Page 48 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

We’re five minutes into our journey—and five more missed calls from Jude—when Rachel answers Clark’s call after the third attempt. “Finally,” he breathes.

“Sorry,” she says. “I was hanging some washing out. What’s up?”

“Change of plan. I’ve got Amelia with me. She’s coming to ours for a bite.”

“What’s happened?”

I smile to myself. Of course she’d ask that. “I’ll explain over dinner,” he replies, reaching for my hand and patting it.

“But I’m already at your parents’. Your mum’s cooked, and she wants to see all these pictures.”

“You said you were hanging washing out.”

“For your mother, because she’s hard at it over the stove.”

Clark glances across the car to me, cringing, as he puts the phone on mute. “What do you want to do?”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving off his concern. “I’ll come too.” Truth is, I need a hug from my mum. She can’t know, but I need a hug. And to be surrounded by what’s familiar in a world I don’t know right now.

Clark unmutes his phone. “See you there, honey.” He takes a right and reroutes to our parents’. “So the plan is to say nothing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I confirm, pulling out the test and looking at the result, as if to remind myself of the mess I’m in.

“Not until I know how I’m handling this.

” I swallow and settle back, looking out the window at the streets passing, my eyes glazed.

There’s so much to think about, and I have zero brain space at the moment.

I need my mum’s home-cooked food and the usual calming chaos of my family around me.

“Okay. Well, you just take your time.”

My eyes drop to my phone in my lap when it rings again. Jude. I turn it to silent and go back to watching the world go by. “Will Grandma and Grandpa be there?” I ask, keeping my attention out the window.

“They’re always there.”

“I know. I was just checking.”

“And if anyone asks about Jude?”

Hearing his name out loud makes me flinch. “He’s working.”

“Right.”

Twenty minutes and endless loops of my thoughts later, we pull up outside Mum and Dad’s. Clark squeezes my arm as I take a deep breath, getting out of the car and walking on numb legs up the pathway.

Grandma and Grandpa are not in their usual spots when I walk into the lounge. It throws me. Frowning, I wander through to the dining room, finding them at the table. Grandpa’s swapped his paper for a pile of pictures, and Grandma has swapped her knitting needles for a pair of scissors.

“You look different,” she says as I dip and kiss her cheek.

Different? In turmoil? Heartbroken? Pregnant? “I’m the same.”

Grandpa ushers me over and looks me up and down. “She’s right. You’re blotchy.”

“I’m fine, Grandpa,” I say, rubbing his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I got all the pictures people sent me printed off,” Rachel says, wandering in from the kitchen. She recoils when she clocks my face. Shit, am I blotchy? I shake my head mildly, making her look at Clark, who also shakes his head, taking her arm and leading her into the hallway.

Grandpa looks at the pictures in front of him, scratching his bald head and removing his glasses. “How many are there?”

“Hundreds.” Grandma indicates the endless piles. “Are we putting them in an album?”

“Kids don’t have albums these days.” Grandpa points to an iPhone on the table. “They have camera rolls.”

I smile and follow Clark and Rachel. I know immediately when Rach gives me a smile loaded with sympathy she can’t hide that Clark’s told her. “You know,” I whisper when she pulls me in for a hug.

“We’re here for you.” I’m squeezed tightly. “What on earth’s happened?”

“I’ll come back to you on that one.” I kiss her cheek and go find Mum. “Hey,” I say, hugging her from behind where she’s standing at the sink in an apron and some rubber gloves.

She stills for a moment, laughing lightly, before forcing me to release her when she turns. She takes me in from top to toe, and it takes everything in me and more to stop my lip wobbling.

“What’s happened?” she asks quietly, removing her rubber gloves.

“Nothing’s happened.”

“Oh, please, Amelia. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?” She takes my hand and leads me to the laundry room. “Explain what these are.”

A massive bunch of peonies is sitting on the worktop over the dryer. “Did he come to the florist again?” I ask.

“He looked terrible,” she whispers. “What’s happened?”

“I’m not seeing him anymore.”

“But why?” she cries. “We had a lovely weekend with you both, Amelia. You and Jude, you just looked so happy together, and your father hasn’t shut up about him since!”

Everything inside wilts. Isn’t it just typical that my father would change the habit of a lifetime now? “It didn’t work out,” I say, approaching the flowers.

“There’s no card. I removed it.”

“Why?”

“Well, I didn’t want your father reading it.”

“Why?”

“Well, in case this is a storm in a teacup.”

“In case I work it out with him?”

Mum pouts. “Will you?”

I laugh, and there’s an edge of sarcasm. “No, Mum, trust me. We won’t be working it out.” But he’s the father of your impending grandbaby, so I can’t tell you why and make you hate him as much as I do. “He shouldn’t have come to the florist.” That’s tactical.

Mum pulls the card from the pocket of her apron and hands it over, her lips pursed. “He sounded terribly sorry for whatever’s happened.” The questions swirl in her eyes.

“Mum,” I breathe, taking her hand. “Please, let’s forget about him.”

“But, my darling, I saw a sparkle in your eyes I’ve never seen before.” She comes closer. “That’s got to mean something. And he was so handsome and charming and refined.”

And a liar and a cheat and a vengeful, immoral bastard.

“It’s over,” I reiterate, the words fighting past the lump in my throat. Any contact I must have with him going forward will be transactional. “And, honestly, I’m fine, so please stop worrying.” Save your worry for when I drop the baby bomb. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

I go back into the kitchen and check the pot on the stove, lifting the lid. “Mm,” I hum when the steam rises and a waft of rich gravy hits my nose. “Casserole?”

“Beef.”

“Amelia,” Dad sings, coming in from the garden. “Did you see the flowers Jude sent for you?”

“Yeah, Dad. I saw them.”

He looks around. “Where is he?”

Oh my God. I look at Mum, who shifts, awkward, her eyes begging me not to tell him. “Jude and I split up,” I say, aiming for assertive, but I know I sound as defeated as I feel. Mum deflates, and I give her sorry eyes. There’s no point delaying the inevitable.

“What?” Confusion invades every inch of Dad’s face.

“It didn’t work out.”

“Didn’t work out? How ridiculous. We spent most of the weekend with you both. I’ve never seen you smile so much. And ... and ... and I like him!”

Guilt flares, for a reason I never imagined. “I know you did, Dad. I’m sorry.” This is bizarre. And fucking painful.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Dad looks between us, wounded as he drops to a chair. “I don’t mean to be judgy, darling, but what are you thinking?”

Judgy. We’ll see how judgy he gets when I tell him he’s going to be a granddad and I’m not with the baby’s father.

“He loves you.”

“He doesn’t love me, Dad,” I assure him.

I was just a pawn to him, and suddenly everything we shared is null and void.

Meaningless. He wanted me to fall in love with him, and I did.

Job done. I’m not going back so Jude Harrison can prolong Nick’s punishment.

“I need some air,” I say, leaving them in the kitchen whispering angrily to each other, and heading out the front.

I sit on a wall and take a moment to myself, trying not to fall victim to my memories again. Impossible.

How the hell did I end up here?

My attention is caught when I see a car pull into the cul-de-sac.

Nick’s car. “Is he for real?” I whisper, standing from the dwarf wall.

The anger is reignited as I wander to the end of the path to meet him on the pavement.

Has he come to make me feel even stupider?

Does he expect me to fall into his arms, sob and apologise?

“You need to leave,” I say, my tone defensive and hostile. “You can’t just keep turning up at my parents’ house, Nick.” Is he hoping for an ally in Dad?

“I thought . . .”

Oh my God, he does. He thinks there’s a chance? After everything? I laugh under my breath and turn, walking back to the house, hoping that simple reaction tells him what he needs to know with no further energy drained. But then something comes to me, and I stop.

“Why did you change your name?” I ask, facing him.

The wave of surprise that crosses his face can’t be hidden. “What?”

“Your name.”

“Is that what he told you?” He stands taller in some kind of pathetic display of strength. It’s defensive. And really fucking suspicious.

“No, it’s what Clark told me.” Wide eyes stare back at me, and I tilt my head, suddenly interested. “Why did you change your name, Nick?”

“My mum remarried after my dad died,” he says, his words rushed.

“Wait. Your dad died?”

“Yes, my dad died.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?” We were together for five years!

“I did tell you that.”

I laugh. “Nick, don’t you think that’s information I would remember? So Frank’s your stepfather? You took your stepfather’s name?”

“Yes.” He shrugs, but I know there’s way more to it, just by how shady he’s behaving.

“Just like that, you took on another man’s name?”

“Mum wanted me to have the same name as her.”

“I call bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Amelia.”

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped you around the face, Nick.”

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father. He expected a lot from me. I didn’t cope well with the pressure, and after he died, I wanted to be my own man, be recognised as me, not as my father’s son.”

“So you forgot he ever existed? Didn’t think to mention to me that your dad died and you changed your name?”

“I must have told you, Amelia.”