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I wouldn’t allow myself to think the thought. I couldn’t. But I did.
My mind went to that time at the steakhouse when I almost forgot my credit card. I’d paid the bill before running to the restroom and I’d only been gone a few minutes, but it was the only time I could recall ever leaving the credit card unsupervised.
“Don’t forget your card,” my dad had said as he rose from his seat. I’d bent down to quickly sign the bill, sliding the card safely back into my wallet.
I didn’t want to think it, but my mind kept replaying that moment. How long had I been in the bathroom? Long enough to text Elle and wash my hands. Long enough for the waiter to run the charge and return the billfold.
He could have looked. He could have written down the numbers or taken a quick picture with his phone.
I opened up our text messages and paused. What could I say?
Dad, did you steal my credit card info and go on an online gambling spending spree?
He wouldn’t do that. Would he?
Of course not. I was obviously missing something. And if I even made the slightest accusation of such untrustworthy behavior it could ruin our fragile relationship. I didn’t want anything to spoil the tenuous bond we’d formed over the past few weeks, especially so close to the wedding.
Oh God, what if my father was a total degenerate? Not only that, but what if he was the kind of man to steal from his own kid?
I thought back to how he mentioned the wedding being held in New York before I shared such details. Or was I misremembering? I still couldn’t recall mentioning the destination in any of our prior messages, but I needed to check to make sure, so I went back to our earliest communication thread on Facebook, scanning every word for any mention of New York.
“Come on,” I whispered, searching frantically.
I told him we were getting married in April and that I would pay for him to attend, but I never mentioned the location. Looking away from my phone in disgust, my gaze fell upon the magazine sitting on the coffee table. The headline read, A Wedding Suited For American Royalty.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I looked at the date the article published. It came out a few days before my dad responded to my private message. A response that came after weeks of silence.
I flipped open the cover and paged through until I got to the photos of me and Hale. Words jumped from the text. Opulence. Lavish. Limitless. Luxury. Net Worth. Davenport. Davenport. Davenport. Then I saw it. New York.
The glossy pages fell from my hands as I stared blankly through the memories playing in my mind. He knew. He fucking knew I was marrying into wealth and that was why he answered me.
Did he steal my credit card information? Was he using me? No. I couldn’t fathom anyone doing something so selfish and heinous, especially to their child!
He hugged me. That was real.
But then I heard my mother’s voice.
I needed to get to the bottom of this. I needed him to look me in the eye and tell me this wasn’t him, that he didn’t fucking steal from his own kid after robbing her of having a father for thirty fucking years.
I called Andrew and told him to come to the house right away. Then I called the number for the jet and requested they have it ready in one hour.
Hale had opened the statement, but maybe he didn’t go through the charges yet. No. He would have done that right away. Right? Hale didn’t believe in putting things off. He probably already had an investigation underway. But wouldn’t he have asked me about it first? I didn’t know what to think or what Hale might be thinking.
“Oh, my God,” I muttered to myself as I frantically threw toiletries into my carryon. “My husband’s going to have my father arrested.”
I needed to fix this. Or at least prove him innocent before police got involved. If it was my dad, I was sure there was a good explanation. Maybe he was sick and desperate. Maybe he was confused.
Gah, no excuse justified this. I had to be wrong.
I threw a few extra items in my bag for New York and zipped it shut, all the while envisioning swat teams storming my wedding ceremony and knocking down topiaries as doves swarmed overhead like props in an Alfred Hitchcock film.
When Andrew arrived I apologized for bothering him on his day off and gave him quick instructions. “Hale should be back soon. Tell him I had to leave early and I’ll call him later. Elara had some cereal, but she’s probably hungry again. There’s yogurt in the fridge.”
As soon as I was seated on the jet, I opened my text messages to my dad and stilled. He hadn’t answered my last three. Something was definitely going on.
I opened my text thread with Hale.
Had to fly out early to deal with bride drama. Nothing major, but had to go. See you there. Love you.
