Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“I would never want that for you because it was never my intention to place you in a position where you felt like you had to do something like that, and I hope you would feel comfortable enough to come to me before making such a life-altering decision. The stipulations were put in place to ensure you had time to explore more of life before thrusting yourself into the role of CEO. I would rather you come to me, and we could find another way.” He swallowed, and his brows pinched tight as if in pain. “I would be devastated to know I played a part in you giving up on the life your mom and I dreamed for you.”
His sincerity sank into my heart because I knew he meant it.
I knew this could be my moment to confess the truth, and he would do anything he could to help me. He would go back on his plans and do whatever it took to ensure I didn’t have to give up any part of myself or my dreams.
Even if it meant him giving up on his.
Just like he had by coming home early from his golfing trip. I’d worried him, and he’d cut his trip short to make sure I was okay—missing out on one of the opportunities he’d dreamed of for his retirement.
And, according to Lucian’s threat, if I told him the truth, Lucian would make sure my father continued to miss every plan of his retirement.
I took a moment to study him. Despite the deep lines from our conversation, he looked good. He even had a tan—or as much of one as he could get on his light Irish skin. He looked more youthful than he had in the ten years since my mother passed. I took in the missing tie and his easygoing position in the chair and saw a relaxation I knew I couldn’t take from him.
Also, I had to admit he was right about my pride and stubbornness in seeing through my decisions—both good and bad. Which meant I wouldn’t go back on my lie now. I wanted to know that I reached majority shareholder of Quinn Music Group and became the CEO on my own. I wouldn’t be the princess that Lucian accused me of.
With that confirmation ringing through my veins, I banished all doubt and plastered on a smile. “It’s not that, Dad. I want to marry him,” I said, infusing my words with an excited shyness. “He’s passionate and determined to succeed like I am. We have more in common than I originally thought.”
Memory after memory flooded through me of all the ways Lucian and I had come together. Flashes of him finding me amidst an anxiety attack and helping me through it. Of him bending me over the desk and shocking me back to reality with the biting pain of his hand against my ass. Memories of how well he read me when we were on stage at The Berkshire, and his barely controlled reaction to my past after. Of how he offered to help me with his hand between my thighs and his deep words caressing my ear.
Each moment bolstered my truth more than I originally intended. The realization brought forth words that I knew my father would understand more than anything else I could offer him.
“He sees me. He gets me,” I admitted softly. “And you know how much that means to me.”
My dad sighed—not with impatience, but with relief—and smiled.
And with that simple exhale, I knew I’d made him believe.
A knot released from around my lungs but twisted tight around my heart. I hated lying to him, but I ignored the twinge as his gaze softened, losing the studious businessman and leaving behind just my dad. “I’m still surprised as hell,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I guess it’s not too shocking to hear our daughter fell into the same passion your mother and I had.”
“That’s what happens when an Irishman and a Hispanic woman have a daughter,” I teased.
He rolled his eyes but came back with a serious stare. “I’m going to have to have a conversation with Lucian. We’ve had more than a handful of meetings together, and not once did the man mention any plans of asking for your hand in marriage.”
“Dad,” I admonished. “I don’t need your approval to marry a man. It’s up to me and only me. Besides, I made him promise not to say anything until I could talk to you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, waving my excuse away with both hands. Then he stood and smiled, nodding for me to stand. “Come give your old man a hug.”
I complied and rounded the desk, sinking into his arms and shoving aside the lingering pang of guilt. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, a stór,” he responded, using the Irish endearment, my treasure, he’d called me since I was born.