I'd gone to see Gabriel after my meeting with my dad's lawyer. My intention wasn't to talk business but when I'd sat across from him, the speech about my dad I had prepared in my mind on the subway ride to his office, was suddenly lost in a blur of details about the event in Los Angeles.
Whether my father goes to prison or he's exonerated, my life has to move forward. I can't drop the ball that is my burgeoning business. My father taught me better than that. He may have his faults but he's always steered me in the right direction when it comes to securing my future by my own hand.
If I tell Gabriel that I can't fully focus on the event, he will replace me without a second thought. I can't risk that at this stage of the game.
I sat with him for an hour discussing the silks and lace that we want featured on the models in the pop-up event. He had boxes of lingerie and as I picked through them, I caught him studying my profile.
He'd asked tersely if there was anything he could offer that would help me or my family. It was genuine. I could see that in the way his expression softened. I'd thanked him and told him that everything was being taken care of.
I hadn't mentioned his mother's name even though my initial intention was to tell him that she'd spoken to my father's lawyer and had been providing intimate details about my life.
As I chosen the lingerie pieces that I wanted the models to wear in Los Angeles, I realized that my father's actions might have stolen parts of my life away too. It's not Gianna's fault that my dad did things that put my privacy at risk. She was asked questions and answered them honestly. I have no right to fault her for that.
"Do you want me to go with you to talk to your dad?" Landon's voice breaks through my thoughts. "I can get a ticket for the train and ride there with you."
I shake my head slightly to refocus on the conversation. "What about your dad? Are you going to tell him about us?"
His gaze narrows. "My dad isn't part of my life anymore. I don't think I'll ever talk to him again. He doesn't have a right to know about you."
If he's trying to conceal the muted anger in his tone, he's failing miserably. His body language alone speaks of the fury that is there, right below the surface. "Aren't there things you want to say to him?"
He scoops the palm of his hand over my cheek. "There are things I wish I knew about why he left but he caused so much suffering, Tess. I mourned his death for years. There's no excuse for that."
Our fathers may have known each other at one time. The two of them may have conspired in their crimes but that's where the similarities end.
I don't hate my father. I can't imagine never speaking with him again. I'm confused. I'm hurt but mostly I'm afraid. Tomorrow, I have to get on a train and go see my dad so I can tell him that I'm falling in love with Frederick Beckett's son.
Chapter 9
––––––––
I sit in the plain room as I gaze down at the text messages on my phone that Landon has sent me since he kissed me goodbye at Penn Station this morning.
He'd held me last night until I couldn't keep my eyelids open. He'd helped me to my bed, undressing me slowly, kissing my skin tenderly before he pulled back the covers so I could slide between them.
He wanted to stay and make love to me he said, but sleep was more important. I'd held tightly to him as he kissed me once last time, whispering against my lips that he would do everything in his power to protect me and my family.
I'll be on the next flight if you need me, Tess. I'm one phone call away.
A loud noise pulls my gaze from my phone and Landon's last message. I look across the room to where the heavy steel door is opening. I'd walked through that door less than ten minutes ago after a female guard searched my purse and patted me down.
She'd been silent the entire time. My mindless chatter about the weather and the fact that I've never been in a facility like this before didn't warrant a response. She was stoic, her movements almost robotic as she cleared me for entry.
I keep my eyes glued to the door. I've imagined this moment all morning as I rode the train to Boston. I don't want to cry. I want my father to see his independent and strong willed daughter. I need him to see the strength in my eyes that isn't within him right now. I need him to witness my faith in him.
I stand when the guard enters the room, knowing my father is right behind him.
His shoe comes into view first. It's one of the sneakers he's always worn when we've gone for walks through his neighborhood in Los Angeles. Next I see the bottom of his jeans. They're too short for him. He only buys them on sale and by the time he gets around to going to the mall, the sizes are so picked over he settles for what is closest. I've teased him about it endlessly.
I finally get a glimpse of his face as he steps out from behind the guard. His eyes scan the sparse space before they finally settle on me.
My hands leap to my mouth, my eyes well with tears and he begins to cry. My father stands near the doorway. There are no cuffs on his wrists; he's not surrounded by an army of guards with their guns drawn at the ready. He looks just as he did when he blew me a kiss as I turned back to look at him standing on the curb when he dropped me off at LAX.