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“Will do. Thanks again.”
“Take care now. Goodbye.” She made her way out; the others having left in the meantime. “Bye, Mr. Brooke.” She grinned broadly with an expression I knew all too well.
My dad smiled back sweetly, and I noticed a little spark in their eyes.
Wait a minute, what's going on here?
“Goodbye, Penelope,” he said with a slight wave, and I could've sworn that he had a blush on his face. They both did.
I walked over to the chair beside his bed, beaming.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked as I sat down. He too was smiling.
“Like what?” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Like that,” he replied sharply, casually mimicking the expression on my face.
I sighed and said with wiggling eyebrows, “Penelope, huh?”
“That is her name, you know,” he confirmed with equally raised eyebrows. He knew where I was going with this, but he was in denial.
“That’s right, you called her by her first name, Dad,” I blurted out.
“Yeah, so …?”
“What happened to ‘Miss. Penelope,’ or ‘Nurse Penelope’?” I asked and continued as he just lay there watching me: “Do you want to know what I think?”
“Do I have a choice?” He tilted his head and looked at me.
“No. No, you don't,” I replied and leaned closer so I could savor the look on his face when I said, “I think you like her.”
That instance, he turned a stutterer, “I …I … I don't know what you're talking about.”
“I'm glad you're getting better,” I said to him. “I really am.”
“Me too, sweetheart.”
“All thanks to Penelope …” I teased with an annoying drawl.
“Oh, come on …” he grumbled, and we laughed.
I sat there, after our laughter had gradually died away, and wondered whether I should come out of the closet. How much longer did I want to keep this secret from him? I was in big trouble, I fucked up, because I had let my feelings get the better of me. I had fallen for this perfect specimen of a man with his untamed allure and savage charm and had become weak.
What exactly should I tell him, where should I start with this story? I had already rehearsed this moment several times, but now I was getting cold feet. I had imagined the possible consequences of this conversation, and it was not going to end well. I should wait for a better time.
There is never going to be a better time. Spill the fuckin beans!
That was one of the moments when I found my voice of reason unpleasant and annoying.
What should I tell him, that I slept with his rival and got pregnant? Or that I'm being forced into a marriage?
Tell him both.
Something strange happened, unconsciously I caught myself saying, “Dad …there's something you need to know about Nikolai Wolkov …”
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by my father's gentle words and a pat on my hand.
“I know,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I know about the affair.”
