‘It’s great,’ Olivia said honestly. ‘But that isn’t what I’m here for tonight. The truth is . . .’ Her fingers twisted together as she forced herself to finish: ‘I really want to know if Lillian is OK.’
It was too late. Her bio-dad’s gaze had already fixed on a marble statue, and his eyes had glazed. ‘Of course,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Of course. The statue of Vladymore should never have gone here. What was I thinking? I should have put it next to the terracotta urn!’ He pushed past her, tutting to himself. ‘What a fool I’ve been!’
‘Dad . . .’ Olivia began.
But it was no use. He was already pacing through the aisles of his exhibit, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. ‘If I shifted the reliquary next to the casket . . .’
Olivia sighed. The last time she’d seen her bio-dad like this, he’d been in Groomzilla-mode, getting ready for his wedding. Back then, she’d found his single-focus mode kind of charming. Now, though . . .
She bit her lip. Could this have something to do with how Lillian had been acting this week? If he’d been ignoring his wife to spend all his time with a bunch of old artefacts in a creepy house in the middle of town, it was no wonder Lillian had gotten so depressed.
I can’t let this go. Steeling herself, Olivia marched up to him. ‘Can I talk to you, please? It’s important.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Charles didn’t take his eyes off the medieval artefacts in front of him. Even as he answered, he was pulling out a tiny notebook and a gold pen from his pocket. ‘I’ll be right with you in . . . no, no, no! These descriptive cards have been mistranslated! Those idiots! Sorry . . .’
He stopped, breathing hard, as he seemed to finally remember Olivia. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just a little stressed about this exhibit. Please, can you just sit tight for a moment? I’ll be right back – and once I’m back, I promise I will give you my full attention.’
Without waiting for an answer, he scooped up two handfuls of the descriptive cards from beneath their artefacts and hurried out of the room, muttering to himself, ‘As if medieval Transylvanian is even difficult!’
Drat. Olivia’s hope deflated like a popped balloon as her bio-dad disappeared, leaving her alone in the massive, echoing room. So much for her great attempt!
But then again, what am I even going to say? She groaned. How do you tell your own father that you think his new wife is unhappy?
Squaring her shoulders, she braced herself. I’ve got at least ten minutes to figure this out. Maybe all her acting experience would finally come in handy! She could improv by herself for a few minutes, and have a perfect ‘scene’ to play out with her bio-dad by the time he got back.
And . . . action!
‘Dad,’ she said out loud, to the room full of artefacts, ‘this is a difficult thing to bring up, and you might even think it’s inappropriate coming from a daughter – especially one as young as me – but . . . I know this may seem out of the blue, but I really think you might be missing something about Lillian. I mean, shouldn’t she be happy and content so soon after that gorgeous wedding? But she’s not, and that scares me a lot more than any spooky old buildings or vampires in jogging outfits. Because if she really is so unhappy that she’s fantasising about escaping, I just don’t know what I can do to make it right. That’s why I need your help . . .’
‘Help with what?’ Charles’s voice spoke just behind her, making her jump.
‘Oh!’ Putting one hand to her throat, Olivia waited for her heartbeat to slow down. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’
Why am I the only one without vampire hearing?
He frowned at her quizzically. ‘Were you . . . talking to the artefacts?’
‘I was practising for you.’ Now that he was standing right there in front of her, though, every word she’d spoken seemed to have scattered from her head. I’ll have to re-improv!
There was no time to stop and think, though, not when he might be distracted by his exhibit at any moment. ‘Um,’ Olivia said hastily, and drew a shallow breath. ‘How’s Lillian? Is she OK?’
‘Lillian?’ Charles half-frowned . . . and Olivia’s heart sank as she saw his gaze pass around the room, obviously starting to catalogue his artefacts again. His lips pursed as his gaze focused on one particular candlestick nearby.
‘Lillian, Dad?’ Olivia prompted him.
‘Oh, right.’ Reaching for his notebook, Charles started to scribble down a note. ‘Of course Lillian’s OK,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t she be? We’ve gotten over the wedding stress, and we’re settling into married life in Franklin Grove.’ He flipped over a new page in the notebook and kept on scribbling, sketching out what looked like a re-design of the room.
Olivia gritted her teeth. ‘Maybe Lillian wants to be involved in this exhibit,’ she suggested. ‘It would be a good way for you to spend time together.’
‘Oh, no.’ Charles shook his head – and none-too-subtly re-angled himself to take a good look at the Triptych. ‘Lillian’s not all that interested in history,’ he said. Lowering his pen for a moment, he gave Olivia a small smile. ‘Plus, it’s good for couples to have separate interests. You’ll learn that when you’re older.’
Olivia stared at her bio-dad in disbelief, forcing herself to let out her frustration in a long, rippling sigh. There was obviously no point in talking to Charles about the problem because, as far as he was concerned, there was no problem.
And maybe there isn’t, she told herself. Maybe I’ve just been over-thinking everything.
But she didn’t believe that.
Charles’s gaze had already moved back to the Triptych, and Olivia gave up.