Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“How did they die?” John asks.
“Dad,” Dax reprimands.
“John,” Carole says and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, Eira. John…well, it’s easy to be very matter-of-fact about death as a doctor.”
“It’s fine. They died in a helicopter crash.”
The expected gasps and condolences flood the table. My gaze snags on Dax’s as soon as I look up, and I see understanding on his face. I’d take a five-hour road trip over a helicopter ride any day of the week.
“That’s heartbreaking to lose both parents so young,” Madison says. “Your brother and sister were even younger.”
I don’t think any of us misses them. Of course, I can’t say that out loud because everyone would look at me differently. The people around this table would diagnose me with a personality disorder or worse, sociopathy. But it’s difficult to miss what you didn’t have.
“Helicopters…they scare me,” Madison says. “I remember when the Cadogans died in that horrific helicopter crash. It was all over the news. Awful.”
Yes, it made the news at the time because my parents were high profile. They’d been coming into London when the accident happened. But why on earth does Madison remember their name?
“The guy who was named Dealmaker of the Decade by the Financial Times?” Nathan asks.
“Yes,” Madison says. “Aled Cadogan and his wife. She was—I can’t quite remember what she did, but she was successful too. They both died in their prime. It was awful. Left three kids apparently.”
Dax and I look at each other again—and realization spreads across his face just before I say, “Yeah, they were my parents.”
Cutlery falls onto china. Immediately, I wonder if I should have said anything.
“You’re one of the daughters of the Cadogans?” Madison asks.
I nod. How does she know so much?
“Didn’t your uncle run off with your inheritance?” Madison asks. “Sorry, my mind is like a steel trap. Occupational hazard of being a journalist for years. I was fascinated by this story.”
I try and push down the ball of betrayal and hate and frustration that lives permanently in my stomach. “Yes, he did,” I say. How far will this interrogation go?
I glance at Dax again, and I see a glimmer of panic in his eyes. Has he heard of our family?
“Everyone needs to stop pestering Eira with questions,” Dax says. “I know it’s difficult for most of you to comprehend, but some people don’t like answering deeply personal questions from complete strangers. Give it a rest. Everyone.”
Silence tumbles through the room.
“Darling girl,” Carole says. “You have to forgive us. We can be a little overfamiliar and overbearing. I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. It’s understandable that people are curious.
“It’s not fine,” Dax replies, his gaze on mine. “Let’s move on to other topics. I have a baby, for Christ’s sake. And I’m a terrible father. Never wanted children. Haven’t a clue what I’m doing. Let’s talk about that.”
It’s like he’s jumped into the ring in a clown costume to distract the bull.
That’s usually my job.
Time stands still for a few moments as I try to figure out what’s going on. It feels like tangled spaghetti in my head. I was uncomfortable being questioned, but I understand the interest in my parents. I was ready to endure whatever questions they wanted to ask.
Dax put a stop to all of it.
No one’s ever done anything so kind. No one has ever made my journey easier, just because they can see my struggle. It’s such a shock, such an unfamiliar feeling, that I don’t know what to think. But I’m intensely grateful.
EIGHTEEN
Dax
I’m boiling with rage. I love my family, but boundaries are not something any of them comprehend. Or certainly they couldn’t this evening with Eira.
I head to my bedroom, where Eira went to give Guinevere her ten o’clock feed.
The door creaks as it opens and the light from the landing spotlights Eira sitting in the chair by the window, cradling Guinevere as she feeds her.
“Hey,” she says, smiling up at me. “She’s totally fine. Go and enjoy your evening with your family.”
I sigh and close the door behind me. “I’ve had just about as much as I can deal with tonight. I’m really sorry for how they were at dinner. Give them a glass of wine and a dining room table and nothing’s off limits. They forget themselves.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry. It was a little awkward, but not for the reasons you think. Being around that dining room table was an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
I groan. She doesn’t sound pissed off, but I’m pretty sure there’s a ninety-five percent chance she’ll resign as soon as we’re back in London. “I’m sorry.”
“In a good way,” she says.
She’s humoring me. She doesn’t need to.
“Seriously, I never had a meal like that with my family. Sometimes Dylan and Eddie and I will have lunch or dinner together, but…”