Chapter Eleven #2
“I haven’t seen you since I was six,” I state. “I think I’m entitled to be a bit surprised.” I glance around the coffee shop. “How did you find me?”
“I went to your house, and your neighbor said you come here most afternoons.”
Well, thank you, Mrs. Apiata. That’s the last time I tell you what I’m up to.
My heart is racing, and I feel a little nauseous. I shouldn’t have had the cake. “What do you want?”
“Isn’t it enough to want to see your little girl?”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”
“Don’t be like that,” he says. “We had some good times, didn’t we? Do you remember that day at the park when we flew the kites?”
I glower at him. “Yes.” It was one of the few nice memories I have.
I was five, and Clare was only three. He bought a couple of kites and took us all to the park to buy us ice cream and show us how to fly them.
It was only later that I found out he was doing it to make up to my mother after they’d had an argument about his drinking.
“And I used to read The Wonky Donkey to you,” he says. “You loved that book so much.”
It makes me think of Marcus, and I can’t help but smile a little.
Dad picks up on it. “Yeah, see! You remember. We had some fun, didn’t we? It wasn’t all bad.”
My smile slowly fades. “It mostly was, Dad. Nearly all my memories of you are bad ones.”
He frowns. “I loved you girls. I never did anything to harm you.”
Anger flares inside me. “You mean other than abandon us? You might not have harmed us physically, but it was emotionally devastating. You were only ever nice to us when you wanted something. I might not have realized it at the time, but I understand it now. I’m not surprised Mum took out a restraining order on you. ”
“Yeah, your mother was a bitch. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be my daughter.”
I bristle at his description of my mum. “You’re breaking the law,” I say loudly, “and I’d like you to leave.”
He leans forward. “Now, don’t be like that. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“You were causing trouble from the day you met my mother,” I say bitterly.
“Oh, yes, I know all about you, Dad. How Mum found out you’d been having an affair just before you got married.
But you swore to her it was a mistake, and that it would never happen again.
But it did, didn’t it? How many times? Was it four, or five? ”
He just sits back, lips curving up.
“I’m pretty sure it was five,” I say. “And then when Mum finally accused you of cheating again, what did you do? Face up to it like a man, and beg her forgiveness?” I lean forward, fury billowing through me. “No, you hit her, like a fucking coward. Hard enough to leave a scar.”
He shrugs. “Your mother and I… we didn’t always see eye to eye. She was always giving me this.” He flaps his fingers and thumb together, miming someone talking incessantly. “Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do.”
I put my phone into my pocket and slide my laptop into my bag.
“Don’t go,” he says, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “We’re having such fun.”
“Let go of me.” I glance around, my pulse racing.
The teens have left. The women in the corner are still engrossed in their conversation.
The girl making the coffees has noticed what’s happening, but she’s about eighteen, five-foot-nothing, and reed-thin, so I don’t think she’s going to run to my aid.
The guy in the black tee has left the shop and is standing outside, talking on his phone.
He glances through the window at me briefly, but turns away when he sees me looking at him.
I look back at my father, and eventually manage to pull my wrist out of his grip. It throbs—it’s going to bruise. “What do you want?”
“I read the Kōrero,” he says, naming the main Auckland news website. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
He’s obviously seen the article on my engagement to Marcus. I don’t say anything, but my fury morphs into panic. I know what this is about. “You want money.”
He gives another sly shrug. “The article said he’s worth billions. You’ve done… surprisingly well for yourself. I’d like a share of that money before he dumps you and runs for the hills.”
I start shaking, feeling sick to my stomach. “If you think I’m going to give a single cent to the guy who ruined my life, you can think again.”
“Stop fucking exaggerating. You did just fine without me.”
“You took my childhood from me,” I whisper. “I was six when you lost your job because of your drinking. When you said the reason we didn’t have any Christmas presents was because Santa didn’t exist. When you were violent to my mother. Six.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo. You think it was all my fault? She knew how to push my buttons.” He leans forward suddenly, and I can’t help but inhale. “I could make your life very, very tricky,” he snarls. “Five million seems fair, don’t you think? And I’ll walk out of here and never see you again.”
“Five million dollars?” I give a humorless laugh. “You must be joking.” But he isn’t. He knows how much money the Ashford family has.
Horror fills me at the thought of asking Marcus for money. I could never do that. But if I don’t, this man is going to ruin everything. I don’t want Edward or—oh God—Cece to know what a piece of shit I have for a father. What am I going to do?
“Sir, I’d like you to come outside with me.”
I blink as the man in the black T-shirt and jeans appears at the table and makes his declaration to my father. What? Who is he? Just a Samaritan who saw I was in trouble?
My father glares at him. “Fuck off. This is a private conversation.”
“The police are on their way,” the man says. “You have a permanent restraining order that means you are not allowed to approach your daughter, to follow her, to watch her, or to harass her. Please, come outside with me.”
My father leaps to his feet, pushes the man with both hands, and yells, “Fuck off!”
The next few minutes are a blur of action.
The man grabs my father’s wrist, twists his arm behind his back, and barrels him out of the door.
I squeal, jump up, and knock over the remainder of the iced chocolate, which slides across the table and drips onto the floor.
I hastily try to mop it up with serviettes, but I can’t tear my eyes from the scene outside.
The guy in the black tee has my father pinned up against the café window.
He holds him there easily, even though Dad’s struggling, and continues to restrain him until the police sirens sound, and a car pulls up outside.
Two police officers leap out, and the male officer comes around and handcuffs my father before escorting him to the car, while the female officer goes up to the man in the black tee and starts talking to him.
“It’s okay, Miss, I’ll do that.”
I look around to see the young waitress standing by my side with a cloth, gesturing at the spilled drink. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s not a problem.”
“Did you call the police?” I ask, totally bemused by the situation.
“No, I think the man did.” She gestures at the guy in the black tee before mopping up the drink.
I pick up my bag and hug it to my chest, not knowing what to do. I should go out and speak to the police, I suppose, but my feet feel glued to the floor.
The guy is still talking to the female officer, and then she looks around as another man joins them. He’s also tall, with silver hair, dressed in a smart navy suit. Oh shit, it’s Edward Ashford. What the hell is he doing here?
Jaw dropping, I walk slowly to the door and go out.
“Wren.” Edward sees me and walks over to me. Then, to my surprise, he pulls me into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asks, rubbing my back.
I nod, too shocked to cry. “What are you doing here?”
“Rory rang Marcus when he saw your father turn up,” he says, releasing me. “And Marcus called me and asked me to come over.”
I stare at him. “What?” I look at the guy in the black tee. “Who’s Rory?”
“He’s a member of your security detail.”
What? I have a security detail?
Edward nods at the police officer as she approaches. “This is Wren Carter,” he says.
“Ms. Carter,” the officer says kindly. “I understand Mr. Pritchard is your father, and he’s breaking the terms of his restraining order.”
“How did you know about that?” I’m completely confused. Do they track people who have restraining orders on them, even after twenty-seven years?
“Mr. Ashford found out,” Rory says. “He asked me to call the police.”
I look at Edward, and he says, “He means Marcus.”
“We’ll take him now,” the officer states. “He won’t bother you again. We will need to take a statement from you, though.”
“I’m taking her back to our house,” Edward replies. “I’m her fiancée’s father. Can you send someone there?” He gives the address.
The police officer types it in. “We’ll send someone over shortly.”
“Thank you.” Edward watches her go, then turns back to me. “Come on. I’m taking you back to Cece.”
I let him steer me along the road to a sleek black Mercedes. He opens the back passenger door, and I slide onto the back seat. A man is sitting behind the wheel, and he smiles at me in his mirror. Edward goes around the other side and gets in the back. “Home please, Tane,” he says.
Tane nods, starts the engine, and slides the car into the traffic.
Edward dips his head to catch my eye. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” I’m trembling so hard, my teeth are chattering.
“Here.” He takes off his jacket and places it around my shoulders, the same way his son did at the ball.
I shrink back into it, glad of the warmth. “Thank you.” At that moment, my phone buzzes against my hip, and I take it out of my jeans pocket.
“That’ll be my son,” Edward says, amused.
Sure enough, it’s Marcus. I answer it with a shaky, “Hello?”
“Wren,” he barks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m in the car with your dad. He’s taking me back to the house.”
He blows out a breath. “Thank God. I’m so glad you’re all right. That nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I… don’t understand. Rory… he’s a… what? Bodyguard?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“You gave me a security detail.”
“I did, and I’m fucking glad. Jesus.”
“When… Why?”
“After the party, and because people come out of the woodwork when they know you have money. Look, I knew about the restraining order, and what your father did to your mother. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
My eyes fill with tears. “He asked me for five million dollars.”
He snorts. “Is that all? I’d have paid at least a billion for you.” I can hear it in his voice—he’s actually smiling.
I can’t help it; I start crying.
He sighs. “I’m so sorry, Birdy. Look, put my father on, will you?”
I hand Edward my phone and try to find a tissue as they talk.
“Yeah,” Edward says, pulling out his pocket square and handing it to me.
“She’ll be fine. She’s made of strong stuff.
Yes. Yes. I know, Marcus. I’ll sort it, don’t worry.
” He sighs. “Yeah okay. See you later. I will.” He ends the call.
“He’s going to call you after his meeting with the PM finishes. ”
I stare at him. “Oh no, was he in the middle of the meeting?”
“Yeah, he just nipped out.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s fine. He’ll fly back afterward.”
“Oh… he doesn’t need to do that…”
“My dear, hordes of elephants wouldn’t be strong enough to stop my son when he puts his mind to something.” Edward frowns. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I dab my eyes, then blow my nose on his handkerchief. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” He gives me a firm look. “You’re family now. I’d do anything for you.”
That just makes more tears trickle down my cheeks. This man knows about the arrangement I made with Marcus, and he’s still being so kind to me.
“I’d like to say something,” Edward says.
I nod, wiping my face, waiting for him to say he hopes I won’t hurt his son, or something along those lines.
Instead, though, he says, “On your wedding day, I was wondering… I’d be honored if you’d let me walk you down the aisle.”
I stare at him.
Then I burst into real, uncontrollable tears.
“Oops,” he says, “probably should have waited until we got home to say that.” But he smiles and puts his arm around me, while I sob into his handkerchief and wonder who on earth I was in a previous life to deserve such kindness like this.