Probably spent the morning golfing and networking.
His hair is more gray than brown, but it’s slicked back in his usual style, and I can’t look at him without seeing Lucky, Decker, and Jack now.
The eyes.
The nose.
The ears.
For a hot minute, I wondered if maybe my father wasn’t my father. If maybe my mother had cheated.
But no—there’s so much familiarity that it would be impossible for him to not be the biological father to all of us.
“Margot,” he says as he takes his place at the head of the long dining room table. “I trust your little vacation was fruitful.”
Barely a month ago, he tracked Daphne and Oliver down on their accidental road trip—intentional road trip on Oliver’spart, accidental where Daphne ended up with him on it—and essentially told Oliver that Daphne wasn’t his first pick of daughters to marry to merge our family’s companies, but she’d do.
She’d do.
His own daughter.
Good enough for a business deal even if she wasn’t good enough to be a part of the family anymore.
“It was what I needed,” I reply in the measured tone he expects.
“Good. You should be back in the office. Long vacations aren’t acceptable when you’re at the top. Too many people watching you to set the example.”
“I don’t expect anyone else will make it necessary by stabbing me in the back the same way again,” I murmur.
The words taste like vomit.
Daph didn’t stab me in the back.
She hid away and fell asleep in the back seat of Oliver’s car while waiting for him to get in so she could tell him he wasn’t good enough for me.
The irony that they’d grown into being what each other needed isn’t lost on me, but mostly, I’m happy for them.
He adores her, and she deserves that.
She’s head over heels for him, happier than I’ve seen her possibly ever, and she deserves that too.
“Margot, my darling, you poor thing.” My mother sails into the room, pausing to kiss my cheeks and giving me a hug that I wouldn’t have considered limp until Rhys hugged me.
The man knows how to give a hug.
I miss it.
I misshim.
But I keep my eyeballs under control while my mother hustles me into a seat and then walks around the table to her own seat, more or less ignoring my father.
I wouldn’t ignore Rhys if he were at the table with me.
Ever.
He’s too fascinating.
Too kind.
