Page 37 of Rescuing Aria
“This is nice.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“No, it’s—real.” She takes a bite of the risotto, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. “My father’s idea of dinner is a seven-course meal with the correct wine pairing for each course, served by staff who’ve been instructed to remain practically invisible.”
“Sounds suffocating.”
“It is.” She takes a sip of wine. “Everything in his world has to be perfect, controlled. Including me.”
“Tell me about him.” I keep my tone casual, despite the surge of protectiveness I feel whenever she mentions her father. The man has always struck me as calculating, even during our brief interaction after Aria’s rescue. “What was it like growing up with Marcus Holbrook as your father?”
Aria’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. She sets it down, considering. “He wasn’t always—like he is now. After Mom died, something changed. He became obsessed with legacy, with control. Everything had to be perfect because she wasn’t there to see it.”
“How old were you when she passed?”
“Eight.” Her voice softens. “Young enough to forget details, old enough to miss her. Dad sent me to boarding school the following year. Said it was for the best education, but I think he couldn’t bear to see her in me every day.”
The casual cruelty of it—shipping off a grieving child—makes my jaw tighten.
“That must have been hard.”
“It was—lonely. But I adapted. Became exactly what was expected of me—perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect friends from perfect families.” She twirls her wine glass absently. “Perfect Aria, the ideal daughter, the flawless heiress.”
“Until the kidnapping.”
She nods. “Until then, I’d never really questioned my path. Graduate from Stanford, take an executive position at Holbrook Pharmaceuticals, marriage to someone with the right connections… It was all laid out.”
“And now?”
“Now I know what it feels like to truly be taken from your life. To be erased.” Her eyes meet mine, clear and determined. “I don’t want to follow his blueprint anymore. I want the freedom to choose my own path. Work that matters. People who see me, not just my father’s name or my trust fund.”
“Where do I fit into this new vision?” I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine.
“You don’t fit into my father’s plan at all.” A small smile curves her lips. “A security specialist with no Ivy League degree and no family connections? Dating his daughter? He’d have a coronary.”
“Is that why you haven’t told him about us?” I keep my tone neutral, no accusation.
“Partly.” She squeezes my hand. “And partly because until recently, I wasn’t entirely sure where we stood. Whether this was just... casual for you.”
“Aria, there’s nothing casual about how I feel about you.” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.
“Good to know.” The simple declaration visibly affects her, color rising in her cheeks.
“Is it?” I stroke my thumb across her knuckles. “Because it means eventually, we’re going to have to deal with your father.”
“I know. I need time to figure out how to make him understand that my life is my own.” Uncertainty shadows her eyes.
“We’ll figure it out together.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “No rush.”
The conversation shifts to lighter topics as we finish dinner.
As I clear our plates, Aria follows me into the kitchen, hip leaning against the counter as she finishes her wine.
“What about your missions? Did you ever worry you wouldn’t make it back?”
“Not really.” I consider the question while loading the dishwasher. “In the moment, there’s just the mission, the team. Fear comes later, when you have time to think.”
“That’s interesting.” She swirls the last of her wine. “The things that really scare us aren’t always what they should be.”
