37. Isla #2
And then explaining that when Aiden called her his wife, it was only in the technical sense?
That had infuriated Callum, of course. Dad, too.
Didn’t help that they’d been sleeping together, which for some reason became the focal point for the parents as they discussed—aloud—whether consummating a legal marriage would have an impact on the possibility of annulment.
Like they were back in the 1800s.
Isla had wanted to crawl under the rug and stay there.
Thankfully, Dad did her the favor of not going further into the topic for now and pulled into his circular driveway several minutes later.
As a young girl, the first time he’d brought her to the stone and clapboard Georgian estate was when she’d realized her father was a wealthy man—she thought he’d bought the White House.
The glaring difference between this and the teeny three-bedroom beach house where she lived with Mum was enormous. Two hugely different worlds that could never really be reconciled. Mum’s whole house could fit in Dad’s foyer.
Yet Isla had always been more at home on the beach.
Dad parked out front, then came around and held the door open for her. She had to give him credit there—her father was a gentleman. A well-mannered Englishman who’d never forgotten his roots.
“We’ll just leave your luggage in the car,” he said as they went toward the side door he always used instead of the front.
The smell of clean hit her from the glass storm door, and Isla smiled, blinking at the bright white everything.
Diana used color sparingly—unlike Mum, who’d hand-painted a mural in the living room at home.
But the house was beautiful, light cascading into the high ceiling rooms of the first floor, walls designed with extensive custom millwork, vases of sweetly scented white peonies on the tables.
Lunch was already set at the breakfast nook table. Probably Dad’s effort to be casual—as one could be with expensive service ware. “Here we are,” Dad said, holding the chair for her.
Isla sat, automatically pulling her napkin onto her lap as Dad sat across from her.
“I have to admit, I feel a bit intimidated,” Isla said with an arch of her brow.
“Lunch at a bistro—easy enough. Lunch at home while Diana’s out with some mystery hanging over the whole affair?
You’re not planning on giving me bad news, are you?
I’m not sure I can handle anything difficult right now, Dad. ”
Dad chuckled, then stood once again. He went over to a nearby cabinet and opened it, then took out a box labeled “Frank” in his handwriting.
“I don’t want to keep you in suspense.” Dad slid the box onto the table beside her, then sat. “I dug this out of the attic for you. Thought you might want it.”
Isla furrowed her brow then opened the lid. A neat stack of pictures and papers were inside, and she scooped some up, peering closer at them.
Of her and Callum as children.
And the Camden boys.
Isla’s mouth went dry as she flipped through the pictures, her heart beating painfully. Callum and Quinn standing in bathing suits in front of a pool on a trip they must have taken somewhere.
Aiden carrying Isla piggyback over a lawn.
Her heart squeezed hard, and she set the pictures down, then glanced through the papers hand-drawn on white printer paper with the labored, unskilled crayon efforts of a child.
Stick figures with circles for eyes and wobbly smiling lines.
Of six children, standing on a green crayon field, rainbows and clouds in the sky.
“Is that...?”
“You and the Camden boys, of course. And Callum.”
She flipped to the next one. Just two figures in this one.
Her and a boy.
She didn’t have to guess who it was—the way he was drawn taller than her, even in crayon. The A above his head gave it away. She traced the wobbly line of his hand holding hers, her thumb brushing faintly across the crayon.
God, was it really always him?
The thought came and went like a heartbeat, too fast to chase.
“You always did like Aiden Camden, you know,” Dad said gently. “Your mum and I used to joke about it. He was a few years older than you, so you’d follow him around a good deal, but he was patient with your antics. Much more so than Callum was, to be honest. We thought you might be keen on him.”
Isla swallowed hard. She didn’t remember having a crush on Aiden as a girl, but then again, after Mum and Dad’s divorce, she’d only seen him on an occasional summer’s day. Hardly with the regularity that they had been used to when she and Callum had lived in England as children.
Reaching for the glass of water set in front of her, Isla sipped it, then returned the pictures and drawings to the box. She covered them with the lid, fingertips shaking. “Thanks, Dad, but it might be safer if you keep these for now—while I’m traveling.”
Dad’s mouth drew to a line. “I’ve upset you, haven’t I?”
She shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, that’s not it.”
Dad sighed. “Listen, Isla. I know you have a great deal on your mind, but I hope you’ll think long and hard before you decide about Aiden. You have history to consider. Memories. Be a pity to throw it all away.”
What is he saying?
She gave him a baffled look. “You want me to stay married to him?”
“It’s worth considering.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Of all the people, she never would have expected her serious, practical father to propose this. Mum had wanted her to get the annulment yesterday.
“Dad, you do realize that we only got married on a whim, under the influence, and neither of us remembers it? That’s hardly the start of a marriage, let alone a partnership requiring a lifetime commitment.”
“Can I be frank?” he asked.
She smiled despite herself. The pun had always amused her. “Go ahead, Frank. ”
He shook his head at the joke. Then he sobered and went on, “I never wanted a divorce, but your mother gave me no choice. And, goodness, but I loved her. Loved her laughter. Her joy. The way she drew everyone in the room to her. She put feeling into my veins.”
“And you think that’s what Aiden does to me?” He did make her feel alive, but that was beside the point. She wouldn’t be admitting it, and Dad certainly couldn’t say he’d seen any sort of interaction between them that gave that impression about how she felt about him.
“No, I’m saying that’s what you do to Aiden.”
She stilled.
Dad held her gaze. “I was close enough to hear a lot of what happened at Callum’s party.
And Callum may be too angry to see it, but I’m not.
The man is clearly in love with you. I’m not sure if you feel the same for him, but if there’s a chance that you do, it’s worth considering that the way he loves you is extraordinary.
Trust me. I know a thing or two about falling head over heels for a fiery woman who might not be good for you. ”
She looked away, blinking rapidly.
Dad looked down at his hands. “When your mum left, it took years to feel anything again. Not because she was cruel but because I’d never known anyone like her. She made me feel...alive. I see the way Aiden looks at you, and I think he’s in danger of the same kind of loss . . . if you leave.”
If this was a case of history repeating itself, then that would make Isla her mother —the woman who didn’t quite know what she wanted. Who was willing to betray her marriage when she figured it out.
Yet, somehow, I do feel like Mum.
Adrift. Unsure. Unable to fully commit to any of the worlds I’m in.
Her dad probably hadn’t meant to extend the comparison to that , but there it was.
And I have no idea how to move forward. With anything.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said at last, then reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It’s something to think about, for sure.”
“Well.” Dad released a sad sigh. “Let’s eat. You have a plane to catch...and maybe a future to decide.”