Dirty Scoundrel(3)

"You're not going to see Natalie again," Mr. Weston says, with that  polite smile on his face. His teeth are bright white in his tanned face,  and perfect.

I can feel my back stiffening. My muscles clench and alarm pounds through me. "Excuse me?"         

     



 

"I'm not an idiot, boy. I know exactly what this is about." He continues  to give me that charming smile, even though his words are hateful.  "You're interested in my daughter. I'm here to tell you she's not  interested in you. I'm trying to let you down easy."

Huh? I just talked to Nat on the phone a few hours ago. We texted not long after that. "I'm not sure what you mean-"

He holds up a long hand, indicating I should be silent. "You're here  because you want to meet with me. Get to know me a little better.  Best-case scenario, you want to move in with my daughter. Worst-case  scenario, you've gotten her pregnant and I need to step in." His eyes  narrow at me.

Move in with her? "Sir, I want to marry Natalie. I love her-"

Chap Weston shakes his head at me, interrupting me once more. I'm all  flustered and unable to think clearly, even as he continues. "That's a  nice thought, but what do you have to offer her?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've looked into your family, son. They're not exactly what  anyone would dream of for a son-in-law." He gives me a pitying look.

I grit my teeth. It ain't a secret that the Prices are trash. There's  five of us-all from different moms-livin' in our shitty trailer while  Dad roughnecks it out west. My brother Boone just joined him this last  year, and I'm about to head off and do the same. "I've got a job lined  up. I'm gonna work real hard."

"And what, move my Natalie into a trailer? Don't you think she deserves better than that?"

I clench my jaw, because he's right. Natalie does deserve better than that.

"Son," he begins again in that grating tone I'm startin' to hate. "My  daughter is smart. She's got great connections. I want her to go to  Stanford, just like I did. You know she's been accepted, right?"

Huh? Stanford? I don't even know where that's at. And Natalie hasn't  mentioned college, not once. I thought we'd make plans now that we've  graduated. "No, I didn't know that."

The look he gives me is pitying. "I see. Well, that doesn't change  things. Natalie will be attending in the fall and working on her degree.  She's got the world in front of her-that's what I'm trying to tell you.  You'd only bring her down."

This can't be true. Natalie loves me. Just last night, we kissed for  hours and she promised me that she loved me as much as I loved her. It  can't all be lies. "I think you're wrong, sir-"

"It doesn't matter what I believe, son. Look in your heart. You think  you can offer Natalie the kind of life she deserves?" He gives me a  long, up-and-down look again, eyeing my clothes.

And I feel . . . ashamed. He's not wrong. The job I've got lined up is  roughnecking-hard, dirty work that pays well enough, but not like what  Natalie will be used to. I know her dad lives on an enormous ranch out  in the country. I know he's got all kinds of Hollywood money coming in.  Natalie wears name-brand designer clothing. She's gone on fancy  vacations with her dad and her stepmom to places I can't even find on  the map. All I'll have to offer is my starting salary as a roughneck  "worm"-the lowest guy on the totem pole-and hope I can move up.

And love, of course. I can offer her so much damn love. But now I'm  starting to think that won't be enough. Natalie Weston is . . . well,  she's perfect. Shy, soft-spoken, sweet, and caring.

I'm just a crude Price.

Still, I can't give up on the girl I love. "I might not be the best guy  for her, Mr. Weston, but no one will love her more than me. No one."

"That's a nice sentiment," he says, glancing back at his driver. "But I  can tell you all about how fleeting love is, and so can my five  ex-wives. And it's hard to have love when you don't have money."

My heart squeezes somethin' fierce and I begin to feel despair. I'm  losing. Somehow I'm losing and I'm gonna lose . . . everything. "This  isn't what Natalie wants-"

"You so sure about that? She didn't tell you about Stanford." His voice  gentles. "My Natalie's got a soft heart. She wouldn't want to hurt you  more than is necessary, son."

I can't believe this is true. I can't. I think of Natalie, with her big  blue eyes and her soft smile. Feels like my fucking heart is being  ripped in half. "Why wouldn't she say anything to me?"         

     



 

"Why do you think I'm out here?" The smile he gives me is genuinely full  of remorse. "She needed some way to break this to you easily. She knew  what was coming and she didn't know how to get out of it." He gives me a  rueful grin. "Dear ol' Dad to the rescue."

No way.

She sent her dad to break up with me? I know Natalie hates conflict, but  this is fuckin' ridiculous. "I need to talk to Natalie." This doesn't  make sense. I thought . . . Just last night . . .

I thought we were going to marry. I even have a ring in my pocket. I've  carried it every day since I bought it. Granted, it's only from the  pawnshop, but I thought we could joke about how I'd buy her a better one  once we got on our feet. I thought Natalie would think it's cute.

Maybe I don't know her like I thought.

"I understand," Mr. Weston says. "Of course you will. She's a little  upset tonight, so maybe hold off until tomorrow morning, hmm?"

"Sure," I say dully. "Whatever."



Natalie

"Dad, have you seen my phone?" I race down the stairs, flustered. We're  already late for my big evening with Clay, and I know he's going to be  frustrated. I can't call him to tell him that my stepmother's been  locked up with her emotional-support cockatoo for the last hour, weeping  and feeding the poor fat bird crackers.

Everything's always drama with my family. Not surprising, I guess, given  that Dad still treats everything like it's Hollywood. But jeez, it can  be exhausting.

I straighten my sundress, pulling my favorite white cardigan over my  shoulders. Johanna-my stepmom-isn't going to be able to make dinner but  we can hopefully still meet Clay. I'm excited about tonight and what it  might mean for Clay and me. Meeting the family-that's step one along a  more serious commitment, isn't it? My heart flutters happily in my chest  at the thought. I know I'm only seventeen, but I also know I won't ever  love someone as much as I love Clay Price. Just the thought of his  boyish smile and the way his brown hair is always shaggy and slightly  overgrown makes my heart hurt with all the intense emotion I feel.

Clay's not rich, but he's the best. I know if my dad gets to meet him,  he'll love him as much as I do and see how happy he makes me.

But when I get downstairs, my father's walking back into the house and  putting his hat on its normal peg. I frown to myself. It's almost like  he's just returned. I've been so distracted with Johanna I didn't notice  he'd gone. "Did you leave? And have you seen my phone? I can't find it  anywhere and I need to let Clay know we're going to be late. Johanna-"

"I went and talked to your young man," Dad says in a stern voice. "Come sit down, Natalie."

"You did?" Why does that sound so ominous? But I follow my father into  his grand study quietly, a thousand questions buzzing in my mind. I  watch as he sits at his desk, one that Marlon Brando sat at in one of  his big movies. I sit in a chair opposite him, one from a John Wayne  film. My dad loves props and has spent a fortune on buying set pieces  from the movie lots. Our entire home is filled with things from famous  movies, and as a result, the atmosphere is a little . . . well,  "eclectic" is probably far too kind a word. "Scattershot" is more like  it. But my dad is old Hollywood, and we're not exactly a normal family  anyhow, so I don't mind. I smooth my skirt and try not to show my  nervousness. "You saw Clay?" I ask again. "Is he going to wait for us a  bit longer? Johanna-"

Dad shakes his head. "I'm afraid our dinner is canceled."

"Canceled?" I echo. "But why?"

He pulls an envelope off his desk and pushes it toward me. "You got accepted to Stanford, by the way."

I ignore it. Dad's been pushing Stanford on me for all my life, because  he went to college there for a brief time before heading to Hollywood. I  haven't made any decisions about college . . . well, because I wanted  to know where Clay and I were going. "What about Clay, Dad?"

"He's breaking up with you."

My father delivers the words so casually, and yet they hit me with the  force of a sledgehammer. I grip the carved wooden arms of the chair.  "Wh-what?"

Dad nods. "You're planning on going to college, right? He said he didn't  want to wait around. Said that he had better things to do with his  time. I suspect his family is the type that likes their women barefoot  and pregnant in the kitchen." My father shakes his head.