“It’s probably all the running around I do now,” I say lightly.
Dad grunts. “Or because you’re not eating properly.”
“Good morning to you too,” I mutter.
We find a little café nearby and take a seat by the window. Once we’ve ordered, Lucy folds her arms and fixes me with the kind of stare that says she already knows I’m about to lie.
“So,” she says. “How’s work?”
I force a smile. “Oh, you know. Busy.”
“Wynter.”
Just my name. One word that’s loaded with warning.
I sigh, because there’s no point pretending anymore. “I lost the job with the publisher,” I admit quietly.
Lucy and Dad exchange a look over the table. One that says,we knew something was wrong.
Dad leans back in his chair. “Start talking.”
“They hired someone else after the trial period,” I mumble. “Someone with more experience.”
Lucy’s expression softens a little. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“But it’s fine,” I say quickly. “Honestly. I’ve got a job now and everything’s okay.”
“You moved and didn’t tell us,” Lucy points out.
I wince. “The old place was awful,” I say. “Like, truly awful. Damp walls, broken lift, weird smell in the hallway . . . I found somewhere much better.”
Dad narrows his eyes. “What sort of somewhere?”
“Just . . . better.”
Lucy lifts a brow. “That sounds suspicious.”
I laugh weakly. “It’s not suspicious.”
“Then why didn’t you tell us where you moved to?”
Because I live in a penthouse above a casino owned by an intense, terrifying man who makes me nervous just by breathing in my direction.
Instead, I say, “The landlord’s a bit strange about visitors.”
Dad pulls a face. “Shared accommodation?”
I nod. “Yeah, but it’s nice. Really nice. Better value for money too.” They look unconvinced. “You two need to stop worrying,” I say. “I’m an adult.”
Dad nudges Lucy with his elbow. “I’m not worrying. She is. All. The. Time.”
Lucy ignores him, still watching me. “Because I knew something was going on. Why didn’t you just tell us?”
I look down at my hands. “Because I didn’t want to come home.” The words slip out before I can soften them. Lucy’s face falls, and guilt punches straight through me. “That’s not what I meant,” I say quickly. “I just . . . I didn’t want this move to be a failure. I love London. I wanted to make it work.”
She reaches across the table and rubs my hand with her thumb. “You can’t avoid home forever, Wynter.”
Dad nods. “She’s right.”
