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Was that the real reason she’d refused to talk to him for sixteen years? Not anger, not hurt, but guilt? Because she’d made the decision to have Lizzie without a thought to his feelings, his fears, and had always known, however much she later tried to deny it, that she had been partly to blame for his withdrawal?
‘Hal, I would never have been ready. Not until I dealt with where I came from.’ Shifting round, he placed his hands on either side of her hips.
She drew back. ‘But I put so much pressure on you. And after you’d had all that therapy to get yourself straight, I wouldn’t let you come back. I wouldn’t even talk to you.’
‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got an overdeveloped sense of responsibility?’
She let out a shaky laugh at his exasperated look. ‘Your daughter has called me a control freak, on numerous occasions. Does that count?’
‘It’s on the spectrum.’ The wry smile was ridiculously comforting. ‘The thing is, the therapy helped. But you know what really got me straight?’
‘What?’
‘Lizzie. Even if you wouldn’t talk to me, you let me have her for six weeks a year, when you didn’t have to.’
She coughed out a laugh. ‘I hate to say it, but I’m pretty sure the main reason I let you see her was because I thought you’d cave after one week of looking after a three-year-old on your own.’ She played with the hem of her T-shirt, keen to look anywhere but his face.
God, honesty hour is a bitch.
‘You have no idea how miffed I was when Lizzie came back from that first trip with a thousand and one stories about how terrific her daddy was and what a great time she’d had.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ He sent her a wry smile. ‘I’m guessing she didn’t mention being sick on the Phantom Manor ride at Disneyland, then. Or wetting the bed the first night because I’d forgotten to stock up on night nappies.’
‘No, funnily enough she didn’t mention any of that.’ Halle laughed at the thought of his struggling to look after a three-year-old, but her amusement was bittersweet.
Suddenly, all those glowing reports over the years, of all the amazing, fabulous, astonishingly awesome stuff Lizzie did in Paris while she was with Luke, could be viewed in a very different light. Was it possible they had never been a stick to beat Halle with? Had Lizzie simply been sugar-coating the truth to protect her daddy and the bond she had with him?
And to think Halle had always thought she’d hidden her anger towards him so well. She’d even boasted about it to the family therapist, when the woman had probed. No, she didn’t have any communication with Lizzie’s father, but she’d never spoken a disparaging word about him in her daughter’s presence. She’d congratulated herself on her forbearance, her magnanimity, her ability to be the bigger, better person. But what if Lizzie had known exactly how she felt all along, and had kept that knowledge a secret, because she’d thought she had to, to keep Luke in her life?
Apparently, hindsight is a bitch, too.
‘Lizzie always told me what an amazing time she had with you,’ she said. ‘I hated that you were Super Dad while I could never quite manage to be Super Mum.’
‘I can assure you,’ Luke said. ‘All the therapy in the world couldn’t really make me Super Dad. Most of the time it felt like Lizzie was parenting me. She’s so smart and capable. Just like you always were.’
‘Not like me,’ Halle corrected. ‘If I had been as smart and capable as I thought, I might have realised that by trying to be Super Mum I never gave Lizzie the room to be imperfect. To fail and know it was OK.’
‘No need to worry, Super Mum.’ Luke’s hand rested on her knee. ‘I had the failure-by-example part of her parenting well and truly covered.’
She smiled. Even though she knew now she’d never even come close to being Super Mum.
‘So are we good now?’ he asked.
The steady gaze made her feel shaky and far too aware of him. She had the closure she’d needed for sixteen years. That was enough. It had to be enough. ‘Yes, we’re good.’
He framed her face. ‘Then how do you feel about a spot of make-up sex, to seal the deal?’
She laughed, the giddy rush of endorphins going some way to explain the crazy leap of her pulse. ‘Make-up sex sounds good.’
‘You’re sure?’ he said, the hesitant smile scarily sweet. ‘Because I’m not sure I can pull out like that again without causing myself a serious injury.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said, grasping his head to tug him closer.
He slanted his lips across hers. The kiss was deep, hungry, leaving her breathless and yearning. She worked his towel loose, to find him hugely erect. She caressed the thick column from root to tip, loving the feel of him, the velvet steel so soft, and yet so hard, as he groaned.
Threading her fingers through his hair, she brought his face to hers.
‘I need you inside me,’ she said.
