Page 37 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

“Will you stop fucking hurting yourself?” He snatches my hand up and checks it, shaking his head. “You need to have this looked at—it should be healing by now.”

“I don’t think our relationship is ready for my father yet.”

“You mean strong enough? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, I ...” What do I mean? “It’s ...”

Jude smiles at my stammer, kissing my cheek. “I can handle your father.”

I snort. “Your bravery is commendable.”

“I’m not avoiding them, Amelia, and since they’ve taken it upon themselves to pay us a surprise visit, I will accommodate them and show your father that you’re in good hands.” He cups my boobs and gives them a cheeky squeeze.

“That’s not funny.”

“Stop stressing.”

“You don’t know my father.”

“Well, I’m about to. Get your trainers on.”

I jut my bottom lip out, and Jude curses, lifting me onto the counter and getting them on himself. “Your lack of cooperation is only delaying the inevitable.”

“I’m happy to delay it.”

“I thought you sorted things out with your father.”

“I did, but that means nothing, and it certainly doesn’t mean his brain-to-mouth filter is fixed.”

Jude lifts me from the counter, takes my hand, and starts leading the way. “I’ve told you; I have wide shoulders.”

He said that when we went to meet my friends, and then he stormed away from the table to calm himself down when Charley said something out of place.

My father doesn’t see his faults. And if he does, it takes him a while, but he never admits he’s wrong.

He just waits for me to visit and make him tea, which is code for We’re okay until you piss me off again soon .

My apprehension grows with each step we take down to the lobby, my eyes darting, looking for them.

“I said, stop stressing,” Jude orders quietly.

“I can’t help it. Just take everything he says with a pinch of salt, okay?” Jude’s about to get a strong dose of my family, and I’m sure I’m about to cringe to London and back.

“It’s no big deal.”

“What if he insults you?” I ask. “He doesn’t mean to; it’s just he has no self-awareness sometimes.”

“I can’t believe how worked up you’re getting.”

“I don’t want him to put you off,” I say, surprising myself and Jude.

He stops halfway down the stairs and faces me, his eyes level with mine from where he’s standing on the step below. “And there we have it.” His smile is fond. “Amelia, my brilliant, gorgeous girlfriend, there is nothing in this world that could put me off you.”

My heart melts to nothing. “There’s nothing that could put me off you either,” I reply.

“I truly hope you mean that.”

“I do.” I push my mouth to his. “I love you.”

“I love you more. We get this big dramatic meet over with, we finish what we started upstairs, and then we’re booking our getaway, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Right.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “My father is a lot .”

“And my love for you is a lot a lot , so the balance of a lot is in my favour.” Stroking my cheek, he comes close, nose to nose. “Are you going to argue with me?” I shake my head, making our noses rub. “Good. Let’s go meet the parents.”

He claims my hand, and I watch as he takes in air, obviously bracing himself, and then leads me down the curved stairs.

“Oh God,” I whisper, when I see my mother sitting on one of the chesterfield couches in the lobby, my dad pacing in front of the window.

Jude squeezes my hand tighter and nudges me with his shoulder, and I look up at him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, raking a hand through his mussed-up hair, prompting me to do the same. I must look like a sack of potatoes, all crinkled and flushed.

“Amelia!” Mum sings, hurrying up from the couch.

Jude releases my hand, allowing me to hug my mother. “I can’t believe he’s done this,” I whisper in her ear, and she laughs, loud and uneasy. “Mum, this is Jude.” I open up the way for her. “Jude, my mum, Jenn.”

“Well, it’s lovely to finally meet you officially.” She gives me wide, excited eyes when Jude dips and kisses her on each cheek.

“What a pleasure,” he says softly.

“And this is my dad, Dennis.” I lock eyes with my father and mentally beg him to rein himself in and control his impulses. “Dad, this is Jude.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Lazenby.” Jude extends his hand, and Dad does a terrible job of smiling. It’s tight. Forced. It doesn’t bode well and begs the question of why he even came. It’s exactly what I feared. He’s not had enough time to get used to this.

My father doesn’t correct Jude or tell him to call him Dennis. “Likewise,” he says, making his shake quick, then pulling away and holding his hands behind his back. A horrific silence falls, and I shift uncomfortably, scratching through my head for something to say.

“Perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the Library Bar,” Jude suggests, motioning the way.

“Oh, yes.” I point across the lobby. “The Library Bar.”

“You say that like there’s more than one bar,” Dad muses, gazing around again.

“There is.” I motion to the other end of the lobby. “The Piano Bar is through there, and there’s another in the club across the grounds.”

“So there’s three bars?” Dad asks.

“Four if you include the wine and champagne cellar.” Jude leads on, leaving me to follow with my parents, still praying this is over with fast. “Can I get you a drink?” Jude hands the cocktail menu to my mother as he directs Dad to a table in the corner by the fireplace.

“Oh, there’s a cocktail called the Amelia!” Mum sings, delighted. “I’ll have one of those.”

“It’s new. Inspired by your daughter.”

Mum’s hand slaps onto her chest. “Oh, Dennis, did you hear that?”

“I heard,” he says, lowering to a chair. “It’s a very extravagant place you have here, Mr. Harrison.”

Mr. Harrison? Give me strength.

“Please, call me Jude.” Jude looks at me discreetly, and I send a million silent apologies to him. I bet he’s regretting this. “Drink?”

“I’ll have a tonic water, please.”

“Coming up.” Jude doesn’t wave for service but rather goes to the bar to order with Clinton. He probably needs a break from them already.

I turn my eyes onto Dad, who does a damn fine job of avoiding my accusing glare. “What is this?” I ask, sending Mum into an instant fluster. “Showing up unannounced. What on earth were you expecting to find, Dad? Me chained in a cold, dank cellar mid-brainwash by the beast?”

“Now, now.” Mum smiles like an idiot. “He seems very lovely.”

“He is,” I say, eyes back on my father. “ Very lovely.”

“He owns all this?” Dad motions to all this .

“Yes.”

“And this appeals to you?”

“What?”

“All this extravagance and money. It appeals to you?”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, you’ve always been so set on your independence, but I don’t see much independence being had when the man in your life is stinking rich.”

“Money means nothing to me.”

“And yet you want to be successful and make lots of it.”

I recoil, injured, and Mum reaches for my knee, rubbing as if trying to hold me down in my chair before I bounce off around the room in a temper.

I can’t be dealing with this. I preferred him when he was a pigheaded old fool one hundred percent of the time rather than giving me glimmers of hope that he might pull his dinosaur head out of his arse and accept my choices.

“Do you think my desire for success hangs on making piles of money, Dad?” I ask, sitting forward in my chair.

“Because it doesn’t. What success means to me is achievement.

It means happiness and fulfilment. Self-worth.

” I stand up. “And to prove to my prehistoric father that I’m bloody capable of running his precious family business with my younger brother.

” I’m done. This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking to hope he might change.

He’s immovable. “You can see yourself out.” I dip and kiss my mum, feeling her clutch beggingly at my hand.

“Oh, don’t go, Amelia,” she implores. “Please, we’ve come all this way.”

“Just to shine his disapproval all over me. I’m not interested.” I pivot and go to Jude, who’s watching from the bar silently. “This was a waste of time,” I say, taking his hand. “We’re leaving.”

“But it’s my bar.”

I pause for thought. He’s right. I go back to my dad. “You can leave.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

“Yes, I’m throwing you out.”

Poor old man looks like he’s had a wet fish slapped around his face. “But I’m your father.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel dreadful guilt, especially when his face falls.

God damn it. I hate seeing him look so injured, no matter how clueless he is.

So I turn and leave as originally planned, stalking past Jude, whose head turns, following me out of the bar.

“Come,” I order over my shoulder. I hear him snort, forcing me to look back.

Rolling his eyes, Jude picks up Mum’s cocktail and Dad’s tonic water and delivers them to the table, like Dad deserves his hospitality.

Then he strides over to me and takes my hand, pulling me out of the bar.

But I know he’s not taking me away from here.

“I’m not letting you leave at odds with your father,” he says once he’s got me in the lobby, making me withdraw. “If he doesn’t accept me, that’s fine, but you don’t get to walk away.”

I stare at him like a sulky little girl, but all I can think about is Jude’s parents. How he hasn’t got them anymore. “There’s no reasoning with him.”

“There’s more to this than plain disapproval, Amelia.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there’s no way on this earth that any father could not be proud of their daughter if she was you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jude doesn’t get a chance to enlighten me. Dad appears behind him, looking sheepish. “Could I have my daughter for a moment?” he asks, quite politely, given the circumstances. But I note, and I know Jude does too, that he uses a possessive determiner rather than my name.

My daughter.

And suddenly, I’m not sure I need enlightenment.