For the first time, Lina would have sworn she saw the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes. But of course, that was impossible. She’d never seen her mother cry. “Lina—”
“Am I like my father?”
Madelaine stared at her for a long moment, then turned slightly. Her gaze softened. “You’re exactly like him.”
At first the look in her mother’s eyes confused Lina. Then realization washed through her in a chilling wave.
Her mother was remembering him.
Memories that ought to belong to the family, ought to be stored in Lina’s heart, in that place where there was nothing but a dark hole marked Daddy. Lina had tried so hard to fill that void in her life, to conjure images of a man who’d walked away a long, long time ago and never looked back. And all she had to do was ask a simple question, and her mother remembered a million things about him. How he looked, how he smiled, what his hand felt like when it held yours. Everything Lina ached to know and could never find out.
Lina looked at Madelaine, hating her more in that moment than she’d ever hated anyone. “Then I know why he left you.”
Chapter Four
Francis stood frozen, unable to dredge up a coherent thought. He was breathing fast, too fast; he sounded like a marathon runner, but he hadn’t taken a step. He glanced at Madelaine, who stood rooted in place, her hands fisted at her sides, her spine ramrod-stiff.
He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. He’d known her and loved her for almost seventeen years. He knew what she was feeling.
He moved awkwardly toward her. “Maddy?”
She didn’t seem to hear him.
“Madelaine?”
Her voice, when finally she spoke, sounded thin and faraway. “Well, that was certainly a bust.”
It broke his heart that she still had to pretend she was indestructible. “Don’t…”
She sighed heavily. “I should have told her about him a long time ago, Francis.”
They’d had this discussion a hundred times over the years, and he knew that now she was going to beat herself up over the choices she’d made. It was her way; she always took the blame on herself. Took responsibility for the whole world’s unhappiness.
He stood beside her, holding her hand. He wanted to say something, but he felt uncertain, as he always did around her. She was so strong, so resilient, and yet so blind. She couldn’t see that Lina loved her, couldn’t imagine that Francis did.
It was all her father’s fault. Up in that big mansion on the hill, Alexander Hillyard must have done terrible things to his little daughter who’d lost her mother, because even now Madelaine believed she was unlovable. Truly believed it.
“Lina loves you, Maddy. I’ve told you this a million times. She’s just confused.”
Madelaine shook her head—as he’d known she would. “No. I should have told her.”
“Yeah, maybe you should have, but that’s water under the bridge now.”
“I can rectify it. I can tell her now.”
He stared at her, shocked. “You can’t.”
“Of course I can.”
Francis shivered involuntarily. If Madelaine told Lina about her real father, it would all come crashing down, the make-believe house Francis had constructed to hold the family he wanted so badly to be his. He’d always thought of Lina as his daughter. He was the one who had bandaged her scraped knees and held her when she cried. And he was afraid—God have mercy on him—he was afraid she wouldn’t want him anymore if she found her real-father. It was wrong, what he was about to say—an awful, horrible sin—but he couldn’t help himself.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” he said firmly. “He’d only break her heart, anyway.”
“I’m so afraid of losing her, Francis. I can’t seem to do anything right.” She glanced away from him, stared at the open door. “I thought… after my own father … I promised myself I’d be a good parent”
Her pain snagged his heart. She was standing beside him, close and yet distinctly separate. Alone as always, untouchable, daring the world to lay a finger on her, waiting to be blindsided and betrayed. He moved closer, took her face in his hands and tilted her chin. She felt fragile, so fragile. “Don’t compare yourself to Alex, Madelaine. Alex was cruel and bitter and unfeeling.”
“Lina thinks I don’t feel anything. She thinks I’m cold and perfect and detached.”