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“Always,” I reply, following him out of the French doors and into the backyard.
Croquet is set up and ready, just like usual.
“Tyler said you decided to go with him,” my dad says as he lines up his first hit.
“He asked me to go, and there was no reason I couldn’t,” I reply, watching his ball sail through the first two wickets. Surprisingly, he misses the third.
“Tyler has got quite the line-up of prospective clients. Should be a good experience.”
“Yeah. He mentioned you recommended me.”
My ball goes through the first wicket but then bounces off one side of the second, stalling in place.
My dad doesn’t take his turn. He studies me. “This trip is optional, Hannah. If Tyler indicated otherwise—”
“He didn’t. It’s fine. I’ll go.”
I’m looking forward to it. And dreading it. Just one of many things I have complicated feelings toward at the moment.
“Have you talked to Oliver recently?”
“Dad,” I warn.
“What, I can’t ask about my son-in-law?”
My grip tightens around the handle of the mallet. “Ex-son-in-law.”
“I’ve seen enough couples get divorced to know it doesn’t happen quite that fast, sweetheart.”
“Just because it isn’t official doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”
“The answer to an impulsive decision isn’t another one, Hannah. We have a New York office.”
I look away from the course, at the plantings filling the flowerbeds instead. “I thought you’d hate him. Mom insisted I ask him. I never thought he’d come, and I was certain you’d agree divorce was best.”
“Whether you stay married is entirely your decision, Hannah. Oliver wasn’t who I was expecting. And once I found out he was a Kensington…well, Arthur Kensington has a reputation in the business world. He’s ruthless. I wasn’t sure how that would transfer to his son.”
“You like him,” I surmise. It comes out sounding like an accusation.
My father nods. “Yeah. I do. But it doesn’t matter how I feel about him, Hannah. It matters howyoudo.”
And then he turns back to the game, leaving me to contemplatethat.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
OLIVER
There’s a knock on my door, right as I’m getting ready to leave. I sigh and call out “Come in,” expecting to see Scott with an update or Alicia with a question.
Instead, Scarlett walks in.
I straighten automatically, forgetting about the papers I was slipping in my briefcase to bring home for the weekend. My goal is to not come into the office until Monday, which will be three weekends in a row. A record for me.
“Hey,” she greets, strolling into my office with all the confidence in the world.
“Hi.” I watch as she walks over to the bookcase, running a finger over the titles the same way she did the last time she visited.
“Do you read?” I ask.
