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“Ever since I’ve been back at my apartment…I’ve had doubts.”
“Doubts about what?”
“My father.” My eyes flicked down, feeling guilty for thinking it and saying it. “Just things that he’s said, things he’s done. I got upset and asked him to leave. We didn’t speak for several days.”
“What were you upset about?”
“It’s a long story?—”
“You have my undivided attention.” His eyes continued to bore into mine, aggressive but not irrational.
“I asked for a loan for my restaurant…and he said he had to think about it.” My eyes shifted away. “Suggested that I think about returning to the family business, even though I made itvery clear I’ll never change my mind about that. It seemed like he didn’t care about my wants and dreams—only his.”
He listened to every word, not even blinking.
“So I got my own loan at the bank?—”
“Attagirl.”
I stilled at the affection in his voice, realizing just how much I’d missed it. “He came over, barely ate my cooking, and I just…got upset. Asked him to leave. We didn’t talk for a while. I was angry with him, but I didn’t really understand why. Now I do. It’s because I had doubts… You were right.”
His body stayed rigid, muscular arms over his hard chest.
“I’ve been miserable without you.”
His stare remained hard, but there was a flicker of weakness, a blink of his eyes. But it was the first break in his rough exterior.
“You have no idea just how miserable.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
I looked away, ashamed of my stupidity. “I wish I could take it back.”
“Don’t we all?”
My heart dropped into my stomach because I’d hoped I would be welcomed with open arms, that telling him this would change our circumstances, but he still seemed so angry. “I was just at my father’s house to show him the papers you sent me, but he had someone over for dinner. I left and sat in the car for a while, so miserable that I just stared at the darkness. But then I realizedI’d forgotten my purse, so I went back inside and heard my father say something…say something horrible.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what did he say?”
“He asked someone to kill you and Theo.”
Lashing out in anger would be an appropriate reaction, but he smirked instead, a slight smirk mixed with a frown. “He never learns, does he?”
“Maybe I misunderstood him?—”
“Trust me, you didn’t,” he said. “Who was he speaking to?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him.”
“Is there any identifying information you can provide me?”
At the time, all I’d cared about was what my father said, not who he’d said it to. “I think he was French.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He said he preferred French wine, and he had a French accent.”
Axel’s eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t get a name? You didn’t recognize his voice?”
