For a moment, neither of us says a word. Finally, he clears his throat. “Are you okay?”
I’m not sure what it is. The genuine concern in his tone. Maybe that even with the fact that I just went scorched earth in front of, quite literally, God and everybody, he didn’t call me to yell at me. Whatever it is, my eyes instantly flood with tears and my chest tightens. “I don’t know.” Vision blurry, I shake my head. “I’m just soangry…” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I realize that there were more dignified ways to handle the situation but?—”
“Hush now,” my father says quietly. “We’ll deal with all that later. The main thing is that you’re okay.” He goes quiet before he clears his throat again. “I’d like to speak with Dean.”
“None of this was his fault,” I say in a rush, trying to head off the disaster that’s suddenly barreling toward me. “He had no idea what I was going to do. I planned it all on my own and he had no idea I was going to ask him to come with me.Ididn’t even know until?—”
“Put him on the phone, Melisandre,” My fathersays, cutting off what was shaping up to be an epic meltdown with a few terse words.
“I’m twenty-eight years old.” Straightening my spine, I shake my head. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. There’s no need for you?—”
“I don’t care if you’re ahundredand eight,” my dad barks back, showing me just how far I’ve pushed him over the last hour and how much emotion he’s actually holding back. “If you want to light the whole thing on fire and walk away—fine, but if you want to use my plane to do it, you’re going to put that young man on the phone.Now.”
Shit.
Standing, I cross the room and open the door to find Dean directly on the other side of it, slouched against its frame, an open bottle of Les Clos Pompadour 2003 dangling from his lax grip. Behind him, Tonya is restocking the buffet he obviously decimated in the time it took me to call my father. Holding the phone out to him, I sigh. “It’s my father,” I tell him when he doesn’t take the phone right away. “He’d like to speak with you.”
As soon as I say it, Dean’s jaw snaps tight and he straightens himself out of his slouch. Looking at the phone I’m offering him like it might try to bite him, Dean’s shoulders loosen on a sigh. Taking the phone from me on a muttered curse, he lifts it to his ear. “Hello, sir.” He’s quiet for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, sir.” Another pause, this one lowering his gaze to meet mine. “Yes…” Another quick clench of his jaw before he nods his head. “I understand,” he says before dropping the phone away from his ear to offer it back to me. As soon as I take it, Dean lifts the open bottle of champagne to his mouth and walks away.
“Dad?” Bringing the phone back up to my ear, I watch while Dean kicks off his shoes before stretching out on the longleather sofa that runs nearly the entire length of the plane, setting the half empty bottle on the floor beside him.
“Call your mother when you get there,” he tells me by way of greeting. He doesn’t ask where because if he talked to the pilot, he’s undoubtedly checked the flight plan. “She’s worried sick.”
“Okay.” Still looking at Dean, I watch him close his eyes before flinging his arm over them to block out the light. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“Hush,” he says, his tone rough with emotion. “There’s plenty of time for that after you come home.”
I know my father. As far as he’s concerned, the subject is closed. I’ll never have to talk about it again if I don’t want to. “I love you, Dad.”
My father clears his throat. “I love you too.”
Ending the call, I offer Tonya a wane smile. “Let the pilot know we’re ready for take-off when they are.”
“Yes, Ms. Blackwell,” she says, giving me a quick head bob before she turns to make her way toward the cockpit. As soon as she’s gone, I shove my phone back into my pocket.
“Well?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Well what?” Dean says, his tone ripe with irritation. Whatever my father said to him, put him in a mood even surlier than the one he’s been in since he realizedcoming with meinvolved air travel.
“Are you going to tell me what my father said to you?” I ask, even though I’m sure he’s going to tell me no.
“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been crying?” Dean counters without bothering to move his arm away from his face.
“Because I found out my fiancé is fucking my best friend—and cousin, I might add—three daysbefore our wedding and instead of handling it like a mature adult with even an ounce ofdignity, I went scorched earth and most likely ruined my family’s name.”
“Holy shit—” Lifting his arm to look at me, Dean lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Did Princess Millie just say the wordfuckagain? I’m going to have to start keeping a scorecard. Whaddya think? Ten points forfuck. Five points for shit?”
Incensed, mouth open to tell him to get the hell off my plane, I get cut off by another bark of laughter. “Relax, Millhouse—yourfamily’s nameis bullet proof. You’d have to fuck up pretty bad to do it any damage. Like slaughter a convent full of nuns and puppies kind of bad. All you did was what every scorned woman in the world wishes they had the balls to do—trust me, your family name will survive.”
“Okay, so…” For some reason, hearing him say it loosens the shrink wrap around my chest and I take my first full breath since this started. When he doesn’t say anything, I huff out an irritated sigh. “Are you going to tell me what my father said to you?”
“Nothing really.” Like he’s bored with the entire conversation, Dean drops his arm back over his face with a sigh of his own. “Just your standard one-percenter threat—if you do anything untoward or have any ill intentions toward my daughter, I’ll have you murdered and make it look like an accident.”
He’s lying.
I don’t know what my father said to him but that wasn’t it. My father isn’t the type to threaten. He says a threat is the same as a warning and warnings are something an enemy doesn’t deserve. Instead of calling him on it, I let Dean keep his secret. At least for now.
Giving him one last look, I retreat back into the bedroom and close the door with every intention of crying myself to sleep.
