Page 49 of Bride By Initiation

Dad's face goes red with anger. He puts his finger in the air, pointing at me. "You aren't entitled to anything. This is not your business."

"It is! And I want to know why you look like you're besties with the Abruzzos and if you have another family!" I hysterically shout.

Deafening silence fills the air.

Mom's lip trembles. She glances between Dad and me.

I glare at my father, seething. "Tell. Me."

He refuses. He steps in front of the fireplace and then tosses the photos onto the fire.

"What are you doing?" I cry out as the edges curl and the pictures erupt in flames.

He spins to face me, his cheeks maroon, eyes wild. "This is not your business. There is no reason to dredge up the past. Whoever decided to do this has nothing good up their sleeve. So you will tell me right now who brought these to you."

I lie again. "I told you, I don't know."

He steps closer to Mom and puts his hands on her cheeks. "We will talk about this later."

She stares at him, blinking hard.

He vows, "I promise we will talk about this later."

She swallows hard.

He turns back to me. "Zara, everything I do is to keep you safe. If you are involved with people you shouldn't be?—"

"Like your buddies, the Abruzzos?" I hurl.

"Zara!" Mom chastises.

I turn on her. "How can you stand there and be okay with his lack of answers?"

She stays silent.

My eyes overflow with more tears.

My father kisses Mom on the forehead and sternly states, "We will not speak anymore of this. I will find out from security who brought you the photos."

"You do that," I sarcastically fume.

He points at me. "We are done discussing this, Zara. Chanel, we will talk more about this later. Now, let's go back to making dinner." He walks over to the bar, picks up a glass, and fills it with wine. Then he returns and holds it toward me. "Have a drink, Zara. Tell us what you've been up to since we were last in Chicago."

My insides quiver harder. I glance between him and Mom.

How can she stand there and not ask questions?

How can she trust that he'll tell her the truth about whatever this is, whatever he's done, and whoever in the world may be linked to us?

Was he with that family instead of us? How can she be okay with the secrecy?

"Zara, here." He motions with his head for me to take the wine.

I briefly glance at it and then at him. "No, I'm not staying for dinner."

"Zara, don't leave," Mom begs.

I refocus on her. "I'm sorry, I can't stay." I brush past her toward the elevator.

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