Page 142 of The Wedding Menu

Hyperaware of the danger, I make my way to the kettle, urging my legs to cooperate. Once I’ve poured my tea, I lean my back against the counter and turn to William.

He’s cooking something—fish, by the look of it. And badly, by the smell of it. “Just making one of my specialties for Julia Banks. Have you met her? Lovely English chef.”

The muscles of his back and arms strain against his dark shirt as he whips the pan back and forth. God, the flame’s so high, he’s basically murdering that piece of salmon. When he turns to me, I shake my head.

“She’s a big fan of mysaumon.”

“Probably because the burned bits cover most of the actual taste.”

With a chuckle, he turns to me. “Hmm. It looks like my son didn’t change your mind about our restaurant, then.” He turns the stove off and sets the salmon on a plate, then adds asparagus and roasted fingerling potatoes. He mirrors my position on the other side of the island, arms crossed and a friendly expression that quickly disappears. “So, what are we going to do about this?”

God, the audacity of this man. He speaks as if we’re part of the same team, as if we’re “together” in this. We’re not. We’re as against each other as one could be.

“Nothing?” He nods. “Well, I’d much rather have you out of Ian’s life. You certainly don’t deserve him, since you didn’t choose him when given the chance.”

“Andyoudeserve him?”

He smiles. “I’m his father.”

“Parents need to deserve their children too.”

He steps forward, his arms uncrossing as he studies me withinterest. “Your mom. She left you, didn’t she?” When I say nothing, he nods. “Right. And I can’t imagine growing up with Hammond was that much fun.”

“What’s your point, William?” I ask, barely containing a hiss.

“Your mother abandoned you. Your father is—well, Le Dictateur, and your fiancé left you the day of your wedding.” His sharklike eyes run over me, scanning me so deeply, it’s almost as if he can see under my skin. “You’re damaged. Insecure, broken. That’s probably why you were unable to accept my son’s love when it most mattered.” I flinch, but he continues as if he’s not even talking to me. “Do you have any idea how badly you broke his heart? You’ll hurt him again, Amelie, and after his mother, then that wretched woman he made me hire, then you, he’s been through enough.”

I look down at the metal counter with a sigh. God, do I wish this man were just evil. Plain evil. If he were, I would have told Ian everything the moment I figured out who his father was. But he’s not. He cares about his son greatly. He’d do anything for Ian, and I’m sure from where he’s standing his actions are more than justified. His son got his heart broken by Ella, then lost his mom right after that. And then I did what I did.

“I have no intention of hurting Ian. But I know you think I will anyway, and hell, I might. I can’t see the future.” When his jaw sets, I tuck some hair behind my ear and whisper, “But he’s not weak. He’s not this broken, defenseless person you make him out to be. He doesn’t need you to fight his battles, and if he knewhowyou do it, he’d be appalled. Because your son is good.”

“I agree.” He lightly taps his hand on the counter. “And because he’s so good, he deserves someone who chooses him from the get-go. So you’ll break it off. He’ll find someone better, and—”

“William,” I interrupt. I straighten, then calmly study his coldsmile. “I won’t leave Ian’s life. There’s nothing you can do, nothing you can threaten me with that would make me go away. In fact, I’m only willing to lie about what happened between you and me because I don’t want your son to lose you. That is as far as I’ll go to accommodate you. For him. Only for him.”

“He’ll never marry you,” he taunts. “Especially not after the number you did on him. He’s done with all that, Amelie.”

“I don’t care.”

A grim shadow passes over his face. “Really? And what happens five years from now, when all your friends are married and you want to wear a pretty white dress?”

“Your son gave me the perfect dress already,” I say as I slowly stir my tea. “I’ll just wear it for him.”

“Amelie—”

“I thought I smelled rat,” comes from the kitchen entrance. Both William and I turn around, and my father slowly makes his way to us, his glare not focused on me for once. “I should have known it was the work of a Roberts in the kitchen.”

Barely holding back a chuckle, I glance at the honey-brown liquid in my mug.

“Hammond,” William says, returning to his piece of salmon. “Aren’t you a little too old for these games?”

“Bien sûr.Amelie?”

“What, you want me to roast him?” I ask with a sly smile. “He’d probably end up burning that too.”

William comes closer, the smell of his cologne nauseating, especially together with the fish he’s holding. “Did you tell your father about our dinner, Amelie?”

Holy fuck. I feel my dad’s wide eyes scan the side of my face and, gripping my mug tighter, I prepare for his face to turn red and his voice to sharpen as he scolds me.