Page 65 of What's Left of Us

He’s telling.

Why would he think I’d agree to this? “I love you, even after everything. But please don’t make me do this. You must have heard the awful things Luca has done to women—”

“Like use them? Sleep with them? It would appear, my dear, that you two aren’t that different then. What have you been doing these past few months?”

We both know Luca’s reputation goes beyond playboy status. “I’m not using anybody.”

The statement tastes sour on my tongue like my body wants to reject the sentiment for the lie it is.

Because, deep down, Iamusing someone.

My father checks his watch. “I’ll give you two days to gather what little you have at your friend’s house before sending you a car. That should be more than enough time for you to realize how silly this whole charade has been.”

“Is this what Mom would have wanted for me?” I question, hoping to reason with him. “You two were so happy. Don’t I deserve to get the same chance at finding somebody to make me happy too?”

My father’s eyes flicker before something dark flashes in them. “Your mother,” he says slowly, “wanted you to have a future. Shediedfor you to have a future.”

What is he talking about? “She died in a car accident.”

“Do not be naive, Georgia,” he coolly states, his voice sending ice piercing through my heart. “I have shielded you all I can, but the payment is due for the favors I’ve asked. She couldn’t get us out of it, and neither can I. It’s time to come home.”

I blink slowly, shaking my head.

He doesn’t elaborate on the jarring reply that has a heaviness settled into my chest. “Whatever fantasy you’ve made for yourself in this life”—he scowls at our surroundings—“would make your mother roll in her grave knowing what she sacrificed for you.”

My lips part, but nothing comes out except a pathetic, shaky exhale.

“You won’t be happy if you stay here,” he informs me, gesturing around the room. “Working a job that pays nothing. Living with somebody you barely know. Is this truly what youwant, Georgia? Because it’s certainly not what I want for my daughter.”

The question weighs on my conscience.

WhatdoI want? I know one thing I don’t.

I don’t want to marry Luca Carbone, no matter what it could do for my family. He knows me even less than Lincoln.

“What about what I want?” I ask him.

“You were born for better things than this,” he tells me, not giving my question the time of day. If he actually gave a damn about me, he would care enough to answer.

He walks away, saying, “Two days” over his shoulder. “If you aren’t ready in two days, there will be consequences. If you think Luca Carbone has a bad reputation, you haven’t seen anything yet. The Carbones are important people, Georgia. Being tied to them as allies is far better than being tied to them as enemies.”

*

When Lincoln pullsup to the bookstore parking lot later that night, I don’t feel the normal excitement I usually do. My brain has been wrapped around my father’s parting words for hours, latching on to the unspoken threat that still makes no sense to me. Not even seeing the window display of my favorite author’s newest book release, which I’ve been looking forward to for weeks, pulls me out of my mental slump.

“That book you’ve been talking about came out today. I checked.” He opens his door and gives me a look, seeing if I’m going to follow. “I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but you’re thirty feet away from your favorite cold brew, and I’m pretty sure I saw them advertise those dry as hell chocolate and rosemary scones you love so much.”

My stomach doesn’t even rumble from the thought of the sweet treats waiting inside for me or the book I’ve been nerding out about since I got a library card at work and binged the first three books in the series for free.

“Peaches?” he says softly, his fingertips brushing away strands of hair from my face.

I clear my throat, not trusting myself when he touches me. Even the slightest gesture melts the layer of protective ice surrounding my heart that my father put there himself. “Let’s go in.”

He frowns but slides out of his seat and walks around the front of his truck to my side. When he opens my door, there’s a small, comforting smile on his face as he leans against the frame. “You can talk to me. About anything.”

My eyes peek at him through my lashes. I don’t have to look long to know he means it. “Do you feel like I’m using you?”

Lincoln’s brows pinch. “No. Why?”

---