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Again, my dad never believed any of it, even when I put on my best acting skills and brought Trevor home to formally meet him. I realized now that my dad had done me a kindness in letting it go at the time. I’d stupidly thought he’d bought what I was selling, but now, I knew that he never had.
“I do want to.” I tried to sound resolved, but my voice shook. “I need to.”
“Need isn’t the same as want.”
“Dad,” I pleaded, “please let this go. If you don’t, you’ll only make it worse.”
“How am I supposed to accept that? It’s my job to keep you safe, Dove. I’m not doing my job.”
“Listen to me,” I implored, reaching across the table and taking his hand in mine.
His eyes looked even more tired now than they had when I first arrived, if that was even possible.
“I know what I’m doing, okay? Trust me that I’m figuring it out. But in the meantime, I need you to go along with it and not make any waves.”
“At least tell me that Dominic has a plan,” he said, sounding hopeful. Like if Dominic was involved somehow, then it would be easier for him to swallow what I was asking him to do.
I shook my head. “There can’t be one. Especially not one involving him.”
My dad leaned back in the chair and blew out a breath toward the ceiling. “I don’t feel good about this.”
“Do you trust me?” I asked. It was the only way to hopefully, maybe—dear God, please—get him to listen to me. “Dad. Do. You. Trust. Me?” I emphasized every word.
“Of course, I do.”
“Then, you have to let me do this. Believe me, the second I can, I’ll tell you everything.”
“And in the meantime, what am I supposed to do?”
Pray that I figure a way out of this before the damn wedding day, was what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t.
“Nothing.”
OPERATION OBJECT
DOMINIC
Ihated being home… in our bedroom, lying in our bed. The pillowcases still smelled like Dove’s shampoo. I couldn’t tell you the number of times I’d pressed them to my face and inhaled, wishing she would be here when I opened my eyes. But she never was. And I was terrified that she might never be again. No matter how impossible the idea seemed to be, the truth was that she was slipping further and further away by the minute.
I should have called my father and asked him just what the hell was going on, and I’d debated doing it no less than a thousand times. Even showing up at the house and confronting him in person had crossed my mind, but there was no point to any of it. I knew he’d lie to me. As long as it benefited him—and this deal with Dove had to somehow—I’d never know the truth.
Thank God for my job. It was the only thing that even remotely kept my mind off of what I’d lost, what I was attempting to live without. Burying myself in work had proven to only be somewhat distracting. The problem was that I always ended up online, searching for articles on Trevor or my father, trying to figure out what exactly they were up to. I was never any closer than when I’d started.
My phone vibrated, and I reluctantly reached for it, knowing that it wouldn’t be Dove on the other end so I struggled to care. I figured it might be Michael, asking me what the plan was. He was one hundred percent in on Operation Object—that was what we’d named it. At least it made me smile every time he mentioned it in a text.
I noticed Bob’s name on the screen, and I pressed Answer as quickly as I could.
“Morning,” I breathed into the line.
“Come over.”
“Station or house?” I asked, knowing that just because it was the weekend, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be at work.
“House,” he said before ending the call.
It was abrupt and not at all like Bob, so I knew it had to be important. Throwing the covers off my body, I hopped out of bed like a madman and got dressed, trying to ignore the dresser drawers that were empty of Dove’s things. They used to be so full that she could hardly close them. I’d promised to build her the closet of her dreams one day.
Just like I’d promised I’d propose.
