61. But Daddy I Love Him, Taylor Swift
"But Daddy I Love Him," Taylor Swift
Victoria
“What if he gave up on me?” I asked, smoothing a pair of slacks in my suitcase.
“Are you repacking? Again?” Alex asked, his voice muffled by the blouse over my phone speaker.
“Of course not, shut up,” I said, hanging the blouse back up and catching my uncertain reflection in the mirrored closet doors. Packing should’ve been easy—I’d only brought two suitcases of clothes to Dad’s—but how does one dress for a groveling apology? There wasn’t a style guide: ‘What To Wear To Beg For A Second Chance from the Love of Your Life.’ Trust me, I’d googled it.
“How many times have you refolded whatever you’re holding right now?” Alex asked.
I picked up a new blouse so I could fold it for the first time. “Why did I bother calling you? All you’re going to say is that you told me so.”
“To be fair, I did tell you so.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Hold on, wait,” he said, laughing at my expense. “You called me because you knew that after I finished giving you shit, I’d tell you exactly what you needed to hear.”
“Can we get to that now, please? Connor will be here any minute.” I looked out the window at the million dollar view, where the afternoon sky left a hazy fog over the city.
I was looking forward to seeing the stars again tonight.
“First of all, whatever you’ve packed is fine. He doesn’t care what you’re wearing,” he said as I debated between two Armani shirts then packed both. “And if things go like you want, you probably won’t be wearing—”
“Don’t say it,” I said, zipping up my suitcase and grunting as I yanked it upright.
“Second of all, he’s posted dozens of videos saying that he loves you. The only way he’ll stop is if you call him yourself. And obviously, you haven’t.”
“But he didn’t post one today,” I whispered, rolling the suitcase towards the elevator.
“Maybe something came up. Something in the building, or with his family,” Alex said. But my stomach twisted. What if something had happened to his mom? Or his sisters? I leaned against my dad’s massive built-in bookcase in the hallway, staring out at the skyline twinkling beyond the penthouse windows.
“Alex …” I closed my eyes and whispered my fear. “If he can’t forgive me, can I stay with you and Grace tonight?”
Silence. I'd never asked him for that kind of hospitality. Even when I moved to Saratoga, and he offered me their spare room, I'd bought my own place, needing my space.
But being alone tonight after rejection might send me spiraling, and I knew if I needed to lick my wounds, Grace would feed me gluten-free cookies and put on a sappy movie and not criticize me for falling apart.
"You know you're always welcome." Alex's voice was thick with emotion. “But you won’t need to, because he’d be an idiot not to take you back. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Well, that’s fine, but I only want him.” I swallowed hard, knowing I had to tell Alex something else. "Connor convinced me to talk with his therapist." Alex couldn't suppress his surprised inhale.
"How do you do it? Keep going back?" I asked, my voice raspy from how raw I felt after peeling back the first layer of protection. "Talk about … all of it?"
"Well at first, I went because Mallory said that Grace deserved better than my default settings, and it wasn't her job to make me less of an asshole," he said in a self-deprecating tone. "That got me through the first few months, thinking about becoming the man that Grace and Ruby needed me to be." I nodded, feeling the same way. I wanted to be the boss Connor needed, the partner Cruz deserved. "But then after a while, I realized that I had to do it for myself. You'll get there, too, eventually," he said, and his confidence in me bolstered my insecurity. "How did your first session feel?"
I blew out a pained breath. How could I explain it? "Like scraping off my skin with an apple peeler."
"Yeah, it's like that sometimes," he said with a knowing laugh. "I should know, Grace makes so many damn pies that my fingers are a mess now."
I ran my thumb over my chipped nails, remembering the feeling of Cruz's calloused fingertips on my skin. My hand still ached from that hit two days ago, but the EMTs assured me no bones weren't broken. Good, I would need it for tonight.
"But hey, you're a cobra, right?" Alex said. "So maybe this is just your way of molting."
I smiled in spite of my nerves. Maybe he was right—I was shedding all the old skin and revealing the newer version underneath.
The elevator dinged, shooting a jolt of anxiety through my veins. “Alex? I gotta go, Connor’s here.”
“Does he need a place to stay this weekend?”
“No, he kept his apartment in Saratoga in case I wanted to come back.” I smiled at how well they both knew me, even when I was in denial. “See you in three hours?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I hung up and called out that I’d be right there, planning to leave a note for the housekeeper about Jurisprudence’s meal times … but as I turned the corner, my stomach dropped.
My father stood in the kitchen, reaching into the Sub-Zero fridge.
I froze. “What are you doing here?”
He straightened quickly, slamming the fridge shut with a guilty expression before crossing his arms defensively. “I live here.”
“Doesn’t seem like it, you’ve been gone for days.”
“Personal leave,” he said, lifting an imperious brow. Even now, he was going to shut me out?
“Where have you been?”
“You’re a guest in my house, stop interrogating me,” he growled, his voice edged with irritation. He leaned against the marble counter, as if positioning himself between me and my escape. “It’s three in the afternoon, why aren’t you at work?”
“Personal leave.” If he could shut me out, I could do the same. I reached for my suitcase, gripping the handle tighter than necessary.
His eyes flicked to the bag, his expression tightening. “You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me,” I said. “Or start talking.”
Our eyes locked, tension thickening the air between us. Once, I’d trusted him more than anybody. When had we become adversaries instead of allies?
I licked my lips. “I know you’re used to doing whatever you want behind Richard’s back, but he left me in charge. Now you report to me. I’ve spent the past two days dealing with PR and legal while my COO was noticeably absent. Now I’m leaving.” I gripped my suitcase handle, concealing the wince of my sore palm. “If you want me to come back, start talking.”
His jaw flexed, fingers tapping against the countertop. I saw the exact moment he realized I wasn’t bluffing and threw up his hands. “I tracked down proof of your little fight with Spencer. I’m trying to clear your name.” Another glance at my suitcase. “Which will be a lot harder if you’re not here.”
I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my jaw. Whatever proof he had would show that Spencer attacked me and I reacted in self-defense. Dad was right, I should stay and deal with this.
Except he wouldn’t have left the city for that. Where had he gone?
“The media will figure out who you learned those self-defense moves from.” Dad’s lips pressed into a thin line, and my fingers curled around the suitcase to keep my hands from shaking. “You needed to end things with him. He was a loose end you needed to cut. So I went upstate to neutralize the situation and I—”
“That’s where you were?” My voice cracked, raw with disbelief. He had gone behind my back. This wasn’t business, it was personal.
The tears burned at the edges of my vision, but I didn’t blink them back. I let them fuel my rage. “Thirteen years ago you let me marry a goddamn narcissist who destroyed my life—who’s still a fucking menace, who attacked me in my workplace right before you stormed out. You didn’t step in any of those times. You enable him to keep hurting me, even though he’s a lying, cheating piece of shit.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “But I find a man who loves me, who truly adores me for who I am … and now you intervene?”
“Keep your voice down, Victoria,” he scolded.
“No, I won’t keep my voice down! I’m so fucking tired of you telling me how to talk, how to fucking feel. Or how to not feel anything, even happiness. God forbid I’m happy.” I wiped the tears off my cheeks, but now that the dam had burst, I couldn’t stop crying. “I tried it your way and I’m fucking miserable, Dad. I can’t do this anymore, not without him.”
Dad’s mouth dropped open in shock before he blew out a long, agonized breath. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bag from my favorite Saratoga Springs diner.
“Apparently I’m the world’s best paid Uber Eats driver,” he said dryly, and I took the bag cautiously. “And he gave me very strict instructions to do this.”
He pulled a torn-up check from his pocket and threw it in the air like confetti. Then he handed me the receipt, covered in Cruz’s rough handwriting: Your dad’s bribe is in the wrong currency.
My face flushed as I ran my thumb affectionately over the familiar strokes. After I ghosted him, bitterness could have seeped in … but he was still so beautifully, wonderfully, crudely himself.
I met Dad’s embarrassed eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“I really don’t,” he said with reluctant acceptance. “He has more integrity than I expected.”
I reached into the bag for the the breakfast potatoes, burned like they’d been sent to the brink of hell, just how he knew I would want them.
They tasted like freedom. They tasted like love.
They tasted like home .
Through a mouth of homefries, I told Dad, “I’ll do what it takes to convince him. If he tells me that it’s him or the job, you can expect my resignation.”
Dad’s expression tightened before a small nod.
“If he’s willing to come back here, I’m moving in with him. even if it’s in,” I swallowed the lump in my throat, thinking of how much I adored his family, “Queens.”
“Queens?” Dad winced, appalled that I’d consider an outer borough.
“Whatever it takes,” I said. Richard said that love was a luxury I couldn’t afford … but it turns out, it doesn’t have a price tag.
Connor's silhouette stood frozen in the doorway. His gaze darted between us. “Need a few more minutes?”
“No, I’m ready to go,” I said, turning to my dad. “If you want to remain part of my life, personally or professionally, you’ll back me to remove Spencer. You’ll speak out against the harm he’s caused."
When Dad nodded, I continued. "I need somebody I trust as my right-hand, somebody who won't go behind my back to sabotage my happiness. So next week, you'll start training Connor as your successor." I didn't have to keep all of this on my shoulders—he would share the load, if I asked him. "Is that ok with you?"
Connor nodded, speechless. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and even though I could feel his muscle tremble under my palm, I gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
Dad's eyes seemed to twinkle with respect and a newfound sense of purpose. He'd been bearing the responsibility of keeping Sinclair Larssen running for over twenty years, and he hadn't had somebody trustworthy at his side like I did. His posture relaxed, like he'd been waiting for somebody to share the load.
I rolled my suitcase toward the exit, with one final thought for my father. "And you’ll apologize to Cruz when you see him next. On your knees, if that’s what it takes.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Just like I’m about to do.”
Dad nodded. “Go get him, Princess.”
“I’m not a princess,” I said, flashing my teeth. “I’m a goddamn cobra.”