I sit up straighter in my chair. “My relationship with Luke doesn’t concern you.”
“This is about your children, Hazel—my grandchildren. Our own flesh and blood.” He shakes his head sadly. “You’re a smart woman. I assume you’ve drawn up appropriate legal paperwork to ensure you have sole custody of the children.”
I open my mouth to retort that only a heartless bitch would do something like that.
But isn’t that exactly what I did?
“Things are different,” I say, skirting the question. “I wasn’t planning to get romantically involved with Luke, but he proved himself.”
My dad shakes his head like I’ve told him I’m joining the circus. “That’s just pregnancy hormones, Hazel. Your mother got like that in her third trimester. Wanted constant affection and reassurance.”
“My mom liked physical affection?” That’s hard to believe. Also not really the point. “Luke’s a good man. And he’s going to be a great father.”
“He’s not living with you, is he?”
“Luke has his own place.” I learned from the best how to dodge direct questions.
The best gives a snort of dismay. “You gave him a key, didn’t you? Let him into your home, your bedroom. Your heart.”
I hate how he’s making me feel like a child who spilled juice on the carpet. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my life.” Clenching my hands at my sides, I deliver my best defense. “Luke paid his debt to society. He’s a good man who cut criminal ties from his life. He’s been loving, supportive, and kind throughout this pregnancy.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll be a good father.”
“He will,” I insist. “He’s patient and sweet and playful and wants these babies as much as I do.” I pause, then decide to appeal to his ego. “He grew up without a father, and I grew up with a devoted one. Luke knows the difference, and he’s determined to be a great dad.”
If his ego is stroked, my dad doesn’t show it. “You know that’s a red flag, don’t you? Growing up without a father figure? It’s not his fault, but a man can’t be a good dad unless he had a good role model.”
“That isn’t true.” I need to believe that.
“Honey,” he says softly. “I only want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” My nails dig into my palms. “I’m happy and in love with the father of my children.”
My father blinks. “Love?”
“Yes, Dad. Love. I love Luke.” My voice is so sharp that a guard looks over, but I keep going. “I know in my heart that he’s honest and good and kind. I don’t care about his past. What matters to me is our future together. You can support that or you can sit in judgment, but either way, we’re planning to raise these babies together.”
My father closes his eyes. He’s silent for so long that I’m starting to wonder if he might just ignore what I’ve said.
When he opens his eyes, he looks like he’s aged twenty years. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, Hazel.”
“Tell me what?”
“He was here.”
“Who?” My pulse starts to race. “What are you talking about?”
“This young man you insist cut all criminal ties. Luke was here yesterday.”
“No.” I’m certain he’s making it up.
“He visited a man called El Matador.”
“A bullfighter?”
My dad shakes his head. “That’s the Portuguese word for killer. The man has a reputation as a violent offender.”
“That can’t be true.” Even as I say it, I think about Luke’s former cellmate. The man who taught him to read and speak Portuguese. “Why would a violent criminal be in a minimum-security prison camp? That makes no sense.”
