My name is Eveline. Eveline Tate.
I am the daughter of Lucas and Rebecca Tate. Yup, THE Lucas and Becca Tate. Don't ask me why, but I grew up knowing that they are someone important. Uncle Mike is still working for dad, as his bodyguard. I used to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Mamma, I'm leaving..." I shout cheerfully before reaching the base of the stairs and freeze in the middle of my way when seeing my dad with his right hand deeply shoved under my mom's skirt, kissing the soul out of her.
She's laying on her back on the kitchen island while my dad's head lowers to her nipples, biting them through the fabric of the silky dress, while she drops the slotting spoon on the floor and moans keenly.
"Oh God, Mamma! Dad!" I yell in horror and turn my back on them. I hear them shuffling around, most probably straightening themselves up.
It's unbelievable how my parents still can't keep their hands off each other! Don't get me wrong. Deep down I do like how them being still madly, insanely in love, absolutely head over heels for each other.
I've always wished for a love story like theirs. In my eyes, they are the ideal couple but as a child of such a beautiful couple, there is nothing more embarrassing than running into your parents engaged with each other.
And my parents do that. A lot. Like... all the freaking time.
I don't think I remember a single moment my father has not been smitten around my mother, always absorbed by her presence, always at a maximum of half of a meter away from her as if she is the air he needs to breathe and live.
"Eve, so sorry sweetheart," mom says scolding dad with her eyes while dad squeezes a good chunk of her butt. "Come on in and have breakfast with us before you go, love," she continues, placing plates of breakfast on the dining table while my dad brings the omelet and pancakes. I take a seat next to dad.
"What were you saying, pumpkins?" my dad asks, hugging me sideways, planting a kiss on my temple before he sits for breakfast. "I hope you've kept your evening free, Eve. Enzo is coming for dinner," he continues without waiting for my reply.
"Sure, I'll be home for dinner but most probably I'll be out the entire day," I tell him.
Today I'm on a long schedule of classes at school. They are the hardest and on such days I'm having second thoughts about this university.
"Don't forget to pick Enzo up from the airport, Eve," mamma says.
"What?! Why me?" I ask, irritated.
"Because mom and I will be shopping and then preparing dinner and if we want it to be ready on time, someone else must pick up Enzo. And that someone else is you, Eve," dad clarifies, gallantly grabbing my hand and kissing it.
I adore my father, always fascinating in his appearance and noble in his behavior.
He used to be my standard of prince charming when I was a kid. Now he's my hero, my rock to lean against, and my pattern of a husband.
We have always had a special bond, something that only we can feel, although I've had my fair share of being a brat during my teenage years.
