Page 73 of Compulsion

“Well,” she says, all saccharine sweetness. “Let us know when you do. We’d love to attend the grand opening. You know how much your father loves your art.”

I hate the tiny spark of hope that pings in my chest when I turn my gaze on my distant father.

Then I take in his slack, bored expression and the way his eyes are drifting toward the mint julep table.

My chest feels like it’s caving in, but I keep my shoulders straight through sheer force of will.

He’s never cared about my art. He only cares about how my success reflects on the family.

And now, he cares about getting a cocktail more than he wants to reconnect with me.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I need a refreshment.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to reply before he ambles off to get a mint julep.

“What have you been up to, Abby?” Uncle Jeffrey asks. “We sure have missed having you at the house.”

“Abigail has been busy with her art,” Dane says, sparing me the burden of a falsely cheery reply. “Her landscapes are stunning.”

“Oh yes, our Abby is very talented,” my mother says, and it almost sounds as though she means it.

Which makes it hurt so much more that I know she doesn’t give a shit.

“But I’m sure you must be very busy too,” she says to Dane. “I hear your practice is doing very well. I might have to come in for a treatment.” Her judgmental gaze rakes over my face again. “We could go in together, Abby. A mother/daughter day. I’m sure Dr. Dane could remove that freckle in no time.”

“Abigail is perfect just as she is.”

I stare at Dane. His voice has gone ice cold, and he’s looking at my mother like she’s a fruit fly he’s found in his drink: insignificant but disgusting.

My mother takes a step back, and a beat of terrible silence passes before her high-pitched giggle grates down my spine.

“Aren’t you the charmer?” she gushes. “Hold on to this one, Abby. You don’t know when another man will come along who feels the same way.”

“There won’t be any other men in her life.” Dane says it like a matter of cold, hard fact. “Excuse us.”

His hand settles at the small of my back, and he steers me away from the awful scene. I lean into him, unashamed that I’m seeking his support in the wake of the painfully polite altercation.

Abigail is perfect just as she is.

The memory of his fervent declaration warms my heart, chasing away some of the chill that frosts my skin despite the warm day.

“I’m taking you home,” he says, a decree rather than a question.

“I don’t want to run away from them,” I protest, even though I’m longing to do just that.

“You’re not,” he replies firmly. “I’m taking you away from them. Because if we have to breathe the same air as those people for another minute, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I’d rather not make a scene at my colleague’s wedding.”

“Oh,” I breathe.

His fierce mood is shocking but deeply gratifying.

My steps quicken as we exit the garden. I’m eager to get away from this place. It’s everything that I want to leave firmly in my past.

I’m ready for my future, and I want to share it with Dane.

27

ABIGAIL

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