Page 71 of Bachelor

Rejection? Possibly, yeah. Being criticized and torn apart by someone I loved? Definitely. I’d spent my life doing everything possible to make my parents proud, but I had to do something for myself eventually, didn’t I?

Was that really so wrong?

I sat down at a booth with a view of the street and ordered a coffee. I couldn’t eat if I tried. My stomach tied itself in impossible little knots as I wrapped my hands around the chipped, muted pink porcelain mug and kept my eyes downcast.

The bell chimed again ten minutes later. One p.m. on the dot.

My dad had never been late for anything in his life.

Tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, my dad looked a lot like me. I’d inherited his height and fair complexion, but his eyes were a deep blue whereas mine were green. His temples showed the first signs of his true age. His hair was peppered with silver there, making him look even more sophisticated than usual. He strode toward me, removing his black trench coat and folding it over his arm. Lithe with the body of a swimmer, he towered over everyone he passed on the way to our booth.

“Darling,” he said in his deep, clipped voice that rumbled through me like thunder. He leaned down, kissing me on the cheek like he’d done since I was child. When I didn’t respond, he sat down across from me and accepted a menu and a cup of coffee from the waitress. “It’s quite warm for late February.”

“I know,” I said, my voice full of gravel. I cleared my throat and glanced at him, noticing the way he peered at me. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better. Worried.”

“About what?”

“About you,” he admitted before taking a delicate sip of his coffee. “Your mother’s worried sick about you.”

“The last time we spoke she tore me to shreds, Dad.”

“She’s trying her best to look out for you.”

“By forcing me to marry Christian and cutting me off when I said no?”

“You’re not getting cut off.” He sighed, but a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You should be getting a refund check for the tuition you paid for out of pocket this semester. I already took care of it.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“You’re not on your own, despite what you think right now.”

“What I think?” I scoffed, breaking through the wall of cool calm I’d trained myself to feel during my walk here. “When have you and Mom ever cared what I think?”

His eyes darkened. “Whitney, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because we miss you. And we were wrong.”

I froze, my face flushing of all color as I stared at him in shock. I’d never heard him say that before.

“We were wrong to push you to stay with Christian,” he continued, straightening his shoulders as if suddenly uncomfortable in his designer dress shirt. “Especially after hearing what he did, and what you chose to do to remedy the situation.” He eyed me, a playful gleam lighting behind his eyes. “Setting up for marriage with your sorority sister was quite the stunt, Whitney. I knew you were sharp, but I have to admit I was impressed.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot. “It wasn’t very nice of me to do.”

He waved that away. “Nicole and her family are thrilled, and Christian will have the well-bred housewife he was destined to have. It just won’t be you. It should never have been you. I can see that now, and your mother is slowly coming around to the idea of you not following in her footsteps as a New York socialite.”

“She’s still angry.”

“Of course.” He smiled, “She’s always angry about something. But recently the Holdenbrandts redecorated their summer home in the Italian style, and now your mother is upset about that, since the renovations to our summer house are complete and in the French style, a season too late.”

I snorted with laughter, unable to help myself. Dad’s mouth quirked into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You would have found that things move quickly in this type of life. One drama bleeds into the next until it’s entirely forgotten. But you were never meant for this, were you, my dear? Your eyes have never lit up at the mention of a party or after receiving fine jewelry. Only your books gave you that.” His smile turned sad, his eyes going dark with some wistful memory. “I was disappointed when you got into Gatlington. I knew you would. That wasn’t the problem. It was that you chose this place over going to where you really wanted to go. You got into Trinity and Oxford. I waited for that fight with bated breath, waited for you to puff out your chest and tell us you were going to a school of your choosing, balking tradition, but you didn’t. And I think your mother saw that as a sign you were finally ready to settle down and become one of us. I am so thankful you decided to follow your own path.”

He paused, bringing his mug to his lips. “Although I have to admit, I was thankful when I heard you changed your major to pursue art instead. I worried about you spending your life searching for lost treasure.”

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