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“Finn didn’t leave my side in the hospital unless I was awake and had a visitor so he could go and shower.”
Alan flinched, knowing the point I was making. “I’d have been there if I could.”
It wasn’t in me to be cruel, not willfully anyway, but I was making a point. Sometimes, they had to be hammered home.
I shot him a look. “You weren’t though, were you? And Finn was. That’s the kind of man he is.”
My father ducked his head. I saw his nostrils flare as he gritted his teeth, probably trying to refrain from saying that Finn was the reason I was in the hospital in the first place, but he didn’t.
Instead, he turned and reached over to the tea tray that was our custom. I didn’t serve, as was our way, he did. The gentle flow of the hot liquid into the cup broke up the charged silence in the hotel room, and I accepted the cup when he doctored mine with two sugars.
“How are you healing up?” he rasped, making me wonder if he was changing the subject for good, or was going to try to blindside me.
He was a military man who had gone into politics upon retiring. He wasn’t necessarily a diplomat by nature, but he knew how to fight a battle—even if it was one of words.
“I was lucky,” I told him shortly. “I got hit in the abdomen, but the bullet actually ricocheted off the church wall, so it wasn’t a direct hit. It ruptured my spleen. I’m not back to normal but I’m getting there.”
And tonight, I’d be going home.
I’d told my father I could see him today, and he’d rearranged his schedule to meet me here. As soon as we were done, Samuel was taking me to the penthouse and finally, Finn and I would be together again without having eighty gossiping hens listening to everything we said.
“Thatwaslucky,” he grated.
It was something to do with reduced velocity, but whenever it was explained to me, the only thing I understood was I should be grateful to be spleenless and not missing half my stomach. Or, ya know, in a casket right now.
Alan reached over and grabbed the hand not holding my cup. His fingers tightened over mine. “You’re in constant danger—you have to see that.”
“And you’re not?” I countered.
“Aoife, you have to see what position this puts me in, dammit!” he ground out, making my eyes widen.
“You don’t want to meet with me anymore? Is that it?”
He had visions of being the next President. I guess having a secret daughter became even more of a detriment to his image when she had links to the Irish mob. I’d half expected it, but had hoped it wouldn’t boil down to this.
“It’s not about ‘want,’ dammit. You’ve put me in a very difficult situation.”
“I’m sorry I fell in love, Alan.”
He winced at my use of his first name. “Aoife, sweetheart, you have to understand—”
“Two years until the election, four years minimum in office,” I calculated. “So, I’ll see you here, in this room, in six years’ time? Or is that ten if you get re-elected?” Coldness pooled in my stomach as he stared at me, and I could see the hurt in his eyes, knew he didn’t want to do this, but I was well aware that he would.
He was a pragmatist. Just like I was.
It was funny how alike we really were. He’d had no say in my upbringing, hadn’t helped forge me into the person standing here today, and yet, we shared several character traits. That was how I knew why his mind was running down this path, and it was how I figured he’d act, even if it meant cutting ties with someone he cared about.
He had goals, and he wouldn’t break them for anyone.
Certainly not an illegitimate daughter.
I wasn’t about to beg him to reconsider. Wasn’t going to plead with him to keep me in his life. This was on him, not me. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Because it did.
It stung like fuck.
“Why did you have to get involved with a man like O’Grady?” He half-moaned the question, and it pissed me off more than I could say.
