“Cara,” he murmured, “don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”
“I know,” she snapped. “And I’m not crying over you. I just want to go home. Get on with my life.” She wiped her hand across her face and went back to her seat. She sat down and pulled her knees to her chest, put her head on her knee.
Luc got up and went to the bar, pouring them both a drink without asking if she wanted one. He handed a glass to her, and she put it on the table next to her without drinking.
He stood over her, sipping his own drink, obviously thinking through what to do next. She realized she had unnerved him somehow. Then it came to her: Mr. Big Tough Ex-con couldn’t stand seeing a woman cry. She almost smiled. She wasn’t the sort of person to take advantage of such a thing—well, not yet, anyway.
“Stay another week. Then you can go.”
“What?”
“One week,” he said. “If this is going to work, your father will probably show up sooner rather than later. You must have seen the papers after the party. Our engagement is common knowledge.”
She sat for a moment, nibbling her lower lip, then reached out and picked up her glass, sipping on the smoky liquid.
“Why can’t you tell me why you want to find him?”
“It’s personal, cara. But I can promise you that whatever happens between me and your father will be within the law.”
“It will?”
He put his hand to his chest. “I promise.”
The strange thing was she believed him. He might go on about how she didn’t trust him, but he was wrong. Whatever he had done and however little she actually knew about his past, she believed Luc Severino was a man of honor. Except where she was concerned, but then he presumably had his reasons. And presumably, those reasons related to her father.
“I lied,” she said.
He stared at her, a frown forming on his lean, handsome features. “About what?
“When I told you I loved my father. I lied. I hate him.”
“Why, cara?” His voice was almost gentle.
She thought for a moment, not sure how to explain. She’d still been a child when her father had left, and she had spent much of her time away at boarding school, a fact she was beginning to believe had been her mother’s way of protecting her. Her father had never wanted to send her away, but it was the one thing her mother had insisted on. She had told Lia’s father that attending a prestigious school would allow Lia to mix with a better class of people. Her father had been such a snob—he’d come from a poor background himself—and he’d been so proud of his well-bred wife and daughter. It had been the one argument that had worked. Her mother had obviously known her father well. But even away for most of the time, Lia had still been aware of the sort of man her father was.
“My father was a violent man.”
Luc went still. “He abused you?”
“No. He never touched me.” She smiled. “He probably knew I’d punch him right back, but he used to hit my mother. But that wasn’t the worst. My mother loved him, and he used that against her. He did what he liked, he had other women, he’d leave her for months on end and then come back as if nothing had happened. And my mother would take him back and treat him like a hero. He was a bastard.”
“What are you telling me, Lia?”
“Just that I’ll help you. I don’t know why you want to find him or what you’ll do, but I trust it will be fair and legal. I’ve got something you should see.” She jumped up and went to her room, retrieving the bundle of letters from her bag. Luc was sitting again; he appeared deep in thought, but he glanced up as she came to stand in front of him. She handed him the letters.
“What are these?” he asked.
“I found them when I was going through my mother’s papers. They’re letters from my father.”
Excitement flared in his eyes before he blanked the expression.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “None of them are recent. I think the last one was dated about nine years ago. But they might give you some idea of where he went.”
She sat back and watched as Luc flicked through the envelopes, selecting the last letter and taking it out. A puzzled frown formed on his face as he read.
“What is it?” she asked.
He looked up from the letter. “He writes as though he was coming back, or at least as though he expected your mother to join him.”
“Hmm, my mother always swore he would never leave her for good. She said he’d had to go, someone was after him, but that it was never meant to be permanent. I thought she was fooling herself, like she had done all her life, but maybe I was wrong.” Something occurred to her. “It was you, wasn’t it?”