“I’m sorry.” She shrivels, clasping her hands. “Dad wanted to see you. And Mum—”
“Mum’s just along for the ride,” I mutter. “You shouldn’t have done this.” I march into the living room and snatch up my bag. “Good to see you, Dave,” I call out.
He glances up, half-alarmed. “You’re going? But we haven’t eaten yet.”
“Lost my appetite.” My hand is on the door handle when a knock blasts from the other side.
Fuck.
I take a deep breath and open it, coming face-to-face with my father. He’s wearing a red half-zip woollen jumper that highlights the flush on his nose and cheeks, and the swell of his belly beneath is suddenly far too close to me. I take a step back.
We stare at one another, and his gaze is pure hatred. He loathes me, and I loathe him right back.
“Diana, sweetheart,” says Mum, peering over his shoulder. He’s totally blocking the doorway, and even when she speaks, he doesn’t move aside. “It’s been so long, honey. You never come to visit.”
I will my eyes not to roll at her saccharine tone. Mum is never in England. She much prefers to be in the States without us, so even if I did visit, she probably wouldn’t be there.
“I was just leaving,” I murmur.
“Dad, come in,” Sylvie calls, and he finally uproots himself, stepping fully into the flat and giving me the once over.
I feel dirty when he’s done.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” he murmurs.
“This is not a return. This is a departure.” Clutching my bag close to my stomach, I take a step towards the door, but Dad sticks his foot out like he means to trip me over.
“Diana, don’t go,” Sylvie calls. “The food is nearly ready.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I call over my shoulder. “Anything would be better than staying here withhim.” I glare in Dad’s direction, fully intending to leave with my dignity at least partially intact, but he won’t let me.
“I don’t know why you make me out to be the bad guy,” he says with false calm, but the rising colour in his cheeks exposes his fury. “I only want what’s best for you. And Seb Hawkston was the best.” He pinches his fingers and makes a kissing motion likeSeb was a delicacy he could eat, then points an accusatory finger in my direction. “You won’t do better.”
His words sink in like hooks and tug me back, exactly as he intended.
“Don’t lie. It was best for you. Not me. You wouldn’t have cared if you had yoked me to a monster if it got you what you wanted.”
A cruel smile tweaks at Dad’s mouth, and my stomach lurches. Wherever he’s going next, I know I won’t like it. “Rafe Bastion. That’s who you were with. Knew I recognised him. What did a man like him want with a girl like you?” His eyes narrow. “Is that how you’ve been making your money? Selling yourself?”
His words are barbed, but I don’t recoil, forcing my voice to stay level. “Are you angry because I have money that didn’t come from you, or because I was with a man you didn’t choose?”
A self-satisfied sneer mars Dad’s face. “I saw him with another woman.”
Heat roars to the surface of my skin, but I don’t rise to the bait, turning instead to Sylvie. “I’m going now. Have a great dinner.”
“A very pretty woman,” Dad continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Impressive. Successful. Melanie Castow. She runs the Castow Agency.”
“Great. That’s nice,” I snap, intending to push past Dad, but he grips my elbow, changing tack when he doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting.
“You should settle down like your sister.” Dad’s tone shifts from lecturing to taunting. “But who would have you? A man like Rafe Bastion would never take you seriously, not in the long term, just like Seb Hawkston never would have if it hadn’t been for me. Men like that don’t choose girls like you. Not without an incentive.”
I grit my teeth, yank free of Dad’s hold, and shove past him, my shoulder catching Mum’s as I pass, but I don’t give a fuck if Iknock her over and trample her to the floor. She’s spent her life down there anyway, and never once tried to get up to protect me.
“Rafe Bastion’s a rich man,” Dad calls out. “And you owe me, Diana. Tit for tat. You ruined my deal with the Hawkstons. Make it up to me. Convince him to give me the money I lost on the deal you ruined, and all will be forgiven.” My jaw drops, but Dad continues. “I saw the way he looked at you. Like he’d do anything for you. He’d give you the money like that”—he snaps his fingers in my face—“wouldn’t he?”
“Who’s Rafe Bastion?” asks Dave, shoving a mouthful of crisps into his mouth and watching the family drama unfold from his seat on the sofa like it’s a Netflix show.
“I am not your whore to pimp out,” I say to Dad, but my voice sounds fragile. “I never was, and I never will be.”