12. Lily
Lily
W e both startle, turning to find Dad standing in the doorway. His shoulder is propped against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other. His position is casual, and his face is expressionless, like he’s wearing a mask.
Panic slides down my throat like dry ice, leaving a frosty burn everywhere it touches. By the time it settles in the pit of my stomach, I’m trembling, mouth opening and shutting like a fish.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” Julie announces, bustling over to the stove to flick the burner off, muttering about how the food will keep, and then she’s gone, leaving us alone.
My dad hasn’t moved an inch, and I twist my hands together in my lap. “Hi, Dad.”
His expression doesn’t flicker, as he states, “Hey, Lilypad.” He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I, my tongue feeling twisted.
Finally, he shakes his head. “Let’s go talk in my office.”
He walks away, the expectation I follow clear.
But memories of being called on the carpet more than once as a youth, always in his office, make my footsteps drag.
When I step through the door, he’s already pouring himself a whiskey; neat.
He shoots it back while I gape, knowing exactly how much that whiskey cost after buying it for more than one birthday .
He doesn’t notice, refilling the tumbler but adding ice this time, two cubes from the built-in freezer drawer. Drink in hand, he stalks over to his desk, the high-backed leather chair creaking as he sits down. He stares down at his whiskey, like the liquor holds all the answers he needs.
Unable to look at the stark vulnerability on his face, I swing my gaze around the masculine office, tracing my eyes over the dark wooden paneling.
One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, every shelf filled, while to my left are green crushed velvet armchairs; two of them, where he and I would spend many weekend mornings reading together.
Even now, a paperback lies on the table in between them, as if he’d set it down that morning and forgot to pick it back up.
“Dad—”
“I’m not?—”
We speak at the same time, and he shoots me a wry smile. It’s small, tiny, really, but it’s enough to have me taking one of the two leather chairs facing his desk as he waves for me to go ahead. “Dad, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I’d like to say I understand,” he says softly, eyes fixated on my face. “But I really don’t, Lilypad.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I guess before we start, I need to know how much you heard,” I say weakly.
“I got home about five minutes after you did,” he admits. “I’m not usually one to eavesdrop, but considering that’s what started this mess, it seems fitting.”
“Shit,” I mumble, peeking at him through my lashes. “You know it all, then.”
He tips his chin up. “I know it all. I also know something you don’t.
” I scrunch my brows down, but he gives a heavy sigh, just saying, “We’ll get into that soon.
” He looks down again, his shoulders slumping and making him look…
defeated. It’s something I don’t think I’ve ever seen, except for maybe when my mom left, and it’s devastating to know I put that look on his face. “I feel like I’ve failed you, Lily.”
“No,” I gasp out, sitting right on the edge of my seat and pressing my knuckles to my knees. “That’s not… you haven’t!” Tears spring to my eyes, the weight of it all crushing, breathtaking, and I suck in a shallow breath, trying to beat it down .
“I have, though,” he says gently. “If you believed even for a second that I’d somehow blame you for this, I’ve failed you.
” He fastens his eyes to my face, and it feels almost like he’s memorizing me, taking a mental snapshot to lock in a vault for safe keeping.
“I’ll admit it hurts, knowing you didn’t trust me.
” He firms his expression. “But that stops now.”
I blink rapidly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, Lily, that this won’t play out how you imagined.
” He rolls himself closer to his desk, planting his elbows on the surface and resting his chin on his clasped hands.
“Now, I’m going to ask you something, and I want a straight-forward, honest answer.
” He waits for my nod before giving me a gentle smile.
“Good. You asked Declan for a divorce. Is that still what you want?”
A humorless chuckle escapes me. “I don’t want any kind of connection to him, so yes, that’s what I want.”
“Do you want anything from him?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you were to divorce, you’d split your assets,” he reminds me. “What do you?—”
“No. No.” I shake my head empathetically. “I want nothing from him. Not his money, not his possessions, not his name.”
“We can fix that,” he assures me quickly. “But I need to know you’re sure.”
“Dad, I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I scoff self-deprecatingly. “I guess that doesn’t mean much, because I was sure I wanted to marry him.”
“You loved him,” he says softly, a reminder.
“The person I loved never even existed. It was a lie from the start. He never wanted to be with me, not really. And now he’s with her.” The words burst out of me in a broken rush, and he stands, rounding the desk to crouch in front of me, hands cupping my cheeks.
“Just because he wasn’t real, doesn’t mean your love was a lie,” he says, his expression sincere. “Love doesn’t just turn off like a faucet, and it will take time to heal from this wound. Just because you can’t see it, that doesn’t mean you aren’t bleeding.”
I feel my face crumple, and then I’m throwing my arms around him, clinging desperately like I’m still a little girl, needing her dad to make it all better. But I guess I am.
“How can I still love someone who used me like that?” I whisper. “How can I love someone who was always thinking about being with someone else?”
It takes several minutes before I pull myself together, his hands stroking my hair and back, reminiscent of how he’d comfort me as a child. When my breathing has evened out, he straightens, his expression turning stern.
“We’ll fix this, Lilypad, I promise you that.”
“How? When you sold?—”
He shushes me. “We’re not talking about that yet.” Guilt surges at his words, making me wonder whether he doesn’t want to talk about it with me because he does blame me, if only a little.
I would, if I were him.
“Now, if we’re going to make this work,” he starts, his expression turning focused, “we’re going to need character witnesses and evidence about his deception.
I know who can help with that, but they won’t like it,” he says the last part almost to himself, but I’m struggling to follow along.
“That’s okay, I’ll make them see sense.”
“Dad—”
“We’ll need a lawyer. Martin Jarvis specializes in corporate law, but he should be able to refer us to someone. And I know a judge who owes me a favor, so I’m sure he’ll get us on the docket as soon as we’re ready.”
Feeling like he’s planning everything at the speed of freaking light, I lean forward to catch his eye. “Dad!” He doesn’t blink, his face a mask of concentration, so I get louder, “Daddy!”
The name I’ve rarely used since I was thirteen, and decided I was far too old to still be calling him that, catches his attention. He sits back on his heels in front of me, tilting his head to look at me with a smile. “We’ve got this, Lilypad.”
I groan in exasperation. “Got what, Dad?”
He stands up and heads for his desk, telling me over his shoulder. “You won’t be getting divorced, Lily. You’ll be getting an annulment. I’m going to make it like this never even happened.” He picks up his phone, fingers moving rapidly over the screen.
“Can we do that?” I ask, unsure.
There’s a twitch to his mouth, but he lifts a hand, swiping it away with a brush of his thumb.
“Probably.” He waits a beat. “Possibly. It’s all going to come down to what evidence we can get, and if I get certain people to play ball.
But like I said, I know a couple of guys, including a judge.
” He sends me a confident wink. “I’ve got it all in hand, you’ll see. ”
My thoughts are blowing across my mind like tumbleweeds in a desert, but I manage to snag one. “You said earlier there was something I didn’t know. What did you mean?”
He pauses, his expression thoughtful, like he’s considering whether to tell me or not. He shifts his weight, almost like he’s bracing, before he admits, “Declan was here five days ago.”
“What?” I lean forward so fast, I almost topple out of my seat. Figuring the question bears repeating, I ask again, “What? Why didn’t you te—” I snap my mouth closed, my teeth clacking together forcefully, but it’s too late, an amused rebuke crossing his expression.
“I’m sorry, were you just about to ask why I didn’t tell you?
” he chides. “Careful with those stones you’re lobbing, Lily.
” He watches me carefully, waiting to see if I’m going to interrupt again, but I hold my tongue, lesson learned.
“I didn’t tell you,” he continues, censure still coloring his tone, “because you wouldn’t take my calls.
” He flicks up an eyebrow. “For a week, Lily. You didn’t take my calls for a week. ”
I inhale slowly, feeling like I’m on a seesaw, my stomach churning from the constant roll of emotions. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I apologize again, but then, “Why?” bursts out of my mouth.
I don’t have to explain what I mean, but concern furrows his brows as he meets my eyes, mouth pursed like he doesn’t want to say.
I shake my head. “Please,” I beg, “no more secrets.” I press a hand to my chest, trying to alleviate the ache that’s settled there, as he watches me, resignation pulling down his mouth.
“He was here to renege on the deal,” he announces quietly. “I didn’t sell the company. Declan doesn’t own Hi-Tech. I do.”