Page 18 of The Invitation

“I’m not interfering,” Dad says, going to the fridge and pulling out a pot of cream. “Just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help, Dad.” I place the plate down and take another. “I’m happy.” Or I would be if Dad stopped with his kind ofhelp.

“You don’t need my help?” he asks, his voice suddenly an angry whisper. “Then tell me, Amelia, who is providing your accommodation right now because you decided to walk out on a perfectly good relationship and leave yourself homeless?”

My jaw rolls. I could hardly end the relationship and ask Nick to leave the apartment, could I? “Dad—”

“Now, now,” Mum blurts out, getting herself in a flap, wanting to avoid the conflict.

Once again guilt rages inside. I’m usually so controlled around my father and his prehistoric ways. Have learned to keep my mouth shut to keep the peace and avoid fallout. There’s just no point trying to make him see. He’s unmovable. But today? I don’t know. Maybe it’s Nick showing up.Thanks, Dad.

“What was the point in letting me go to university?” I ask. “If you had no intention of allowing me the opportunity to progress in the family business, what was the point?”

Dad casts a look Mum’s way, and I know in this moment that it was Mum’s doing. She talked him round. “I thought it was a phase,” he mutters.

“You thought my hopes and dreams were a phase?” I ask, stunned.

“Maybe they still are.”

“What, you mean until I realise my true vocation in life is to marry and breed?” How the hell I’m talking so quietly and calmly, I don’t know.

“Amelia, come on,” Mum implores.

“No, Mum. Enough.”

“You’re punishing me because I gave the business to Clark, aren’t you?” Dad says. “That’s what this is all about.”

“And you’re punishingmefor wanting to have a career. For not wanting to have babies and be a housewife.”

“What’s wrong with that? Look at your mother. She’s very happy!”

I actuallydolook at my mother. Yes, I know she’s happy. So when she glances at Dad with an indignant expression, I’m more than surprised.

“Actually”—Mum’s body lifts at the shoulders—“after today, working at Abbie’s florist, I realise that I might have missed out on something.”

“What?” Dad gasps, looking betrayed. “Haven’t I taken care of you? Provided? Loved you?”

“Of course you have, but, you know, I’m just saying a woman can want more than that.”

Dad, God love that clueless man, is so injured. “I’ve been a good husband.”

“An amazing husband,” Mum rushes to reassure him.

“And a good father.” He looks at me now, and damn it, I can’t refute that. He’s an amazing father. Kind, generous, loving.Andsupportive ... if you’re the right sex doing therightthing. “Haven’t I?” he asks quietly.

I sigh. “You’re a good father, Dad.”

“And I’ll be an amazing grandfather too.”

I drop my head back. “Undoubtedly.”

“So make us grandparents, Amelia. We need a new generation of Lazenbys to take over what your grandpa and I worked so hard to build.”

Better just make sure we have boys.“I’m not ready to be a mum, Dad. I have other things I want to do.”

“For the love of God,” he breathes. “I’ve had enough of this madness.” He swipes up hisFinancial Timesand escapes, giving Mum an accusing glare as he goes.

“I think I should move out,” I say quietly.

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