Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Good. It would be nice to have a shoulder to cry on.
“Love you,” he said, something he rarely said on the phone.
“Love you too.”
He hung up first.
I drove the rest of the way, enjoying the beautiful scenery without really taking it in. I was too focused on my destination, too focused on the mission I had to complete. There was no doubt in my mind it wouldn’t go well. But how badly it would go…that was still up in the air.
I arrived at the winery twenty minutes later and walked to the building where my father’s office was. Griffin and Crow weren’t walking around, so they were probably taking care of business elsewhere.
I made it to his office, and this time, the door was open.
My father was sitting behind his desk and looking out the window. There was nothing in front of him, no pens or papers. It was completely clear with the exception of the picture frame holding a photo of the four of us. One elbow was on the desk while his fingers were propped against his cheek. He was as still as the air outside the window, staring at nothing and looking so tranquil. He was clearly waiting for me, clearing his schedule because he finally recognized I needed to talk to him.
“Hey.” I stepped inside with one hand on the strap of my purse, needing something to hold on to. My palms were sweaty in distress as I dreaded the conversation we were about to have.
My father seemed to know this wouldn’t be a pleasant talk since he didn’t rise from his desk to greet me with a hug. He turned in his chair so he could face me, lowering his hand from his cheek and clearing his throat. “Hey, sweetheart. Please shut the door.”
I did as he asked, hearing the door click into place before I sat in one of the armchairs facing his desk.
He slumped in his chair as he looked at me, his face heavy with decades of stress that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Now he seemed exhausted, like he’d been working so much he’d tired himself out. He sighed as he looked at me, his green eyes showing a million emotions at once. “I think I should talk first.”
Why was that? “Is everything alright?” It seemed like we were thinking two different things, having two separate conversations at the same time. There was no way he knew why I was there. The second he knew I was sleeping with Bosco, he would have confronted me about it.
My father sidestepped the question. “I’ve been avoiding you because I didn’t want to have this conversation. I’m not an idiot. I knew I couldn’t postpone it long enough to make it disappear entirely. I just…was a coward.”
I was even more confused now. “What conversation do you think I want to have?”
He rubbed his fingers across his jaw, feeling the coarse hair from his shadow of a beard. “There’s something I need to tell you, Carmen. I’m not proud of what I did. And I hope you keep in mind that I’m just a father who wants the best for his daughter. Maybe that’s not clear all the time…but those are my intentions.”
“Okay…now you’re scaring me.” What did my father do?
He dropped his fingers and held my gaze. “I know about Bosco Roth.”
My heart immediately fell into my stomach, sinking like a heavy weight. This entire time, I’d thought my secret was safe, but my father had figured it out. How long had he known? Was he avoiding me for that reason? I didn’t try to make up excuses for not telling him as long as I did. My father had been keeping a secret from me just as I was keeping one from him. “How long?”
“A little over a month.”
My eyes widened automatically, and a thunderstorm of stupidity struck me. An entire month had passed, and my father had known about the man I was seeing. He knew before I even decided to stay with Bosco. “How did you find out?”
“I wasn’t spying on you,” my father said. “One of my new clients is the owner of Giovanni’s. He told me you and Bosco went there for dinner…and you were sporting that black eye.”
I remembered when Bosco ordered a bottle of Barsetti wine for the table. I hadn’t even made the connection at the time. I was more engrossed in the man across from me than the situation. Now it all made perfect sense.
“I assumed he was the reason for your black eye…so naturally…I declared war against him.”
Obviously, nothing had happened because both men were still living. My father must have calmed down at some point. “He wasn’t. Bosco would never lay a hand on me.” He was my protector and my provider, not my abuser. “In case that wasn’t clear.”