t was one of those perfect mornings. Not too hot, but the sunlight was pouring in through the window. Earlier I’d woken up in my boyfriend’s bed after a night of sweet lovemaking. We’d had breakfast with Maia and then she’d gone off to the YA summer program at the library and Logan had left for work.
I’d returned to my flat, where I was working on Joss’s new manuscript and eating leftover croissants from yesterday’s trip to my favorite bakery. For the first time ever, I was able to throw off my inner angst over… well… everything… and I was just enjoying my work and life.
I should have known it would all go to hell.
The knock at the door was the signal of the start of it.
The man standing on my doorstep was the “hell” part.
“Father,” I said softly, shocked by the surrealism of him standing on my small but clean landing.
Gabriel Bentley stood there in a crisp white – most probably designer – shirt, lightweight leather jacket, and dark trousers. He was shiny and clean from the top of his perfectly combed hair to the gleaming black Italian loafers on his feet.
But the shiny and clean were only skin-deep.
My fingers curled around my doorframe. “What do you want?”
“May I come in?” he said, pushing his way past me.
I felt the panic rise up from my chest, a choking sensation wrapping around my throat as I closed the door and followed him inside my flat.
I found him in my sitting room, looking around, taking it all in.
“What do you want?”
He gave me this weary sigh in response to my snappish tone. “Your mother is sick. She has breast cancer.”
Hearing him say the words out loud suddenly made it so real. “I know,” I said. “I saw an article in the news.”
My father jerked his head back as if I’d slapped him. “And it never occurred to you to come see her?”
I fought off a wave of guilt. “Last time I spoke to her she told me she never wanted to see me again.”
“To be fair, you did tattle on her to me about her lover,” he chastised.
Dumbfounded, I shook my head. “One – he was not her lover. He was my boyfriend. Two – do you not hear yourself? I will never understand your mutual lack of respect for each other and your marriage.”
“On the contrary, I have a healthy respect for your mother.” Looking saddened, he sat down on the arm of my sofa. “I just wished you’d inherited her realism. You get hurt so easily, Gracelyn. It’s hard to watch.”
“My name is just Grace,” I reminded him coldly.
He nodded. “Grace.”
“Why are you here?”
The sadness melted just enough for that steely determination of his to shine through. “I’m here to convince you to come home. The media have shown some interest in the fact that you’re not home, standing vigil at your mother’s bedside.”
I sneered. “Of course. It’s all about appearances with you.”
He had the audacity to look hurt. “I am the head of a media company. Image is everything. But I do need you for more than that. She’s sick, and I don’t know what to do.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the niggle of sympathy I felt or the ever-increasing guilt. “Is she dying?”
“She’s fighting it. But it’s a difficult battle. Sebastian has stepped up to take a more hands-on role in the company so I can concentrate on getting your mother the best treatment possible.”
I crossed the room, my legs shaking too much to stand any longer. Once I was seated across from him, I somehow found the courage to ask the question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. “Has she asked for me?”
I received only silence as my father looked at the floor.
“That would be a ‘no,’ then.” I closed my eyes, fighting the pain of her rejection. Like always.
“I am asking you.” He stared me straight in the eye and gave me that coaxing smile he’d always given me when he was intent on getting me to do whatever he wanted. “I have missed you.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “I never would have known that what with all the e-mails, calls, and cards you sent over the last seven years.”
He frowned, seeming perturbed by my stubbornness. “The lack of communication goes both ways.”
“No, it doesn’t. I was betrayed by my mother, and you and Sebastian brushed it off like I was a child who needed to grow up and understand the ways of the world – as though betrayal is just a part of life. Well, it’s not. I know that now. I have people who care about me, and they would never betray me like she did. Like you all did.”
My father cocked his head to the side in thought. “Are you talking about this man, this neighbor of yours? Logan MacLeod. The ex-convict and his long-lost child.”
I sat back, the panic rising within me again. “You’ve been looking into me?”
“Of course I have. You’re my daughter. I didn’t let you go off into the world entirely by yourself. You needed space from this family and I’ve given it to you, but I’ve also been watching over you. I know all about you. I know about the rugby player, Aidan Ramage, and his fiancée, Juno. Canadian, yes? And, of course, your best friend from college, Chloe. I know you all go to Skye every year for a weekend in the summer and Paris for a weekend in the winter. I know you, Grace.”