Page 68 of The Truth of Us

“It feels…” I looked at the glass, searching for the word. “Warm.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Warm?”

“Yes. Like something you’d drink in a room with people you actually like.”

He laughed. “That should be the tagline.”

“It’s better than whatever your marketing team came up with, I guarantee it.”

His smile lingered. Then slowly faded into something thoughtful. “Maybe we should invest.”

I looked up. “We?”

He held my gaze. The firelight from the sitting room beyond the open doors flickered across his face. For a second he looked older than I liked, not weak, never that, but tired from carrying grief for too long.

“I think it’s time,” he said quietly.

My stomach tightened. “Time for what?”

“For you to stand beside me.”

I sucked in a breath. “Dad.”

“You have been building a life of your own,” he said gently. “And I have been proud of you for it. I am proud of you.”

My throat tightened. “But?”

“But I think hiding has become heavier than being seen.”

I looked away, saying, “I wasn’t hiding.”

“No?” The question was gentle.

“I was making my own name.”

“You were,” he agreed.

“And proving I could do something without Montgomery attached to me.”

“You did.”

I looked back at him. He wasn’t arguing, and that somehow made it worse.

“I needed that.”

“I know.”

“I still need that.”

“Do you?” He asked and then set his glass down before continuing, “I am not asking you to disappear into this family. I am asking if you are ready to stop hiding from it.”

I looked down at my hands, my mother’s ring, at the manicure I had picked at enough over the last few days that one nail had chipped.

“I don’t know who I am as Harper Montgomery,” I admitted.

My father’s face softened. “You are exactly who you are as Harper Lane.”

“That’s not true.” I argued.