“If it’s about Cillian…”
Malachi’s lips squeeze. “We’re not here to discuss your boyfriend, Elle.”
“We’re here to discuss your father,” Mom says just as I pull out the chair next to hers.
The wash of adrenaline that gushes through me is so powerful that it sweeps away the stress knots from my almost-first kiss. “Something happened to Dad! That’s why you’re here, and he’s not!”
Mom toys with her cup, spinning it on the saucer. “No. Yosef’s fine, sweetie.”
“Then…” The adrenaline drains from my system as dizzyingly fast as it poured in. “Then why do you want to discuss—You’re not separating, are you?”
“Why in the world would you assume that?”
“Because of your mood. And expression.”
My mother exhales. “Sorry. I should’ve been clearer. We’re here to discuss yourbiologicalfather.”
I clamp my hand around the back of the chair. “You found him?”
When Mom looks at Malachi and keeps looking his way, horror assails me.No…
My stomach seizes with the need to hurl. Dots dance before my eyes. I try to sprint to the sink, but my feet won’t move. Just like my ears won’t clutch sound. They merely echo the thudding behind my ribs.
Malachi Hadez is my father?
No.
I blink so hard that moisture drips from the corners of my eyes.
Mom stands and closes her fingers around my biceps and rubs as though to soothe me. But how can one soothe absolute disgust? I’ve had a crush on my father.
My.
Father.
This time, the bile makes it into my throat. I wrench my arms free and run to the deep black sink. My whole dinner comes up.
A hand strokes the length of my hunched spine. When I notice it’s Malachi’s, another wave of vomit hits the basin.
He flicks on the tap. I wait a full minute for the spasms to subside before scooping water into my hands and splashing my face.
No wonder he found me.
No wonder he wanted to bring me home.
How long was he with my mother? And how old was he when he got with her? Fifteen? She was twenty-five when she had me. How revolting. Though is it any more revolting than having a crush on one’s dad?
Another sour wave floods my palate.
Malachi hands me a dish towel that’s black like the rest of his kitchen. “Can’t wait to tell Ines about your reaction.”
Why? Because she knows I have the hots for Malachi? Sorry,had. Disgust roils through me once more.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask, scouring Malachi’s face for features we might have in common. I find none.
Mom, who must’ve gotten up during my vomit-fest, picks up one of my hands and laces our fingers. “Because Ines said he didn’t know about you. But then he saw you at the gala and spotted your resemblance to his son.”
“Wait. Rewind.” I wipe my mouth on the dishrag again. “Who’she?”
