Page 61 of Hannah.

Finally, he breaks the silence with a measured tone, his gaze fixed on the fading twilight. “You are about to propose, aren’t you?”

His question catches me off guard, causing a slight tension in my shoulders. “What? No. Jesus Christ, Dad, where did you get this impression from? I already told you I just needed some time alone.” My voice is firm, perhaps a bit defensive, reflecting my surprise and confusion over his assumption.

Dad nods slowly, his response a non-committal “Mhm.”

He swirls his glass of brandy, the amber liquid spinning smoothly, mirroring his thoughtful demeanor. His eyes, wise and discerning, suggest he senses there’s more beneath the surface of my hurried denial. “Last time you went to Portmeirionto be alone, the staff told us you brought some random girl we knew nothing about. Is it going to be the same this time around?”

“This was five years ago,” I protest immediately. Feeling a mix of frustration and vulnerability, I shake my head, my eyes averting his steady gaze. “I don't know how this happened…” my words taper off into a weary sigh, the sentence unfinished as my thoughts become too tangled to untie. I pause, struggling to regain my composure. “Things aren't as good between Astrid and me as they seem,” I confess softly, the admission feeling both liberating and daunting under his intuitive watch.

Dad’s expression softens with a blend of understanding and concern as he absorbs the weight of my words. “What’s the problem? She clearly cares about you.”

I feel a surge of restlessness, my hands moving animatedly as I try to articulate the muddled feelings inside. “Well, I can't force myself to care for her in the same way she cares about me.” I let out a frustrated breath. “The worst thing is that she doesn't even know things are bad. She doesn't know that we aren't going to work out. And now she's going to be the one left in the lurch and hurt.”

Dad’s reaction is subdued; his shock registers only in the slight widening of his eyes. He remains calm, a quiet hum of contemplation escaping him. “You’re so sure that things aren't going to work out? The two of you seemed fine in there.”

“No. Yes. That's the thing, though. We're okay, but we aren'tgood. Nothing about us is exciting, special, or worth fighting for. I don't feel any passion for her, and she's not the one who makes me feel like I’m burning from the inside out. It’s not her.”

Silence stretches again, Dad processing my words before he ventures further. “So there's someone else, then?”

“What?” My reaction is more startled than I intend, caught off guard by his directness.

“Come on, son. You’re acting like a lovesick teenager. What's really going on here? And don't bullshit me. There's another woman, isn't there?”

A deep sigh escapes me, a mix of resignation and confession. “Not in the way you think. But yes. There's someone else.”

Dad sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Johan, this isn't a game. And the two families inside are not going to be happy. I understand you might have found someone who's worth the risk, but I have to warn you. There's no guarantee things with her will turn out the way you hope.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. This isn't the path of least resistance. But I have to take the chance.”

“Your mother is going to be devastated.… I won’t say anything to her until you’ve broken up with Astrid and are official with this other girl.” Dad looks over at me, clearly frustrated with this turn of events but unwilling to express it. My respect for him grows—he’s ignoring his own feelings and opinions to help me.

“Thanks, Dad. I’m–I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Just...do what's right, son.” After a moment, he adds, “But I do have to ask—who is she?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, wishing I could sink through the terrace and disappear. “You’re going to think me even more of a lovesick teenager if I tell you.”

“Oh, come on. Out with it.”

Sighing, I turn my face towards the sky and brace myself for the deluge of questions that are sure to come when I reveal all of this to him. “You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, even Mom, if I tell you?”

He appears offended, but I know that if I don't clarify the need for secrecy with him, he’ll very likely tell Mom. “Yes, of course.”

“As ridiculous as this sounds...I haven’t gotten over the Van den Bosch girl. I never have.”

Dad wrinkles his brow, trying to catch up with this information. “You mean Elise? Isn't she in a serious relationship?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “No, I mean Hannah. The younger sister. The one who I went to the horse show with a few years ago. She’s now a fresher at Cambridge.”

“Oh!” He laughs like he’s just been told the punchline of a joke. “This is a joke, right? There’s no way.” Since I continue holding a severe expression, Dad’s face falls, and he clears his throat in a failed attempt to process this new reality. He turns, facing me fully, and then fixes me with his gaze. “Johan Alexander William Bentinck,pleasetell me it’s a joke.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

Dad heaves a long sigh in frustration, his gaze switching to the gardens ahead of us, and he gives another sip in silence and shock. “Well, that's certainly unexpected. What has been going on, then? Are you seeing her behind Astrid's back?”

“It’s not like that. Astrid and I have always been casual.”

Dad’s look is sly. “You’re not answering my question.”

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