“Well, if you do insist on marrying her, why can’t she relocate here, to London?”
“She has a son.” He explained Dylan’s disabilities and the need to keep him close to his doctors. “But I’m sure she would have no objection to visiting several times a year. And you could fly to California occasionally.”
“Oh…Colin, you know how I feel about flying.”
Sometimes he felt as if he were her parent. “Matty, we’ve talked about this before. You have to meet me halfway.”
She exhaled a long-winded sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just old and set in my ways.”
“Forty-eight is not old.” Or maybe it was all in the state of mind, which would put Matty somewhere up there with their mother. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but please try to be happy for me.”
When they got back to his sister’s flat, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Hayden Black, the investigator working on the hacking investigation. If he was going to talk to Rowena, he would to have to find her first.
Eighteen
Dylan sat by the television in the tiny living room of Tricia’s apartment, engrossed in his Saturday-morning cartoons while Rowena, still in her pajamas, stood in the kitchen scrambling eggs in a pan with a silicone spatula. Tricia sat at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. And though Rowena’s back was to her, she could feel Tricia’s gaze.
“Would you please stop staring at me.”
“How do you do that?” Tricia said. “It’s creepy.”
Rowena looked at her over her shoulder. “When you give birth, you simultaneously grow eyes in the back of your head.”
“Ew, that’s just gross.”
Rowena divided the eggs among three plates, then added the bacon and toast warming in the oven. “Dylan, breakfast.”
“Yeah! Beckfast!” he shouted, running to the table, and she didn’t scold him or tell him to slow down. Colin had been right. She didn’t give her son enough credit. He just wanted to be a normal little boy, and it was wrong of her to try to hold him back, the way her father held her back. As long as he was in no imminent danger, she planned to let Dylan live his life. Experiment and have fun. To just…be a kid.
They all sat down to eat, but Rowena only pushed her breakfast around her plate. Lately food didn’t hold much appeal for her.
“You know, you don’t have to cook all these gourmet meals,” Tricia said.
“Bacon and eggs?”
“Hey, I normally eat cold cereal.”
“It’s okay. I like to cook.”
She was finding there were a lot of things she liked to do, normal everyday things she had been sheltered from. And now, after talking to her father, she was starting to understand why he’d behaved the way he did, why he kept her so sheltered. Even why he told Colin that she was off-limits. It wasn’t some narcissistic need to control and dominate her. It all stemmed from his fear of losing her.
After she had gotten her life back on track, instead of letting her back out into the world, he’d brought the world in to her. Having Dylan’s therapy there at the day-care center, insisting she live in the mansion where everything was tended to for her, meant she would rarely have to leave the estate. Even the day-care center was something he created to keep her close by.
She could only imagine what a threat Colin must have been. He had the potential to not just take her away, but thousands of miles away. And ironically, because she was so sheltered, so smothered by her father’s insecurities, she had been that much more drawn to Colin.
The harder her father had tried to hold on to her, the more he’d pushed her away.
“Done, Mummy!” Dylan said, showing her his plate. He’d hit a growth spurt and was always hungry lately. He was still smaller than the other kids his age, but he was catching up.
“Go get dressed and make your bed,” she told him. Until she could afford her own place, they were sharing Tricia’s spare bedroom.
“What’s with the ‘mummy’ thing?” Tricia asked.
“I’m not sure. He’s been doing since we left the mansion. I think he may have picked it up from Colin.”
“You think he misses him?”
“He has mentioned him. Maybe calling me mummy is just his way of remembering him.”
“He’s not the only one who misses him,” Tricia said. “I heard you crying again last night.”
“I think I’m just getting a cold,” she said, sniffing for good measure.
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“I can’t. If he wants to talk, he’ll have to call me.”