Page 91 of Desperate Games

That my marriage is a sham.

That Remy swept me into it before I knew what was happening.

That this isn’t a love match like the storybook marriage he and Mom have—thirty whatever years of passion and loyalty, still looking at each other like the sun rises and sets in their eyes.

And what scares me most?

He might be right.

“Honey, I just meant you have so much going on right now. New marriage. New daughter. Your pregnancy. It can be a lot, and I don’t want you to feel any undue pressure,” Dad says gently.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, dark eyes pinning me like he’s trying to see into my very soul.

“I know Remy is an honorable man, and I believe he thinks your marriage was the right move. But Andrea?” His jaw tightens. “Did he pressure you into it?”

I gasp, the sound sharp enough to make Mom flinch.

How could he think that? How could he even say it?

And worse—it’s not lost on me that my very first instinct isn’t to protect myself, but to defend my husband.

“Andres,” Mom scolds, laying a hand on his wrist.

“I’m her father, Ellie. I just want what’s best for her. Now, don’t get upset, honey,” Dad says, his voice softer now.

But how can I not be upset?

“What exactly are you asking me right now, Dad?” I whisper, careful so Callie doesn’t overhear from where she’s lining up her stuffed animals.

He matches my volume, but not my hesitation.

“I just don’t want you to set yourself up for heartbreak. Sweetheart, are you sure you want this? If you don’t, I can help.”

I twist my fingers together under the table, so tight I’m half afraid I’ll cut off circulation. Braiding myself into some kind of armor. Because what else can I do?

I know my parents love me.

That’s not the issue.

It’s that I don’t want him to be right.

“I—I don’t feel pressured by Remy. He’s, he’s a good man. But maybe you’re right about a party. Mom, we can do a newspaper announcement, but let’s wait for Remy to come back before deciding on the rest, okay?”

“Okay, Andrea,” Mom says gently. Her expression softens the moment Callie calls out, “Nana, let’s make cookies!” and waves her over to where the toy oven and plastic cookies are set up.

“Good idea. Coming, sweetheart,” she replies, rising from the table with an indulgent smile.

That leaves me alone with Dad.

“So, he’s still abroad?” he asks, though I see it in his eyes—he already knows the answer.

I narrow mine and heat crawls up my throat.

“You already know Uncle Josef sent him to Greece. Something about some old-time royal family connection or whatever and regaling the guy’s personal guard with his new training methods.”

“Yes,” Dad says evenly, “your husband came out of the service a highly decorated soldier.”

I blink. Decorated? Soldier?