Page 7

Chapter Six

Tessa

How many fake smiles can I force until my teeth splinter out of my mouth?

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you made it, Tessa.”

I force yet another grin at Joyce. She’s actually the least insufferable part of the evening, which is surprising for me, seeing that she’s marring my dad. But she seems nicer than all of my dad’s ex-girlfriends combined.

For one, she’s made the effort to know my name. Then, there’s the fact that she’s blissfully unaware, or has chosen to ignore, the fact that I don’t speak to my dad and I had zero plans of attending just a few weeks ago. She obviously doesn’t do drama.

But since being in LA for the last month, been asking myself why I still want to reconnect with the only family I have left, even if it is with someone as hateful as my dad.

Because having a messed up family has got to be better than the feeling of being absolutely alone in the world.

Detective Warner has been in touch a couple of times, but I’ve managed to stall him, saying that nothing in the binder rings a bell. They haven’t found any new leads yet, either.

“I’m glad to be here.” It’s a lie, but Joyce beams at my words.

I feel discomfort burn within me as I look around. The expansive hall is decked out in full glamor, with colors of white and gold on every conceivable surface. It looks quite expensive, and I wonder lazily how my dad’s paying for it.

Over the past decade, his businesses have been taking financial hit after hit, and the orchards are gradually being sold off. The remaining two orchards, while being the largest, are more for storage, preservation, and product testing than actual farming.

Not that my dad cares that much, given that he has never readjusted his spending behavior to fit his dwindling resources.

Joyce most likely is paying for everything.

Smart choice. At least then my dad won’t be able to hold anything over her head.

I look around at the people milling about, who seem only capable of staring at me. Only one or two return my smile. They are the usual suspects, older men and women who witnessed the majority of my parents’ marriage, yet concocted the most senseless rumors.

Like the one that the reason their marriage finally crashed and burned was because of me.

Because despite my parents’ belief that having a preteen daughter would suddenly solve all their marital problems, my presence wasn’t the miraculous cure they were hoping for.

But seeing as I was immensely grateful to be adopted, I worked like hell to get my parents to like each other and me. By the time I was old enough to know better, the damage was already done.

You had one job, Tessa, to make your mother happy, and you couldn’t even pull that off…

My dad’s terse voice floats in my head. Unexpectedly, tears spring to my eyes, and the room feels too small.

“Excuse me, I need to get some air,” I say to Joyce, who has started looking at me with concern. Before she can reply, I turn around, grab a flute from a passing waiter, and walk toward the French doors.

The balcony overlooks an expansive, well-kept lawn with hedges of flowers arranged to form a maze. It’s dark outside, but thankfully, it’s also silent and empty. Most people are inside the hall. I put my champagne on the concrete ledge looking down into the garden.

It was stupid, really, coming here. Working with Nathan in the past month had given me the false sense of having got over what happened to Mom.

I wanted to prove myself, and mostly to Nathan admittedly, that I was no longer the broken woman who couldn’t face her past.

It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing. Proving a point to Nathan, even though something I see in his eyes tells me that I don’t need to.

Since that first day in his office, he’s not bothered to, or rather, he’s been unable to hide the fact that he wants me. It’s in the way he looks at me, and I feel it clear across the room, even when other people are around.

And from what I hear about him from people who’ve worked with him for over a decade, he’s practically a monk.

He doesn’t look or feel like one, though. He looks like six foot three inches of pure sin.

And I’ve been pretending I’m indifferent to him, acting distant and aloof.

“Tessa!” I flinch as I hear the booming voice of my dad, and I steel myself as I turn toward him.

He looks older, slightly paunchier with his cheeks red with excitement, or wine, or both. His arms are open wide, and there’s a grin plastered on his face. His eyes, though, are as cold as ever.

I fight to stay rooted to the spot as he approaches me, and my discomfort piles up as he folds me into his arms.

“What are you doing here, Tessa?” he whispers through his false grin.

“Why, Dad, the same reason you're hugging me like you love me. Optics. Nobody should know you haven’t laid eyes on your beloved daughter in five years.”

He holds me at arms length, his grin still firmly in place, looking at me the way a father might gaze at the daughter he’s missed dearly.

“You decided to leave and cut all contact after your mother died. Did you really expect me to chase you around the damned country?”

“No, not really. It hurts that you didn’t try, though . ” More than I care to admit.

Maybe that’s why it was that much easier to leave after Mom’s death. As quiet and unassuming as she was, she was the glue that held us together.

“I have better things to do than to lose sleep over a headstrong, ungrateful child.”

I suck in a breath. “You’ve always known how to make a girl feel special, Dad.”

Sometimes, I imagine I’d be better off if John hadn’t adopted me. Maybe someone else who wanted a child for the right reasons would have come for me.

But then, I might not have met Nathan or discovered my passion for helping children or my skill in managing charities.

“I know this isn’t the time or place to talk about this,” I begin, knowing that this interaction is likely the only chance I’ll get to speak to him. “But, Dad, did the police contact you about Mom’s journals?”

My dad’s smile half-vanishes, and I can tell he’s barely hanging onto the last threads of his doting father act. “So, that’s why you came back? You believe all that bullshit?”

“The police certainly think it’s worth reopening the case for.”

“Tessa, you know there’s no point in rehashing the past. She’s long dead. Leave it be.”

“Have you even seen the entries? Did you know that she kept journals?”

The look on his face is a mix of alarm, regret, and irritation. Because I spent a good chunk of my life studying this man’s expressions, I know exactly what it means.

No, he had no clue she kept journals. He sorely regrets the fact that he never knew this fact, despite being married to her for twenty years. And no, he has not yet seen those journals. Most likely because he’s been evading the detectives.

“Neither of us knew why she wrote those things. Maybe there’s more to her death than what we know. She certainly seemed like she knew it was coming.” I say.

His smile is now completely gone, replaced by an ugly sneer. “I know you want to hold on to the past, but trust me. Your mother was a devious and deranged actress. There’s a whole lot of facts you don’t know. I saw through her act from the start, but you have always been gullible to deception, despite my best attempts to make you streetwise.”

I step back from his embrace, a chill running down my spine. I know my parents weren’t happy together, but hearing him talk about her with such vitriol makes me wonder if he ever loved her at all.

Why, then, would they even marry in the first place?

“Even if you’re right and she’s all of that and worse, Mom’s not here anymore. If she had something to say before she died, don’t you think we owe it to her to hear her out? We’re supposed to be her family, right?”

His mouth twists into a snarl. “Sure, whatever. But maybe get on with it after my wedding? I’m getting married in a few weeks, and I don’t want whatever the fuck else you think you’ve found out about your crazy mom blowing up the town and causing a ruckus.”

I feel like he just suckerpunched me. Laying my palm on my suddenly hurting stomach, I stare at him, barely believing what he just said. But, before I can even formulate a reply, a cold, clear voice rings out from behind me.

“Easy there, Blackwell. She was the woman you married at all costs, after all.”

I whirl around. My heart skips a beat when I see Nathan, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit, stepping toward us on the balcony. He’s beyond gorgeous, filling out that custom-made suit in a way that makes my mouth go dry.

But he’s not even looking at me. His eyes are trained on my dad.

And he looks thunderous.

“King.” Dad’s voice is icy, losing the last, faint traces of friendliness. “Surprised to see you here.”

Nathan comes to stand behind and slightly to the side of me, a bristling, solid presence.

He doesn’t have to touch or even look at me, but he might as well have put an arm around my waist and dragged me into his chest with his defensive body language. Anyone from a mile off can see that he’s protecting me.

“One of the hazards of inviting people you don’t want to see, Blackwell, is that you run the risk of them showing up.”

“A mere courtesy. It’s not like you deign to grace anything in Valencia with your precious presence, except for the damned Citrus Fest.”

Nathan just stares at my dad like he’d like to wring his neck. My heart skips another beat, this time in fear.

My dad jams both hands deep into his pockets. “And now that you’re here, albeit unwelcome, perhaps you could refrain from butting in on family conversations that don’t concern you?”

Nathan lifts a brow. “I should think it concerns me, remotely at least. We’re talking about Mary and her black heart, are we not?”

My dad’s face pales, then goes blotchy with rage.

Looking from one seething face to another, I become more confused by the minute. I know my dad doesn’t like Nathan, but I’m surprised to see that the feeling is mutual. In fact, it seems as if Nathan hates him more. And why are they speaking in what sounds like code?

My gaze still flitting back and forth from those two, I see Nathan’s face darkening, even as the corner of his mouth lifts in a mocking smirk.

And I see the wheels turning in my dad’s head as his hands, now out of his pockets, curl and into fists. Then he levels me with a look of revulsion.

It’s obvious that he thinks I’m with Nathan. I’m still trying to figure out what the deal is between these two, so I can’t even bring myself to care what he thinks at this point.

After seconds of the silent stare off, where I half-expect for fists to start flying, my dad mutters, “Screw this shit,” and stalks off, returning to the party inside.

What the hell just happened?

I turn to Nathan, intent on asking him that question. But before I can even form the words, he grabs my hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Not waiting for my response, he pulls me back inside, past the tittering throng of people around the dance floor, and heads for the exit. I go willingly, still numb from my unpleasant exchange with my dad and what I just witnessed.