Edward nods at the police officer as she approaches. “This is Wren Carter,” he says.
“Ms. Carter,” the officer says kindly. “I understand Mr. Pritchard is your father, and he’s breaking the terms of his restraining order.”
“How did you know about that?” I’m completely confused. Do they track people who have restraining orders on them, even after twenty-seven years?
“Mr. Ashford found out,” Rory says. “He asked me to call the police.”
I look at Edward, and he says, “He means Marcus.”
“We’ll take him now,” the officer states. “He won’t bother you again. We will need to take a statement from you, though.”
“I’m taking her back to our house,” Edward replies. “I’m her fiancée’s father. Can you send someone there?” He gives the address.
The police officer types it in. “We’ll send someone over shortly.”
“Thank you.” Edward watches her go, then turns back to me. “Come on. I’m taking you back to Cece.”
I let him steer me along the road to a sleek black Mercedes. He opens the back passenger door, and I slide onto the back seat. A man is sitting behind the wheel, and he smiles at me in his mirror. Edward goes around the other side and gets in the back. “Home please, Tane,” he says.
Tane nods, starts the engine, and slides the car into the traffic.
Edward dips his head to catch my eye. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” I’m trembling so hard, my teeth are chattering.
“Here.” He takes off his jacket and places it around my shoulders, the same way his son did at the ball.
I shrink back into it, glad of the warmth. “Thank you.” At that moment, my phone buzzes against my hip, and I take it out of my jeans pocket.
“That’ll be my son,” Edward says, amused.
Sure enough, it’s Marcus. I answer it with a shaky, “Hello?”
“Wren,” he barks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m in the car with your dad. He’s taking me back to the house.”
He blows out a breath. “Thank God. I’m so glad you’re all right. That nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I… don’t understand. Rory… he’s a… what? Bodyguard?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“You gave me a security detail.”
“I did, and I’m fucking glad. Jesus.”
“When… Why?”
“After the party, and because people come out of the woodwork when they know you have money. Look, I knew about the restraining order, and what your father did to your mother. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
My eyes fill with tears. “He asked me for five million dollars.”
He snorts. “Is that all? I’d have paid at least a billion for you.” I can hear it in his voice—he’s actually smiling.
I can’t help it; I start crying.
He sighs. “I’m so sorry, Birdy. Look, put my father on, will you?”
