Back In The Enemy's Bed. Michelle Celmer
in Roman’s expression changed. “Did someone open a window? It just got chilly in here.”
“I see what you’re doing,” she said, backing away from him. “You’re trying to turn me against my father.”
A shadow passed across his face and the temperature dropped another ten degrees. “Is that really what you think?”
She had offended him. Well, tough. “You’ve tried it before.”
“As someone who lost both of his parents at a very young age, I would never intentionally put a wedge between a parent and a child.”
“You told me my father was working with the mob! How did you think I would feel?”
“I said that I suspected he was. And I only told you that to keep you safe. And you didn’t believe me anyway.”
“And I was right. There were no mob ties, were there?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“And I wasn’t laundering money for him, either. Or destroying evidence. Was I?”
That made him wince a little. “No, you weren’t.”
“After all this time I still can’t believe you would accuse me of that,” she said. “I thought you knew me better.”
“I didn’t accuse. I asked.”
“You suspected, and that was just as bad. The idea that you believed I might be capable—” Emotion rushed up to block her airway, making it impossible to finish her sentence. It was taking all her strength to hold back the sob that was working its way up.
She would not cry. He wasn’t worth it.
She thought she’d put all of these feelings to rest, but here she was raw and bleeding again.
She was not going to cry.
“I made a mistake,” he said, “and not a day has gone by since then that I haven’t regretted it.”
He was making it worse, being so reasonable. Admitting he was wrong. And if she didn’t get a grip, she was going to go all girly on him. She was not a crier. The last time she remembered shedding a tear was the day of Sutton’s cancer diagnosis. But here she was fighting back a waterfall.
He needed to go now.
“Your time is up,” she said, not even looking to the clock to see if thirty minutes had passed. Or was it supposed to be twenty? She couldn’t even remember. She just wanted him gone. And she hated herself for letting him get to her. For letting herself care at all. She was stronger than that. And smarter. “You have to leave.”
He didn’t look at his watch as he nodded. Apparently he had said all he came to say. “I’ll let myself out.”
Maybe he could see that she was hanging on by a very thin thread and was kind enough to spare her dignity.
She watched him cross the room to the door, noting a slight catch in his gait, as though he was favoring his left leg. He stopped on the threshold, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, and turned back to her. She held her breath, waiting, feeling an overwhelming sense of anticipation.
“Seven years ago, I thought I could keep the nature of my investigation from you. That alone was wrong. And when you did find out I should have trusted you when you said you weren’t involved. But I was young and arrogant and I screwed up. I know I never apologized for what I did, but only because I didn’t think you would ever accept it, or that I even deserved your forgiveness. But I’m saying it now. I’m sorry, Gracie.”
Her heart melted. She wanted to run across the room, throw her arms around his neck and tell him that she forgave him, that she would always forgive him, but she had to keep her head on straight. She was caught up in the moment, in his tender honesty, and knew she would regret letting him off too easy. Besides, she didn’t even know if she did forgive him, or if she believed he had nothing to do with the latest scandal. She didn’t know what to think, so she chose her words carefully.
“I appreciate that,” she said, which got her a wry, slightly crooked grin.
“I get it,” he said. “You’ll accept my apology in your own good time. I understand, and I’m in no hurry.”
She had no idea what to say, but it didn’t matter because he turned and then he was gone.
Feeling relieved, grateful, and painfully disappointed for some silly and irrational reason, Gracie collapsed into a leather chair and exhaled deeply, waiting for the flood, giving herself permission to cry. To sob her heart out if that was what she needed. But the damned tears wouldn’t come.
What the heck was wrong with her?
She didn’t feel sad, or hurt, or even angry with him. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling right now, other than confused.
She had anticipated this day for seven years, and it had gone absolutely nothing like she’d imagined. She’d always envisioned him being cocky and unapologetic. Someone she would love to hate, and keep on hating. But this?
This was way worse than the anger. Or the nerves.
She thought about what Roman had said, about her father disrespecting her. And she hated how right he was. And hated herself even more for letting Sutton do it to her. For turning a blind eye for so long. She deserved his respect. She had earned it. But maybe he didn’t even realize the way the things he did affected her. And instead of walking around with a big chip on her shoulder, she could just tell Sutton how she felt. Maybe he would apologize and promise not to do it again. It would be an amazing gift, because the great Sutton Winchester did not apologize for anything. Ever. But in his fragile condition did she want to risk upsetting him, or possibly putting a wedge in their relationship? He had so little time left.
No, she had to say something. If he passed away tomorrow she would spend the rest of her life feeling this unresolved resentment. That wasn’t what she wanted.
Rising from the chair, she smoothed the front of her skirt, took a deep breath and walked back to her father’s office. She rapped on the partially open door and peeked inside. Sutton was still sitting at his desk. He looked pale and exhausted. He should be in bed resting, but it was just like him to push himself to the limits and tire himself out.
She rapped softly on the door again. “Daddy, can I have a word with you?”
“What is it?” he snapped, not even looking at her.
She winced a little. That wasn’t a good sign. He’d been going through some severe mood swings lately. Most likely a result of the cancer now growing in his brain. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Roman.”
His eyes never left the screen, as if she wasn’t even worth his time, and it hurt. A lot.
“What about it?” he said.
As her hands began to tremble, she realized that this was going to be harder than she’d anticipated. But she pulled herself up by her bootstraps, raised her chin and said in a semistrong yet slightly shaky voice, “It was wrong what you did.”
In her life she couldn’t recall ever telling him he was wrong about anything, and he clearly didn’t like it.
The savvy and ruthless businessman looked up at her with eyes as cold as icicles. “And what did I do?”
The question was, what had she just done? He was obviously not feeling well. He looked so pale. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut.
Her voice trembling a little, she said, “I didn’t want to talk to Roman and you shouldn’t have forced me.”
“We all make sacrifices, Princess.”
Sacrifices? Shouldn’t that have been her choice? “You didn’t even ask me if it was okay. It was disrespectful and cruel.”
He muttered a curse under his breath. He