I’m bewildered. My father never speaks about memories, or our childhoods, anything.
“You came into this world screaming bloody murder,” Daddy continues, smiling proudly. “From the minute you drew breath, Avery, you’ve been a fighter. I knew you would be the one to take over the world, and so did you. You took over our world, and you made it very clear that you would always fight for what you wanted. Your mother and I didn’t know what to do with you. The only person who made you happy was your sister. That giant house with all its rooms and you weren’t happy unless she was in your crib, sleeping beside you. And she adored you. She would always say that you weren’t our baby, that you were hers. She was the only one who knew what you needed when you cried, while your mother and I stood by like we were part of the furniture.”
Hearing about Adeline and our mom makes me cry. I look up at the ceiling, trying to preserve my makeup before tears spill over and onto my cheeks.
“You are all I have,” Daddy says emphatically, catching a tear with his thumb before it can touch my cheek. “You mean more to me than anything, even if I’m incapable of showing it. Please trust me. There are things far worse than marrying Joshua, and I can’t protect you if you don’t do this.”
“Things far worse? Come on,” I scoff.
My father’s face loses any trace of the emotion he displayed just a second ago. “Would you prefer to be married to somebody worse? Would you?”
“Who could be worse than a forty-year-old man who was a teenager before I was even born?” I demand. “He’s old enough to be my father. Doesn’t that disgust you?”
Daddy tenses. “Not as much as the thought of you marrying Tyler Capulet. Do you really want to marry your psychotic cousin? Because if you don’t marry Joshua, my darling, who do you think the family has lined up in his place?”
I’m stunned. Tyler is a full-blown psychopath. He’s an efficient hitman, a fabulous family representative to keep the drug cartels in line — because he’s insane. Literally and unequivocally.
“Think about it,” my father mutters. “A headstrong wife like you would be dead inside a year if you were married to that little prick. But Avery, if you want to take your chances on your rapey cokehead of a cousin — by all means, now is the time to speak up.”
Daddy looks at his watch. “I can call my sister now, tell her to bring Tyler’s suit and tie. And her son, of course. Just say the word.”
I swallow thickly, fresh panic rising in my throat. Daddy doesn’t know what Ty did to me when we were younger. Or does he?
“You know what he did to me, don’t you?” I whisper. “The night Addy died?”
My father’s face reddens, as he nods.
“Who told you?”
Daddy lets out a deep breath. “Who do you think?”
“Nathan?”
Daddy raises his eyebrows. “Trying to get Nathan to tell me anything is like trying to get blood out of the cream-leather seats in a Mercedes Benz.”
Realization stabs into me. “Rome.”
“Rome Montague,” Daddy concedes.
I shake my head. “He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I’m pretty sure he changed his mind when he saw Tyler sitting beside you at Adeline’s funeral,” Daddy says. “It was the right thing for him to do. Tyler Capulet hasn’t been welcomed into our home or our businesses since I almost killed him at your sisters wake.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just because you don’t know what I do to keep you safe, doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing. Some things are better left unsaid.”
I step down from the little podium, going to stand by the window. From here, I can see the afternoon sun, dipping low on the horizon. In an hour, it’ll be swallowed up by night. In less than that time, I’ll be swallowed up by my destiny.
“Will was so sad, Daddy,” I murmur, putting my fingers against the window, looking over the city that will soon be mine, even though I don’t want it. “You should have seen him. He was … it was like something broke inside him. I broke it. And I didn’t want to.”
I can feel my father approach behind me. “Sometimes we hurt the ones we love,” he offers, and I know he’s referring to himself and his actions as much as mine.
“Did you hurt Mom?” I whisper. “Did she hurt you?”
Daddy puts his hands on my shoulders, turning me gently to face him. I don’t resist. I’d much rather stay in this room forever, even if it means talking about difficult things, than go out there and face the music.
“Your mother and I were very lucky, Avery. We knew each other from childhood. Our parents had decided early on that we would be a good match. We grew up together. We went to the same schools, we moved in the same circles. Your mother was my best friend before she was anything else. We didn’t even go on a date until we were both eighteen, but we were still brought up with the understanding that we would be married one day.”
“How lovely for you to not have to go through this bullshit,” I say, but there’s no conviction behind my words.
“We tried with you and Rome,” Daddy says, a darkness passing over his features momentarily as he looks away. “We didn’t realize things with the Montagues would go … the way they did.”
“Yeah, hindsight’s a real bitch, isn’t it?” I say. Daddy spreads his palms and shrugs as if to say, what do you want me to do?
“Dad.”
“Avery.”
“I want to marry Will.”
“No,” Daddy snaps.
“Dad!” I raise my voice, tossing my hair over my shoulder, forgetting what it’s hiding.
Daddy sees the bruise on my neck, thanks Will, and shakes his head, reaching his fingers out to touch it. “He did hurt you.”
I rip his hand away from my neck. “All he did was give me a damn hickey, Father. It didn’t hurt at all. You hurt me. You used me. You continue to use me. It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair,” he grinds out.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say, turning away, headed for the door. I need to find Jennifer before this thing starts.
“Do you trust me?” Daddy asks, still at the window behind me.
My shoulders droop. “Yes. No. I don’t know,” I whisper.
Joshua Grayson takes the opportunity to knock on the open door, entering with the worst timing ever for the second time in one day.
“Augustus. Avery.” He nods to each of us in greeting, a smile stretching over his tanned face, a little dimple in one cheek that I’ve never noticed before. I wonder if our children will inherit that dimple. I wonder how quickly I could find a sharp object to stab into Joshua’s cheek, right into that fucking dimple, so I never have to look at his smug smile again. I tilt my head to the side, taking him in. He looks incredible, actually, in a dark navy suit, tailored impeccably, a pair of cufflinks with the Capulet family crest stamped into them at his wrists. That irritates the hell out of me. It’s like a buy-in of a stock portfolio. An acquisition. Buy the farm, drink all the milk you want for free. And I’m the cow, being fed up for the slaughter.