Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
She’d loved Dad more than anything in the world. I had memories of her crying when she thought I was asleep, only for me to creep into her bed and curl up next to her so she’d stop.
She’d always tell me it was an emotional workout—some people ran or lifted weights to keep their body healthy, but she liked to cry to keep her mind healthy.
It made sense in a weird way. I always felt better after a good, hard cry, but why would she be so sad if she was the one to instigate it?
I couldn’t believe that she’d done it.
I couldn’t believe she was the one who’d made that choice.
Who’d pushed him away.
Who’d instigated the break-up of our family.
I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it.
Yet somewhere, something niggled at me. Something told me to open myself to it, that this situation wasn’t as cut and dry as I thought it was.
I pulled up to the elaborate gates of the Loxford Estate and rolled down my window before retrieving the key fob from my car door. With one push of a button, the intricate, Victorian-style metal gates slowly opened, allowing me passage to the long driveway that would lead me up to the house.
I drove through, knowing the gates would close after me in five minutes, and made the trek up to the house. Trees lined the driveway, reaching up high, shielding me from the late winter sun.
I reached the circular driveway and pulled up alongside the fountain, and not for the first time in the past few days, I was struck with a pang of sadness.
When I was a child, the fountain had always reminded me of the one Cinderella threw herself on after her stepsisters had ripped her dress. It was almost identical in design, and that memory danced through my mind, leaving a trail of regret and longing behind it.
Cinderella.
Sure, I’d spoken to William, but I hadn’t at the same time.
I hadn’t said what I wanted to. We’d only spoken about the mundane, the casual, the things you talk about when you’re avoiding something heavier than the weather.
And now I had too much to deal with to even think about how I’d say to him, “Hey, I spent one week with you and now I think I’m obsessed with you.”
That wasn’t creepy at all.
One of the huge oak doors that gave entry to Loxford House opened as I approached, and I swallowed when I saw Dad standing there, leaning against it.
“That was quick,” he said when I approached the steps.
I nodded. “No sheep on the road today.”
“Wow. Is it a full moon?”
“Probably.” I fought back a smile. “Are you sure you’ve got time?”
“Yes, Gracie. I told you, I always have time for you. Now come in, let’s sit down, and you tell me what’s so urgent that you’ve sprung it on me like this. You’ve got me worried.”
I ducked inside the house, and he closed the door behind me, then waved me through the living room to his office. It used to be an extra sitting room, but he always said he was so fed up with walking to the other side of the building to get to his office, so he’d brought it closer to the main door.
Work smarter, not harder, and all that.
“The housekeeping team are about, so shut the door behind you,” Dad said, sitting at his desk chair. “Now what’s all this?”
I closed the door and looked at him, still keeping a grip on the doorknob. “Granny told me everything.”
“I’m not following.”
“About you and Mum.”
He tilted his head slightly to the side. “What do you mean? You already know everything.”
“What? About how she was the one to suggest you see other people? Because she was infertile and couldn’t give you a son to carry on the family name?”
He dropped his head, burying his face in his hands. “For fucks’ sake, Olive,” he muttered, rubbing his thumbs in circles at his temples. “When did she tell you that?”
“About an hour ago,” I replied. “I wanted to hear it from you.”
“It’s not something I wish to discuss,” Dad said quietly, looking at me. “It wasn’t your problem back then, and it’s not now.”
“It is,” I said firmly. “Dad, I deserve to know the truth. I’ve spent the last eighteen years thinking you were solely responsible for the divorce—that you cheated on her and broke her heart because she wasn’t good enough.”
“That’s what you thought? Think?”
“That she wasn’t good enough because you only got a daughter? Yes, and forgive me for it, but given that you married Carmen as quickly as you legally could after you found out she was having a boy, all signs kind of pointed to that.”
He sighed heavily. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to. I just want to know the truth, Dad. I’m twenty-eight. I think I can handle it now.”