THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Elena Monroe (best big ereader txt) 📗

at Vic’s son, Blaz, when he said, “I want to speak to Juniper.”

He was all business when it came to my daughter, and it wasn’t comforting. He was nothing like Vic—Blaz was troubled, demanding, distracting, already swearing, and often made it clear it’s his way or no way.

Vic and him clashed to say the least.

“Blaz, why are you calling me?” Normally I was only called when it was life threatening at the end of a very convincing Uncle Bowey that I just knew was going to lead to bail money in the future if I didn’t shut down being their favorite.

No one told Khaos so I’m playing it low-key so we don’t have to deal with the melodramatics.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a d-bag and let Juni have a phone,” he sassed back like a fucking pro on the other end.

I was the only parent with rules. Many rules—none extending to wildlife, though.

No phones.

Monitored internet time.

Limited TV time.

I was forcing her to be the kid we didn’t get to be and it worked for us. Juniper valued manners, the things in life that didn’t cost her any pieces of herself, and she slayed my baby grand better than I did.

“She doesn’t need a phone, you little shit. She barely speaks, what are you going to do, listen to her nod her head?”

We tested Juniper for everything and everything came back negative. There was nothing keeping her from speaking normally yet she chose not to.

She seldom spoke, and from what we heard of her voice, it was angelic, no lisp or distortion at all. It went unexplained and Eve kept reassuring herself that she would speak when it mattered.

“Yeah, duh, she can fucking hear old man. Tell her I’m calling,” he whined in a way that I knew his body was bouncing up and down demandingly the way he did.

“Well, she’s busy roaming our backyard like fucking Crocodile Dundy so leave a message.” Blaz was not the person I wanted Juniper to be friends with, but she picked him, or he picked her. Whoever picked, picked wrong.

Opposites.

Good vs. Evil.

The great parenting debate.

Too many walls between the people they are.

I could hear him sigh before he hung up but not before I heard him whine out for Justice. No doubt to tell on me for swearing or calling him a little shit inside my head. Blaz was great at pulling focus off himself if it meant avoiding jail time.

He was an expert at avoiding trouble even though he reeked of it.

Eve sauntered into the room the second I dropped my phone on the counter and shook my head at my latest odd interaction with Blaz. And it would for certain not be the last.

“Let me guess, Blaz called again?” She had to stop herself from imagining the conversation and laughed as her silk robe fell open to reveal a baby blue set underneath that instantly made me forget about my daughter having an affair with the next generation’s bad boy.

Eve was digging through our fridge to find her creamer for the coffee I now hated when I wrapped my arms around her slim waist pulling her into my chest. Showering her exposed neck and where her robe fell down with kisses, I held on tight like I did every morning.

Holding on tightly to what kept me sober, happy—full instead of famine.

“Wait, again? What do you mean again?” My mouth halted against her warm skin drenched in a morning glow.

Sticking to her like glue, she spun around pouring her coffee and dumping too much creamer into the mug. “He calls me every day, but I guess not picking up this morning left him desperate enough to call you.”

Fuck my life.

He was as committed as I was to being Eve’s forever. That was going to be a problem.

Finally pulling away from Eve, I took my coffee to the piano to start warming up before Juniper arrived at my side. She had a routine: brave the wild of LA, save an unbeknownst creature, then let them be serenaded into being a part of this family.

Every single morning.

Just like clockwork, Juniper strutted through the backdoors with her plastic enclosure completed with a frog. A green frog that was smooth and almost smiling, happy to be in the safety of Juni’s care now.

Juniper was three when she finally placed her small hands on the keys of the piano while she sat next to me like she did every day. It became my morning routine before it morphed into our morning routine.

I played for Eve while she was pregnant and when Juniper, Juni for short, was a baby to lull her to sleep when she would be wide awake in the middle of the night with her big, bright eyes.

Juni was a night owl that forced us to create new odd habits like reading her romance novels, playing the piano, and letting her play with baby safe paints—all the things we loved.

Picking her up and placing her on the piano bench I sat next to her, she was seven now, time flying, and she was growing too quickly for my liking.

Placing a frog on the top of my baby giant piano, I looked at the little guy covered in bumpy skin and not exactly the most attractive looking animal. “Who’s this, Juni?”

She looked at me with the same look her mother gives me when a new wild animal shows up inside my house. Last week she was feeding a raccoon because she was convinced he was starving.

She had personal experience with the feeling of famine and made it her mission to make sure no one felt that. Even raccoons, apparently.

Petting her new friend one last time, she looked