I felt my brow lower, not knowing my father to be a liar, but also not quite believing him either. "Then what were you here for?"
"To see me," Aaron said from behind me as he gently nudged me forward so he could step in and close the door.
I turned slightly toward Aaron, mostly because it put my back to Byron. "Why would he want to see you?"
"To discuss you actually," he offered, moving over toward my father, forcing me to half-face Byron again.
"To discuss... me? Why?"
"More accurately," my father cut in, "you and Byron."
"There is no me and Byron," I insisted, proud that my voice came off cold and not bitter like I felt.
"Yes, Dear Prudence, but that seems to have a lot to do with me."
I felt my brows draw together. A lot to do with him? When had he ever interfered in my life before?
"Before you and Matt came back from the store," Byron broke in and I had no choice but to face him. And seeing his perfect face, his deep, dark eyes, and his trademark straight-line lips was like a knife to the chest cavity, "your father came to visit me. We had a... conversation."
"What kind of conversation?" I asked, looking back at my father.
"The kind where I told him to stay away from my daughter," my father supplied shamelessly.
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Because I didn't think he was any good for you, baby," he said, making his tone quiet.
"What?" I exploded, a hand going up to run through my hair. "What made you think you had any right to do that? I'm a grown woman. I have been making decisions about the men I get involved with since I was fifteen years old. You've never cared before."
"I've always cared, baby. The fact that you have dated every single contestant for the Dullest Man In The World has always driven me to the edge. But they were safe choices so I kept my mouth shut. But when I got wind that you and Byron were involved..."
"What?" I prompted.
"I had to put an end to it."
"He made some valid points," Byron added, drawing my attention. And I guess there must have been the pain I was feeling in my eyes because his face softened slightly.
"And they would be?"
"That I'm no good for you. That I'll hurt you. That you can do better." He paused, then added, "All three points that I agreed with."
"Except I was wrong," my father put in before I could open my mouth. "He made business cards for you," he added.
"And?"
"And he threw a party to show off your desserts."
"Okay, Dad..."
"Baby, he cares about you. He might be too stubborn to admit it," he said, raising a brow at Byron.
"I'm not too stubborn to admit it. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm no good for you."
"I heard you got her on an airplane," my father continued. "We went to Disney once... and Vegas... we had to drive, Byron. Even as a kid, I couldn't get her on a plane. She got hysterical just talking about the possibility. You got her on a plane. Then you got her back on a plane to get her home again. You made her confront me about all the things she had never told me before. Don't try to deny that; Aaron here filled me in on that being all your doing. You got a business started for her because you knew she'd never do it for herself. I know men like you, Byron. You're not like me; you don't have all the words. But you show it through your actions. And maybe I think you're a real asshole at times, but you have shown me that you have cared more about my daughter in a month than any of the other men she has dated for years." Byron remained silent, but his eyes were active as my father turned to me. "And you, baby, you saved all those recipes. I'm guessing he wrote them. And a chip from Mandy's. Aaron told me he dragged you in here to get you over your hangups about casinos. You also have a 'do not disturb' sign that, we imagine, you got from the hotel in Florida. You saved all that stuff. You don't save things that don't matter to you, Prue."
"You don't have to convince me that I... cared," I said the word quietly, as if that would stop Byron from hearing, "about Byron, Dad. I'm very aware of that."
"And yet, you're in your apartment and he's in his house and you're both acting like a couple of immature teenagers too stubborn to be the first to explain how you're feeling. Making this old man," he said, waving a hand at himself, "have to get involved when I told myself the day you were born that I wasn't going to try to interfere with how you wanted to live your life."