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The violence in my tone must be evident, for her father holds up his hands. "I accept the blame. I knew they weren’t being kind to her. I should have stepped in, but my head wasn’t in the right space."
"Of course it wasn’t. You’d lost a wife," she interrupts.
"You lost your mother,” he replies.
Belle begins to speak again, but he shakes his head. "I thought I was doing the right thing by getting married again. I hoped she would be a stabilizing influence in your life. I was too consumed by my grief to put things right. I hoped to make it up to you by finding the right match for you, but I've failed you again."
The skin across her knuckles whitens. "What do you mean? You said you’d wait until the year was out. You said you’d give me a year to live my own life before you called me home."
He winces. "I said you could live your life until I called on you to come back home."
"And I asked you for a year."
"I never promised that. I agreed to let you go on the condition you’d return when I asked you to."
"Is that why you’re here now?"
"I’m here because"—he swallows—"because—"
"Because he’s arranged your marriage."
She looks at me, confused. "He has?" She leans back in her chair and locks her fingers together. "Dad? Is this true? Have you…have you decided who I’m going to marry?"
He nods but doesn’t raise his gaze.
"Who is it?" she asks in a low voice.
He stays silent.
"Dad, please." She swallows. "Is it…is it someone I know? Is that why you’re not speaking? Is it someone I don’t like? Is it—"
"It’s me."
13
Mira
"What?" I jump up so quickly my chair almost topples over, except he grips it and straightens it.
"What do you mean, it’s you?"
He rounds the conference table until he’s standing on the opposite side of the room from me.
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don’t." I turn on my father who’s examining the carpet at his feet, because apparently, that’s more interesting than confronting the future that lies ahead for me.
"Dad, what’s he saying?"
My father sets his jaw. His lips thin but does he speak? Of course, not.
"Dad? Please, say something, please."
My plea must get through to him for he slowly raises his eyes, and then I wish he hadn’t, for the expression on his face confirms my worst fears. "No, no, no, no."
"I’m sorry, Mira." An anguished expression comes over his features. "So sorry."
The fact that my father called me Mira, a name he’s eschewed in favor of the more formal Mirabelle, confirms to me everything Edward said is true. That, and the fact my father looks torn. Cyril Young is too set in his ways. Too confident in his ability to make money, to steer the destinyof his company and his employees and his family, to ever show any emotion or resort to niceties. The fact he apologized to me earlier is a sign the deal is done, and while he may not be in favor of it, as evinced by his reluctance to tell me about it, the fact is ,he’s here. And we’re talking about my future—myfuture—like it’s a business transaction.
