In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,80
to handle, that rush of feeling, but for Dad, I crush it all down and hide it away. Later, it’s going to rear its ugly head and bite me in the ass, I just know it.
“Can we talk?” I ask him later that evening, as he sits on the couch and sips a hot chocolate with whipped cream, red and green sprinkles dotting the top. I’m hanging ornaments, but my hands are shaking. I hide the emotion from Charlie, turning back to the sweet scent of pine and sap-covered branches. All the guys are in town—and I don’t think it’s by accident. No, it’s most definitely by design.
Either they want to be close to me … or else they feel sorry for me. I can’t decide. But honestly, I’m glad they’re in Cruz Bay for winter break. Knowing that I have people out there in case I need support, that’s priceless. Text messages are nice, video chatting is better, but there’s nothing like holding the hand of someone you love.
That’s irreplaceable.
Tears sting my eyes, but I continue hanging ornaments, pulling one after the other from the box. There’s a glazed ceramic circle with a picture of me as a baby, cradled in Dad’s arms. He looks like a different person there, his skin smooth, cheeks full, mouth turned up in a genuine sort of smile. I almost lose it when I see that ornament.
“Of course, Marnye-bear, what about?”
I glance over my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s even worth it to bring this up. The thing is, I have to know. And I imagine that Charlie Reed is the only person who might be willing to tell me the truth.
“Isabella, is she …” Dad pauses, his mug of hot cocoa halfway to his lips. “Is she your daughter?”
There’s a long stretch of tense silence, so much so that I wonder if he’s even going to answer me.
“Why would you think that, honey?”
I hang the special ornament near the top of the tree before I turn around, dressed in fuzzy flannel pajamas that I’m sure the guys would lose their shit over. If they liked the duck pj’s, well, this reindeer onesie with the giant horns on the hood could seriously rock their boat.
“She looks like you, and me, really. And when I walked in after school let out last year, you were crying. I know you said you were just happy for me to finally meet my sister, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Dad glances away, like he can’t bear to have this conversation.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers, voice tight, so strained that I feel suddenly like an asshole. I never should’ve brought this up, not with him in this condition. He looks back at me, face set in a determined frown. “I didn’t know she was mine, or I would’ve … I wouldn’t have let Jennifer keep us apart.”
“I know that,” I breathe, moving over to sit beside him. I lean in close, and he puts his arm around me. “You love your kids more than anything. Trust me, I’m the consummate expert on the subject.” Charlie laughs, but it ends in a coughing fit that leaves the handkerchief he’s using dotted with flecks of red. Coincidently, it’s the same handkerchief that Tristan gave me on the first day of third year. “Are you okay?” I whisper, but Charlie just shakes his head and waves me away.
“Marnye, I want you to have a relationship with your mother. With your sister, too. That way, when I’m gone—”
“Don’t please,” I snap, sitting up suddenly and rubbing my hands down my face. “Please don’t talk like that.”
“Marnye, there’s a difference between staying positive and burying your head in the sand. You know I love you, honey, and if I could I’d be by your side until I was old and gray. Sometimes though, the universe doesn’t give us what we want.”
“The new baby, Marley, is she yours, too?” I glance over at Charlie, but he just shakes his head.
“I don’t know. Jennifer seems to think she is, but we don’t know for sure. At this point, it doesn’t matter. It’s better for us not to know, really.”
“How can you say that?” I whisper, feeling myself start to break. I try to stay strong, but sometimes even the hardiest of us have our breaking points. “If she’s your kid, you have a right to know. She has a right to know. You’re a better father than a thousand Adam Carmichaels. His money