Page 97 of The Surrender
Poor old man looks like he’s had a wet fish slapped around his face. “But I’m your father.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel dreadful guilt, especially when his face falls. God damn it. I hate seeing him look so injured, no matter how clueless he is. So I turn and leave as originally planned, stalking past Jude, whose head turns, following me out of the bar. “Come,” I order over my shoulder. I hear him snort, forcing me to look back. Rolling his eyes, Jude picks upMum’s cocktail and Dad’s tonic water and delivers them to the table, like Dad deserves his hospitality. Then he strides over to me and takes my hand, pulling me out of the bar. But I know he’s not taking me away from here.
“I’m not letting you leave at odds with your father,” he says once he’s got me in the lobby, making me withdraw. “If he doesn’t accept me, that’s fine, but you don’t get to walk away.”
I stare at him like a sulky little girl, but all I can think about is Jude’s parents. How he hasn’t got them anymore. “There’s no reasoning with him.”
“There’s more to this than plain disapproval, Amelia.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s no way on this earth that any father could not be proud of their daughter if she was you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jude doesn’t get a chance to enlighten me. Dad appears behind him, looking sheepish. “Could I have my daughter for a moment?” he asks, quite politely, given the circumstances. But I note, and I know Jude does too, that he uses a possessive determiner rather than my name.
My daughter.
And suddenly, I’m not sure I need enlightenment.
Jude nods and practically hands me over to Dad. It’s a conscious move. He’s telling him he’s not taking me away from him.Oh, Dad.
“Shall we walk?” Dad stuffs his hands in his pockets as Jude makes his way back to my mother in the Library Bar.
“Let’s walk,” I agree, smiling when he cocks his arm for me to link.
“You lead the way since all this is familiar to you.” Dad raises a cheeky eyebrow. I roll my eyes and walk us out the front and around the side. My attention is set on the maze, but I soon divert to the Kitchen Garden when I remember what I’ve done in that maze.
It’s silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. I know he’s trying to unravel what he wants to say, and I’m truly interested in what thatmay be. Whatever it is, Jude seems to have figured it out very quickly. I, however, have been clueless—and frustrated—for years.
“I am proud of you, Amelia,” he eventually says as we’re walking through the cabbages. “Here, sit.” Dad points to a bench nestled between the carrots and parsnips, and we lower.
Dad takes my hand. “Ouch!” I hiss, making him drop it.
“Damn it, I forgot about that.”
“I can switch sides.”
“You should have it checked, Amelia—surely it should be healing by now. And this bandage should be off; it needs air.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I move to his other side and give him my uninjured hand. He smiles, taking it and bringing it to his lips, kissing it.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. Unsure.
Dad frowns, looking off across the various vegetable beds, back to unravelling. “I don’t want to lose you,” he blurts, surprising me.
“What?”
His shoulders drop. He sighs. Breathes in. Faces me. And he smiles, almost embarrassed. “I suppose I stupidly thought curbing your ambitions would keep you close.”
“Oh, Dad,” I breathe.
“Nick was a safe bet,” he goes on, looking a little ashamed. “I like the boy, yes, but I liked that he desperately wanted a family.”
“You knew that?”
