Page 24 of Sacrifice

Papa’s face crumpled, and another wave of tears flooded his cheeks as his head shook. “How can you say this to me?” he said. “I have always loved you, so very much. I tell you all the time. Have you not felt it, darling?”

I chewed on my bottom lip, considering my next words carefully. “I always felt love from you. I heard you tell me, too, and I believed it.” I hesitated and cocked my head. “But at the same time… there has always been a strange distance between us, hasn’t there? Despite that love, it’s been there all along.”

I’d always thought it was because I was a girl, and as a single father, Papa had found himself out of his depth, unable to relate to me on certain levels and issues. Like when I started my monthly moonblood, for example. He was kind and supportive when I informed him, but that odd distance between us still existed, starker than ever in those awkward moments. I’d longed for a womanly presence in my life then, to provide mewith everything my father found himself unable to give, but I’d accepted years ago that it simply wasn’t for me.

“Rosamund, I love you. I always have and I always will,” Papa said, not-so-smoothly evading my question.

I folded my arms. “Explain it, then. Explain the distance between us,” I said sharply. “Is it because I’m a woman and you’re a man? Because that’s what I always put it down to before now, and I understand and accept it if that’s the case. I just want you to tell me the truth for once.”

“There is no distance between us.” His chest was heaving with harsh, shallow breaths, and his eyes had turned wild, as if he were on the brink of something. “I have tried my very best to raise you by myself, and I know sometimes that doesn’t—”

“Just stop it!” I shrieked. “Stop lying!”

He lifted both his palms, still breathing deeply like he was trying to retain a semblance of control over himself. “I’m not lying,” he gritted out.

“Yes, you are! You know exactly what I’m talking about, and you’re pretending it doesn’t exist. I just want—”

“You killed her!” he suddenly roared, rising to his full height.

I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. “What?”

“You want to know why there’s always been some distance between us?That’swhy!” he went on, furious and wild-eyed. “Because you killed her!”

I shrank back, jaw slowly dropping. Papa’s words had hit me like a physical blow, leaving me reeling. His resentment toward me, buried beneath years of lies, suddenly laid bare.

“I can’t believe you would say that. It wasn’t my fault,” I murmured, head shaking ever so slightly. “I was just a baby. It’s not my fault Mama died.”

Another wave of anguish surged through me as the weight of his hidden resentment settled over me, drowning me in atorrent of guilt, sorrow, and disbelief. How could he blame me for something I had no control over?

The knowledge that my entire existence had been a source of pain for him twisted my heart in a way I never thought possible. I simply couldn’t believe it, and yet I had to, because he’d shouted those words so loudly and clearly.

“It’s not my fault,” I repeated. “It’s not fair to blame me for that. I wish Mama was here more than anything.”

Papa sagged in his chair again, eyes focusing on the wall behind me. “I’m not talking about your mother, Rosamund.”

I blinked the blur of tears away. “What?”

“I’m talking about Miranda Thorne,” he said in a low voice. “She died because ofyou.”

8

Sebastian

With narrowed eyes,I watched Rose step into the house and close the door behind her with a soft click. I wasn’t happy about this additional step to our plan, but I knew I had to let her have it. She deserved a chance to say goodbye to her father.

Whether Augustus was a drug-dealing murderer or not simply wasn’t relevant in a moment like this. The man had raised her and loved her, or at leastactedas if he loved her, for the last twenty-four years, and he was the only family she’d ever had. It was important for her to speak to him and get some closure before she ventured into the outside world.

“Sebastian?”

I turned and squinted into the darkness. A tall, hulking man was making his way down the street. “Jean-Pierre?” I called out. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he called back. He took several steps closer, huge frame still half-shrouded in shadows. “I thought that was you. What are you doing out here?”

“I was just having a late-night chat with Augustus,” I said smoothly, gesturing toward the Trudeau’s front door. “I needed some fresh air, so I came out here for a minute.”

He nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. Nice night for it.”

“Yeah. What about you? Why are you out so late?”

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