Page 67 of Inside the Wicked

I manage to push him into the bedroom and point in all seriousness to the closet for him to hide before I rush back out.

I hear keys since my dad was adamant to hold a spare set, but I get to the door, hauling it open and setting my flustered, bewildered look on him.

“What time is it?” I demand.

“Past midday,” he says, matching my disapproval.

Well, shit.I’d hoped I could be angry at him for the early intrusion, but ... did we really sleep that late?

He doesn’t wait to be invited in, and that irks me. I don’t want him here even though it’s been weeks since I saw him. He doesn’t know the hell I’ve been through, and I don’t want him to. But Rhett knows, and right now he’s forced to hide when I’m certain my dad would have him arrested on the spot.

It’s something I never considered, and now I’m slammed unexpectedly with the notion, my heart cries. Our relationship was a secret before, but at least we could be seen together. Now, I don’t know if we’ll ever get that again.

“Your mother is worried sick,” Dad rants as he wanders into the living area. Two security follow him in and begin checking the area to clear it for safety. One heads toward the bedroom, and my skin slicks with panic.

“Don’t!” I yell. It’s abrupt, but it works, and they look to my father at the outburst. I scramble to come up with something. “By all means, be scandalized by whatever I’ve left lying around my own fucking bedroom.”

It’s enough insinuation of a lingering sex toy or stray underwear that they second-guess themselves in scoping it out. To my immense relief, Dad gives them a nod and they back away.

He cuts me with a look of warning, however. Then his gaze falls behind me and his face relaxes. I spin, realizing there’s no talking myself out of the obvious two bottles of water and the two plates of leftover Italian food.

“If there’s someone in your bedroom, they have to?—”

“There’s not,” I say, snapping back around. “It was a hookup, and he left this morning. Is that what you want to know?”

His frown smooths out and he sighs deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad you’re moving on, Ana. But I hope you’re taking the precautions we talked about.”

Meaning: He hopes I’m getting my one-night stands to sign an NDA.

I grind my teeth. “Did you need something?” I bite out.

“You’ve missed two dinners in a row and haven’t even bothered to pick up the phone. A few text messages were not what we agreed on in letting you live here alone.”

“You can’tletme do anything. I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!”

My eyes prick. I’m so torn because I can’t even blame his perception of me. To him, to my mom, it’s exactly what I must seem. The agony inside of me wants to be held in his strong arms, which always felt like the safest place in the world. Now that place is Rhett. And my father will never know how I was held captive and assaulted, nearly raped. It’s the first time the term even slithers into my mind, and I want to shower all over again with the shame that coats me.

It was not my fault.

It was not my fault.

Would Dad blame me for it? After all, I willingly took Alistair’s hand. I knew the kind of man he was, and those who worked for him, and I put myself within reach of those vile men.

It was not. My. Fault.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but it’s cold and forced. He knows it.

I’m met with a familiar look—one that can’t seem to settle on anger or disappointment. To me the blade is the same.

“Will you come this Sunday? The Van der Laizes are coming and would love to see you.”

I doubt they’ll care, but I nod.

“Good.”

He takes a step, hesitates, and ultimately decides our tension is too thick to give in to an embrace. Dad leaves without another word, and I shiver at the ice he left behind.

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