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“You were above it before.”
“I’ve reassessed the situation. You are not valuable. You’re nothing I want to look at, and nothing I can sell. So I’d rather take the loss now and never have to look at you again.”
My father laughs again, rubbing his hand over his mouth like I’ve made an excellent joke. Nothing has ever been this serious. I swore once that I’d never give him a penny. I built my wealth in spite of how hard he worked to keep me from the world.
I study him like a cheap, shitty piece of art. I’m not bothering to determine its value. All I want to know is whether he’s planning to bolt for the stairs.
He’s not, I don’t think. His body is too relaxed. He usually telegraphs those kinds of movements. No—he’s not going to run. And if he’s not struggling to catch a glimpse of the woman he referenced, he knows she’s here. He’s certain of it. The undercurrent of angry, desperate tension that coils under his skin is also absent.
He looks too satisfied.
Over what?
I can’t ask him. Pressing him for details will only serve as confirmation that a woman is here, that she is Daphne, and that I love her.
A frame comes down over that thought with shocking speed. I can’t turn it facedown. Can’t even push it to a gallery wall. What the fuck? No. I can’t love her. That’s not what this is. I value her. She’s extremely, intensely valuable, and I take care of all my acquisitions.
“I have things to do today.” I take my phone from my pocket and check the time on the screen. “Let’s finish this, and I’ll pay you whatever it’s worth.”
“I meant it, Emerson. You don’t have to worry about your father another moment.” He smiles, teeth sharp, and I hate it.
I wait, letting the silence grow between us. My father likes the sound of his own voice, and he’ll keep talking if I give him the chance. The cheap colors of his clothes mark him as part of the outside world. Something that doesn’t belong. He remains, for the moment, an ugly gash at the heart of my home.
Incorrect. The heart of my home is upstairs.
Staying very, very quiet.
It’s taking more of my energy to flatten him into art. More than I want to spend on him. My energy is for Daphne, and he’s been here too long.
“You could fuck of for free,” I point out. “Do you need me to walk you to the door?”
“No, no.” He meanders to the hallway. Back to the front door. If he’s here much longer, the whole house will be stained with him. My lungs are already beginning to tighten. I don’t have time for this bullshit. “Lovely visit, Emerson.”
“Let’s not repeat it.”
He glances down at the front of his coat, fiddling with one of the buttons. “It’s a shame, really, that it’s not a good place to be.”
“For you.”
“For you, Emerson.” His eyebrows raise in an imitation of concern. “It won’t be good for you at all in about—oh, fifteen minutes, maybe. I stopped by to give you fair warning. Family loyalty and all that.”
My ribs leap inward, crushing my lungs. This motherfucker. “You’ve never been particularly loyal, Dad.”
“Not me.” Another infuriating chuckle. “I called the Morellis. I’m collecting all that reward money. That family understands loyalty.”
My heart turns to stone.
This wasn’t fair warning. This was a diversion. He ate up all the time we had to get away, and now he’s spitting it at my feet. All those minutes wasted like spilled paint and burned canvas. He came here to gloat because I threw him out. Because he doesn’t really need money. Sin was wrong. My brothers were both wrong. He found another way.
“We won’t be seeing each other for a while, Emerson.” He puts his hand out with a frown and squeezes my shoulder. I want to tear his hand from his wrist. Instead, I’m working to contain this horrified, falling feeling. An arrest. Jail. A slow descent into madness.
No. It won’t be slow. It’ll be quick. I could be dead in fifteen minutes.
I have to make a plan. I have to protect my little painter from the inevitable scene. I shove all my emotions away. Nail them to the wall. No time for them now.
I take the shoulder of his jacket in my fist and push him out the door.
No, I have to leave her here. I have to make a plan. I have to make a plan. I shove all the feelings away. Nail them hard to the wall. Flatten them out. No time for feeling now. “If you come back again, I’ll kill you.”
