In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,13

of acts aren’t easy. I admire you in a way I’ve never admired anyone else.” He pauses and reaches up to touch the side of my face. “There’s a purity in you that very well might cancel out the darkness in me. Marnye, I’m not ashamed to admit it: I want you, and I’m willing to fight for the privilege of calling you mine.”

“Do you think we could talk about something?” I ask Dad a few weeks later, sitting across from him at the Railroad Station. He's barely touched his peanut butter and syrup soaked waffles and seems a million miles away.

He blinks like he's coming to and turns to look at me, putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I exhale and curl my fingers around my fork. The smell of fresh coffee and maple syrup calms my nerves, but this is still a hard question to ask.

“Are you still …” Ugh, this is going to be harder than I thought, isn't it?

“Am I still what?” he asks, setting his fork down and picking up his coffee. The plastic tablecloth is sticky, the place crowded, but it's the soft murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery that makes me feel at home. Dad and I have been eating here for years.

Going to Bornstead … I'll be a million miles away. Okay, so I'm exaggerating: it's more like a twelve hundred mile drive. Twenty hours. Well, or a three hour flight from the San Jose airport.

“Are you still seeing Jennifer?” I ask, looking down at the streaks of yellow egg on my plate instead of at Dad's face. He pauses for a minute, but I guess he decides the question's fair enough and answers.

“No, not anymore. Not since my diagnosis. Your mother—”

“Is a selfish bitch and can't handle your illness?” I look up and find Dad watching me carefully. He sighs and reaches up to adjust his baseball cap. Normally he wouldn't wear a hat inside, but he's too ashamed of his thinning hair, and the whole staff is sympathetic.

“You shouldn't talk about your mother that way,” he tells me, but I don't have any sympathy for that woman. Forgiveness, Marnye, forgiveness. If you forgave the guys, surely you can forgive Jennifer? “I want you to have a relationship with her, with your sister.”

“Only because you don't think you're going to be around,” I grind out, feeling this dark desperation creep over me.

I'm starting to realize that I'm a bit of a control freak, but … Dad's illness, that's one thing I can't control. That's one aspect in my life I can't just soldier through. I need him. I need him to see me graduate not just Burberry Prep, but also Bornstead U. I need him to see me get married. I need him to see me succeed. He sacrificed so much for me; I want him to know that I'm putting forth all my effort to make his sacrifices count.

“Marnye,” he says, his voice soft and strange and far away. Our brown eyes lock together, and he refuses to let me look away. “We need to have this conversation.”

“No, we don't.” My eyes start to fill with tears, but I force them back. I've already promised myself that I won't let Charlie see me cry. Creedence Clearwater Revival comes on over the speakers, and I have to fight even harder to push the tears back. Have You Ever Seen the Rain just makes me want to sob. I don't know why.

“My doctor isn't sure I'll make it more than another six months.”

“No!” I stand up suddenly, all the other questions I had tucked away disappearing like smoke. Is Isabella really my half-sister? Because she looks like she might be more than that. Is that why she's so angry? And what about the baby? It's not yours, is it? “No.” I lower my voice when several of the other patrons turn to look at me. “Please don't talk like that. You're getting the best treatments available, and …” I feel the sudden need to text Windsor and ask about it. He said he'd take care of it, right?

Logically, I know Windsor York has no control over my father's cancer. Logically. But there's no logic in a broken heart.

“Sometimes, we have to accept the hand we've been dealt,” Dad starts, and I turn and push away from the table, racing outside into the sunny morning. The air is crisp, and there are birds singing bright songs. I