. There were clothes scattered across the floor. Dishes were covering most surfaces. I tried not to notice. This was her space. If she wanted to live in a pigsty, that was her business. The housekeeper had instructions not to clean it up. That was going to be Paisley’s responsibility.

“What do you want?” she asked, the words biting and far from welcoming.

I took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to address the situation in a calm manner. “Can we talk?” I asked. I looked around for somewhere to sit. I tossed a pair of jeans off a fuzzy black chair near the window. I sat down and immediately realized it was a chair for little bodies, not men, but I stayed put.

Paisley finally lowered the pillow, her eyes shooting daggers in my direction. “Talk away,” she muttered, the bitterness in her tone slicing through the air.

“Why are you mad at me?” I asked.

“I think it should be obvious.”

“Tell me, Paisley. I want to understand.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She sat up, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “You promised you’d come to Germany, and you never did. You didn’t help me when Mom sent me off to that freakin’ boarding school. You didn’t stop her from marrying that jerk. You never once asked me to come live with you.”

The accusations hit me like a tidal wave. I felt the weight of guilt settling in the pit of my stomach. Each word was a reminder of my failures as her stepfather, someone who had known her since she was five. I knew what she thought happened. We had never really told her the details, at least I hadn’t out of respect for Regina. It didn’t feel like it was my place to blast her secrets and sins. Paisley wiped her eyes, the tears still flowing down her cheeks. It ripped my heart out to see her suffering.

“Paisley, I tried to save my marriage with your mom for you. But things between us were falling apart for years—the fighting, the affairs. I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t going to be a healthy home for you if we stayed together. I know you felt the tension between us. I hated going home. Your mother and I did nothing but argue.”

She wiped away a tear, her gaze meeting mine. “But you’re my stepdad. You should have done something.”

“I did everything I could,” I admitted, the ache in my chest intensifying. “I tried to adopt you shortly after I married Regina, but she didn’t want me to. I never understood why. When we first started dating, she did talk about it. She made me believe there was a chance. She told me she wanted to wait until after we were married to give you time to adjust. I understood that, and I agreed. About a year after we were married, I had my lawyer get the paperwork started, but she didn’t want to do it then either. I can’t tell you how many times I asked her to let me adopt you. I thought maybe she was unwilling to share her little girl with me.”