Page 168 of Under Your Scars

It almost looked like guilt.

Caroline takes my parents’ hands and leads them into the study to show them the puzzle she’s working on with Edwin. Christian and I linger in the hallway. He’s got his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and a sheepish grin on his face.

“You called them,” I say quietly. He nods. “Why?”

He runs the back of his hand along my cheek to brush away a loose strand of hair framing my face. His soft smile falters for a millisecond before returning. “You’ve done nothing but take care of Caroline and I all on your own since I got shot. I wanted you to relax for a minute. I didn’t think your mom would have any objections to coming to see her grandchild for a few days.”

“And my dad?”

He gives me a half-hearted smile. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart.” He looks towards the study and chuckles to himself. “Did you see the way he looked at Caroline? That kid could end wars with how cute she is.”

“She gets it from me,” I lightly tease, and his smile in return is so bright it can be seen from space. I tangle my hands into the fabric of his hoodie, rise up to my toes, and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you for bringing them here.” I wrap my fingers around his wrist as he cradles my jaw. “I guess I should extend the olive branch.”

Christian shakes his head. “He owes you an apology. If he doesn’t tell you he’s sorry, just say the word, and I’ll take care of him.”

I almost snort from how nostalgic those words feel. “My father being a dickhead isn’t grounds for murder.”

Christian licks his lips and then takes his bottom lip between his teeth before giving me that devilish smile he’s mastered. “You’re no fun, angel.”

Both of us walk into the study together, and instead of using my words, I give my father an unmistakable look that says, ‘we need to talk.’

My father and I stand awkwardly on the balcony on the second floor of the mansion, overlooking the backyard. We have a clear view of the gray ocean and the impending storm clouds on the horizon.

My father digs into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. I take it from him and break the stick in half before handing it back.

“No smoking on the property. We don’t want Caroline around it. Which you would know if you bothered to come meet her two months ago.”

My father looks up at the sky and sighs. “I regret what I said to you at Thanksgiving. It came out…bad.”

“That wasn’t an apology,” I say with a curled lip, staring off into the distance.

“I’msorry,” he apologizes, though I can tell he said it through gritted teeth.

“Are you also sorry you weren’t there to walk me down the aisle at my wedding?”

He scoffs. “That wasn’t a wedding. You deserved more than five minutes in a decrepit courtroom. You deserved flowers and a first dance and a veil the length of Australia.”

“I didn’twantthose things,” I croak, finally looking at him. “Dad…I’m not the same girl I was five years ago, or even six months ago. You’ve got to accept that. I’ve been through a lot these last few months and you’re killing yourself for not being there for me, but I’m okay. Do you know why I’m okay?” I ask, but I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Because ofChristian. His love is brutal and intense, but it’s made me strong, dad. You’re my hero. You always have been. But Christian is my hero too.”

My father lets out a long exhale. “You’re his, too. He told me. About the suicide attempt.”

I blink at him, and my spine stiffens. “Christian told you…about the night we met?”

“At Thanksgiving,” he confirms. “It’s beautiful, you know. The story of why he calls you angel. Reminds me of your mother and me. How she pulled me out of the darkest part of my life.”

It all begins to make sense to me in that moment, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. “That’s why you don’t like him,” I say, almost laughing at how obvious it is now. “You thought he was a danger to me. You thought I was going to be one of his victims.”

It goes quiet for a long minute as he stares at me.

Suddenly and without warning, he pulls me into a tight hug. He’s shaking, like he’s overwhelmed with emotion.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m going to fix everything.”

I hug him back. “Promise me nothing will ever come between us again?”

His hand strokes over the back of my head, and he takes a deep breath. “Ipromise.”

The next morning at breakfast, I catch my father, more than once, giving Christian a death glare that tells me he still doesn’t like my husband.