The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

Mari, who had moved towards the door to call for help, froze; the colour drained from her face as she spun back. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. It sounded like the waves crashing on a distant seashore. ‘You know my m...mother?’

‘Knew. Amanda is no longer with us, sadly.’

‘She’s dead.’ Her thoughts whirled, an unrelenting flow of question marks running through her head.

Was he telling the truth? What reason did he have to lie? ‘My mother was called Amanda?’

‘You’re a lot bigger than her. She was a tiny little thing, except of course when she was carrying you and your brother.’

For a few moments she’d had a mother. It was crazy to feel bereft, but Mari did. A solitary tear slid down her cheek. While she hadn’t known, there was always the hope that one day their mother would come looking for them... She would explain why she’d had to abandon the babies she loved. It had been a childish game she had played, one she should have put away with her dolls, and yet she had clung to the comfort the possibility offered, even though she knew deep down that it was never going to happen.

Now she knew for sure it was never going to happen.

‘Don’t look so sad, sweetheart.’

‘Who are you?’

White-knuckled hands gripping the leather armrests, Seb closed his eyes. Keeping his anger in check was taking every ounce of his energy. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t stop it. He had to let it run its course and then be there for her. He ached for her pain—as if she hadn’t had enough pain in her young life.

‘I’m hurt you don’t recognise your old dad.’

Mari’s eyes, very blue in her paper-white face, widened. She stood still as a statue, and she shook her head in a slow negative motion of denial; he couldn’t be her father.

‘I think you’d better leave now,’ she said firmly. ‘Before I call Security. Just put the miniature down and walk away.’

‘My, quite the little princess, aren’t we? But you’ve done well for yourself,’ he conceded. ‘It has to be said you’ve really fallen on your feet.’ He looked around the room and gave an approving nod.

‘If you don’t leave now, I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to your employer.’

He gave a hoot of laughter; the sound was not pleasant. ‘I’m not on the payroll, but this—’ he touched the logo emblazoned on his chest with a touch of smug pride in his voice ‘—made it a lot easier to get in here.’

‘You’re not my father.’ Say it often enough and you’ll believe it, Mari. Silencing the voice of her subconscious but not the quiver of uncertainty in her voice, she lifted her chin. ‘I don’t have a father.’

‘Look again, my lovely.’ He pointed to his face, watching hers, his narrow eyes no longer smiling.

Startled as much by his change of accent as the invitation, she allowed her eyes to rest on the face of the man who claimed to be her father, which was ridiculous. He was nothing like any of the visions she had of her parent. She and Mark had always... Mark. Pressing a hand to her stomach in an effort to counter the sick churning inside, she understood why his face had seemed so familiar. It was no individual feature, nothing was identical, similarities were blurred, but it was there in the slant of the eyes and the curve of the lips, though her brother’s was fuller and inclined to petulance and not meanness.

She lowered her lashes in a protective shield, but not, it seemed, before the man—she couldn’t even think of him as a father—read her expression.

He gave a crow of triumph.

Pride came to her rescue. She lifted her chin and looked at him levelly. ‘Why are you here?’

‘To see my daughter.’

‘After twenty-four years?’ She eyed him warily, struggling not to show the fear that was building inside her, focusing instead on her anger. ‘You know nothing about being a father, a parent,’ she flashed, smiling as she realised that her child would have a father, the sort of father who would give his life for his child.

‘Don’t worry. I don’t want to hang around any more than you want me here,’ he snarled, visibly unsettled by the change in her manner. ‘It’s just I’m a bit short of cash at the moment and you’re... We could call it a loan.’

Mari felt physically sick. This man was her father... She gave a shudder of revulsion and wondered when this nightmare would stop. ‘I don’t have any money.’

‘But your husband does—pots of the stuff.’ He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the luck that had come his way.