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“I’m happy to be back.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Connor takes a seat beside Grace as I sit across the table from her. My eyes slide unwillingly to the front of the table, where Dad’s chair remains empty. My stomach twists in apprehension at the idea of being back in the same room as him…breathing the same air. Before I can give the dreadful feeling another thought, the familiar tap of Dad’s shoes on the tile floor echoes from outside the dining room. The conversation dies at the table as Patrick O’Leary strides into the dining room like the mob boss he is. I’m tempted to drop my eyes as he approaches, but I’ve grown a spine in the past ten years. Enough of one not to feel immediately threatened by his presence.
Patrick sits and acknowledges his future son-in-law. “Connor, how wonderful of you to join us tonight as we welcome back our little Rosaleen.”
At my name, our eyes lock, and I watch his dark eyes shift from painful longing to anger. It only takes a second, and I doubt anyone else sees it, but it tells me enough. Grace is right. It bothers him how much I looked like our mother as a child and even more now as a grown woman. My lips involuntarily twitch at the thought. Maybe if I play my cards right, I’ll be back on a plane to Ireland tonight.
Time has not been kind to Dad otherwise. For the first time in ten years, I’m looking at the man through the eyes of an adult and not those of a lost child. His face is heavily lined, his once dark hair streaked with gray. Although still a large man, his posture is different from what I remember. His shoulders have a slight slump, like his back is no longer capable of holding up his weight. Maybe it’s simply the result of growing older, or maybe I just no longer see him as a man to fear.
I adjust my posture, sitting taller in my chair with my spine straight and my shoulders square. “Hello, Dad.”
Dad grunts his greeting, then leans forward and shovels food on his plate from the dishes before him. “I trust your trip home was uneventful.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. We both know that the staff kept him well informed of every second during my trip.
“Yes, it was.”
Dad pauses with his fork in midair and looks directly at me as if he’s waiting for me to continue.
Oh, right. Manners. Of course. How silly of me to forget. “Thank you for sending the jet.”
He firmly nods and then motions with his fork to the plate of chicken. “Eat.” His eyes roam over my figure before he frowns and redirects his fork to the salad. “It appears your uncle allowed you to indulge too much while staying with him. You’ll need to go on a diet now that you’re home.”
And now I resist the urge to throw my plate at his head. I’m not runway model skinny, but I’m not overweight either. I was on my school’s cross-country team and rode horses at my uncle’s estate. I’m fit with a healthy level of muscle, not fat.
Grace softly kicks my ankle beneath the table, and I meet her pleading eyes. She looks at the salad bowl and then back at me, her silent request obvious. I take a deep breath and reach for the tongs in the salad bowl. She’s right. This is one battle not worth fighting. I can always sneak down to the kitchen later and raid the fridge for something other than rabbit food.
“Rosaleen was telling me about the cross-country meets where she placed first several times. It’s all very impressive,” Grace says conversationally, and I almost wish she hadn’t.
Dad nods. “Yes, I suppose it is.” I doubt he means that, so I sit quietly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Although, I wondered if the extracurricular activities were the reason your sister did not graduate with honors from university.”
And there it is.
“I didn’t graduate with honors because I didn’t care about the stupid business degree you forced me to get.” I know the moment the words slip from my mouth that it’s a mistake, but my anger’s itching for a fight tonight. My time away may have built me a backbone, but no filter for my mouth to go with it. “You didn’t listen to me or ask me what I wanted to study. I don’t want to work for you or the family. Ever. I wanted to study—”
Dad’s fist slams down on the table, causing the plates to rattle and water to spill from the glasses. Even Grace and Connor freeze. “You will quit this attitude at once, Rosaleen.”
“What attitude? It’s the truth,” I challenge.
Dad snarls and stares at me with twin dark pools of fury. I should be afraid, but I’m no longer a twelve-year-old girl desperate for her father’s love or attention. “I was concerned that sending you away so young would be a mistake.” His voice is calm, his words calculated and precise as he speaks slowly, but I know the anger lurks beneath the surface. “Clearly, I was right. You’ve returned a selfish, self-centered, ungrateful child who thinks the world owes her something. I should have married you off the moment you turned eighteen instead of listening to your uncle, who insisted you attend university. It was obviously a waste of time and money.”
I want to argue back, but I know there’s no point. Instead, I snap my mouth close, toss my fork down, and lean back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. I’ve officially lost my appetite. Fuck etiquette. And fuck him.
“How are the wedding preparations coming?” Dad directs his question to Connor even though Grace is handling nearly every detail.
I don’t miss the way Connor reaches for Grace’s free hand on the table and squeezes it as a silent show of support. “It’s going very well. We’ve narrowed our honeymoon choice and selected our wedding cake this week.”
“That’s excellent. It will be important for Rosaleen to be included in the planning.”
“Of course, Dad.” Grace speaks up, agreeing with the tyrant. “After all, helping me is why she’s home.”
“Yes. She’ll also need to learn so she can start her own preparations.” He carries on.
That earns my attention. My eyes snap up in confusion as I struggle to understand where he’s going with this. I glance between Grace and Connor. My sister shrugs. She’s just as lost as I am, and Connor shakes his head like he doesn’t know either.
“My own preparations? What does that mean?” I whisper, afraid of the answer.
Dad pins me with a look so cold I can’t stop my body from shivering. His lips twist into a smile that holds no love or warmth, and I know. I just know that whatever he’s about to say will change the course of my life forever.
