Page 41 of Remy

I fight to remain composed.

“She knows,” Remy states calmly.

My father gives a solemn nod, a sheen of unshed tears swimming around his deep brown irises.

“I don’t blame you.” I grasp his hand. “There’s nothing you could’ve done if they threatened?—”

“There was no threat, Liv.” He squeezes my fingers. “The decisions I’ve made were done without duress.”

He’s lying.

He has to be… If only I could deny the truth staring back at me.

There’s no fear in my father’s expression. Not even a hint of trepidation. There’s only sickening regret.

“Why?” I ask.

He scrunches his nose. “Cancer treatment is expensive.”

“We have health insurance.”

“We have basic insurance,” he corrects. “I still have to pay half of all the bills. And with the specialists and treatments… I did what I thought was best for your future. In the event of my death, any remaining debt would be taken from my estate, which means both the house and the business are at risk. You’d lose everything.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’m not losing anything.”

“Liv, it’s a mountain of debt. I’m still paying off the new reto?—”

“Stop it,” I warn. “You can’t go through this with a negative attitude.”

He concedes with a wince, holding my gaze for long heartbeats before turning his focus to Remy. “I’m sorry this happened the way it did.”

Now he’s apologizing? To the menace who interrupted a monumentally private family moment while standing there without any hint of surprise or concern at my father’s cancer admission… just like he wasn’t surprised or concerned when I received the phone call from the hospital?

Wait a damn minute.

“Did he already know?” I ask my father.

The wince lingers.

I turn to Remy, hating how his expression doesn’t falter from the elite level of composure. “You knew about the cancer?”

My father’s betrayal cuts deep. My insides wage war.

Remy must sense my growing unrest because his eyes harden. “Remain calm.” There’s no comfort in the request. It’s a subtle warning.

If I wasn’t fearful for my life I’d contemplate clawing his eyes out.

“It’s okay, Liv,” my dad tries to soothe. “Everything is going to be?—”

“Why the private room then?” I blurt, returning my attention to my father. “If money is such an issue?—”

“I made that request.” Remy strolls closer. “Given the circumstances—and your temperamental state—privacy is a priority. I’ll cover the cost.”

He’s keeping us contained.

Isolated.

Their arrangement may not have been made under duress, but it sure reeks of manipulation.

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