Read Online The Convenient Wife (A BWWM Steamy Marriage of Convenience Romance) by Imani King - Free Book Online
Authors: Imani King
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taking out a bottle of what looked like
whiskey. He pulled out a tumbler and poured himself a glass. I couldn’t help
giving him a disapproving glare—it wasn’t even one o’clock in the afternoon
yet. I glanced at Mary, who averted her gaze.
“So, what did you want to talk to me
about?” he muttered.
I took a breath. “Dad needs help,
Jon.”
Jon snorted. “What is it this time?
More money for bail? Another round of rehab?”
“I’ve been handling the bail. Me,” I
reminded him with a glare. Jon had never contributed one red cent to bailing
our father out of the results of his escapades. No, he left that to his
deep-in-debt sister. “He needs a place to stay for a little while—until I can
figure something else out, something more permanent.”
“No, Georgia. We can’t possibly—”
Mary began before Jon started talking over her.
“You want him to stay here? In my house?” He laughed, but there was no
joy in it. He took a long sip from his tumbler. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I scowled. “It’s not permanent, Jon.”
“It’s not even going to be temporary , Gigi. My answer is no.”
I threw up my hands, my rage starting
to get the best of me. “I can’t keep him at my place, and they’re going to take
the house.”
Jon took another swig. “Good. It’ll
serve his drunk-ass right.”
I looked pointedly at the glass of
whiskey in my brother’s hand. “Like you’re so much better, Tyrell , drinking your damn whiskey at noon.”
“So I can’t drink in my own damn
house without being just like my old man?” he sneered. Christ, he really was
like Dad. “And besides, what would my neighbors think? As though I don’t have
to tip-toe around here, now I have to have my alcoholic father move in. That’s
a sitcom I don’t want to watch.”
Looking at Mary, I noticed she’d gone
silent, her eyes on a picture of Jon playing with the girls out back. My
brother always cared way too much about what other people thought about him,
and it never failed to drive a huge wedge between him and the rest of our
family; if I didn’t insist on seeing my nieces, I’m not even sure they’d know I
existed.
“Just for a few days, Jon,” I
pleaded, growing weary. “And then we can work something else out. I promise.”
“How about for zero days?” he shot back. I swear, I was so angry that smoke was
coming out of my nose like a bull. “I don’t even need one of my neighbors
catching a look at Dad, especially the way he dresses. It’s an embarrassment.
Does he even wash his damn clothes anymore?”
“That’s it. I’ve had it,” I growled,
pointing a finger at my brother and his stupid booze. “You need to watch your
damn mouth, Tyrell. You don’t get to act like you’re better than us just
because now you get to keep up with the fucking Joneses.”
“Georgia, please don’t start this
now,” Mary said, her voice losing some of its musical quality.
“Don’t you start with me, Mary,” I
snapped, and she withered under my glare. Jon tried to get between us.
“Look, Georgia—”
“You’d best call me Gigi if you know
what’s good for you Tyrell ,” I
interrupted, my face flaring with red-hot anger.
“Whatever. There are places for
people like Dad to go, facilities and senior centers where they take care of
people like him—drunks and veterans.” He gave a little chuckle. There still
wasn’t a single note of happiness in it. “I’m not sure whether those are
synonyms yet or not. But he’s got his pension, and the Army’s got his health
insurance. He can afford a decent place to go.”
“You have a shitty idea of what ‘decent’
means,” I muttered. I’d never realized just how much of a snob my brother had
become. The more I stood in his presence, the more I felt him looking down his
nose at me.
“Well, decent living arrangements
for Dad qualify as
whiskey. He pulled out a tumbler and poured himself a glass. I couldn’t help
giving him a disapproving glare—it wasn’t even one o’clock in the afternoon
yet. I glanced at Mary, who averted her gaze.
“So, what did you want to talk to me
about?” he muttered.
I took a breath. “Dad needs help,
Jon.”
Jon snorted. “What is it this time?
More money for bail? Another round of rehab?”
“I’ve been handling the bail. Me,” I
reminded him with a glare. Jon had never contributed one red cent to bailing
our father out of the results of his escapades. No, he left that to his
deep-in-debt sister. “He needs a place to stay for a little while—until I can
figure something else out, something more permanent.”
“No, Georgia. We can’t possibly—”
Mary began before Jon started talking over her.
“You want him to stay here? In my house?” He laughed, but there was no
joy in it. He took a long sip from his tumbler. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I scowled. “It’s not permanent, Jon.”
“It’s not even going to be temporary , Gigi. My answer is no.”
I threw up my hands, my rage starting
to get the best of me. “I can’t keep him at my place, and they’re going to take
the house.”
Jon took another swig. “Good. It’ll
serve his drunk-ass right.”
I looked pointedly at the glass of
whiskey in my brother’s hand. “Like you’re so much better, Tyrell , drinking your damn whiskey at noon.”
“So I can’t drink in my own damn
house without being just like my old man?” he sneered. Christ, he really was
like Dad. “And besides, what would my neighbors think? As though I don’t have
to tip-toe around here, now I have to have my alcoholic father move in. That’s
a sitcom I don’t want to watch.”
Looking at Mary, I noticed she’d gone
silent, her eyes on a picture of Jon playing with the girls out back. My
brother always cared way too much about what other people thought about him,
and it never failed to drive a huge wedge between him and the rest of our
family; if I didn’t insist on seeing my nieces, I’m not even sure they’d know I
existed.
“Just for a few days, Jon,” I
pleaded, growing weary. “And then we can work something else out. I promise.”
“How about for zero days?” he shot back. I swear, I was so angry that smoke was
coming out of my nose like a bull. “I don’t even need one of my neighbors
catching a look at Dad, especially the way he dresses. It’s an embarrassment.
Does he even wash his damn clothes anymore?”
“That’s it. I’ve had it,” I growled,
pointing a finger at my brother and his stupid booze. “You need to watch your
damn mouth, Tyrell. You don’t get to act like you’re better than us just
because now you get to keep up with the fucking Joneses.”
“Georgia, please don’t start this
now,” Mary said, her voice losing some of its musical quality.
“Don’t you start with me, Mary,” I
snapped, and she withered under my glare. Jon tried to get between us.
“Look, Georgia—”
“You’d best call me Gigi if you know
what’s good for you Tyrell ,” I
interrupted, my face flaring with red-hot anger.
“Whatever. There are places for
people like Dad to go, facilities and senior centers where they take care of
people like him—drunks and veterans.” He gave a little chuckle. There still
wasn’t a single note of happiness in it. “I’m not sure whether those are
synonyms yet or not. But he’s got his pension, and the Army’s got his health
insurance. He can afford a decent place to go.”
“You have a shitty idea of what ‘decent’
means,” I muttered. I’d never realized just how much of a snob my brother had
become. The more I stood in his presence, the more I felt him looking down his
nose at me.
“Well, decent living arrangements
for Dad qualify as
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