Page 230 of Rush

“I must admit, Elena…it was hard enough when Philippa started dating.” He clears his throat. “I think I’m still playing catch-up with you.”

That was unexpected.

“You’d never shown much interest in boys. At one point I thought…well, I thought you might have been romantically involved with Riley.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

What the fuck.

I almost laugh, but he goes on.

“Then imagine my surprise—you cavorting with a much older man, and your exploits plastered everywhere for me and the world to see.” He swallows. “It’s confronting, to say the least. I still see you as that seventeen-year-old girl. Elena—I missed out on so many years of your life.”

I grasp the half-eaten croissant like a lifeline, shoving the rest into my mouth to stop myself from interrupting.

“I only want to protect you,” he says, quieter now. “We know firsthand what the media can be like.” He throws a sideway glance at Carole, whose eyes soften with understanding.

The sentence hangs between us like smoke, curling into the memory of a scandal Carole once told me about.

“I understand—kind of. But can we agree, that if you see anything in the media, talk to me about it first?Privately. Don’tslaughter me in front of the family and make a meal of it,” I plead.

My father presses his lips into a thin line. “Elena, I’m sorry for that. I don’t always say the right thing or go about it the right way. Part of it is because I’m worried I’ll drive you away like I did your mother. We’ve already lost so much time together—I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

That settles in my bones, the amount of time we’d let pass between us, neither willing to budge, both too stubborn to make the first move. Maybe we’re more alike than I care to admit. But that ends now.

“Can we both agree to try better?”

He nods.

My chest feels lighter. “That croissant was fucking incredible, by the way.”

“Help yourself to some more if you’d like?” Carole says her voice sweet and caring as she lifts the platter toward me.

Mortimer tsks, rolling his eyes, but it’s full of amusement, and I can’t help how much I like seeing this side of him.

Carole clears her throat gently, smoothing a napkin across her lap. “Have you started any of your Christmas prep yet? Gifts? Decorations? Is there anything I could help with?”

“Help?” I echo.

She gives a small, tentative smile. “Yes, help. I love wrapping presents. And I know a florist who does beautiful fresh garlands.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “We, uh…don’t even have a tree up.”

Carole’s eyebrows lift. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” I rub my hands together. “It’s kind of a disaster. Riley strung fairy lights across the kitchen shelves, but that’s about it. We’ve been working. And procrastinating. Mostly procrastinating.”

Carole lets out a quiet laugh. “Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy to send something over. Or help you find something last minute.”

My father watches the exchange between us and I see a sense of resolve in his eyes, perhaps even a glint of happiness—it’s a side I’ve not really known.

But maybe I’d like to.

“Thanks, that’s…nice of you.”

It feels like dipping a toe into something unfamiliar. Not forgiveness. But maybe space to let the ice start melting.

Next stopon the New York Apology Tour: Philippa. I press the buzzer, croissants in hand.