Page 93 of Love Bomb

“And, as a grown up,” Rona continued, feeling more energized as she spoke. “There are a few things I’d like to say to you.”

The self-righteousness waned a little. “About the bequest?”

“No, about the fact you’ve been a terrible father.” She trembled as she spoke, hardly believing the words were coming out of her mouth.

She’d wasted years hoping they’d change. Spent so much time and energy trying to make it happen. And all along, she’d been blinded by her desperation to be loved—by people who were obviously incapable of loving her. Now, it felt as though she could see clearly for the first time ever, and reality was very different to what she’d believed it to be.

The truth was it would take a miracle for her parents to change. And she wasn’t capable of miracles. More importantly, it wasn’t her job to convince them to love her. They were terrible parents, and the truth was freeing. So much so, she almost grinned at the revelation.

Her father, meanwhile, gasped with outrage. “How dare you? This is you being mature? Verbally attacking me? You’re still acting like a child.”

“No, I’m not. A child would want something from you—like remorse, or a promise you’ll do better, or some sign that you love them.” Rona stuffed her shaking hands deep into the pockets of her coat. “I don’t want anything other than to say, you don’t deserve me. You never did. You wanted a son to carry on your legacy. A legacy that’s shallow, and mean-spirited, and driven by greed. I’m glad I was a girl. Because no one ever expected me to carry on the family name, and I was just ignored. When you think about it, I totally lucked out.”

“Rona,” he snapped. “You have no right to speak to me this way.”

“See? That’s part of the problem. You never thought I had any rights. And why should you? When I arrived, you thought you’d been handed nothing. When really, you’d been handed the world. So, I’ll say it again—you don’t deserve me. You are a father in name only. A fluke of genetics. Nothing more.”

“I won’t stand here and listen to this,” he said. “You’ve evidently lost your mind.”

“No,” Rona said. “I found it, here in Invertary. I thought that by trying hard, and not complaining and being grateful for the little attention I received, you’d learn to love me. I was wrong. But do you know what? I am all grown up now, and with that comes the knowledge that I don’t need your love. Or your approval. Or anything else you could possibly give me. You have nothing I need.” Rona raised her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to feed my cat.” She strode toward the stairs.

“Your mother will hear about this,” her father called after her.

“Good,” Rona said. “It’ll save me from telling her the same thing when I see her.”

“You won’t get near the folly,” he cried. “We doubled the guard tonight, and tomorrow the court will return it to its rightful owners.”

She started climbing the stairs, feeling a little lightheaded from what she’d just done. Her emotions were all over the place. One second, she felt elated, the next terrified. She’d cut ties with her father, and the enormity of her actions made it feel like she’d been gut-punched. Yet, she was also overjoyed to be free of them. It was exhausting.

“I am thoroughly ashamed of you,” he called. “Do you hear me? If you destroy the folly, I will disown you.”

Didn’t he realize she’d already disowned him?

As she rounded the top of the stairs, she found Dougal standing there. One look at his face told her he’d heard everything.

“You really should stop eavesdropping,” she said with a trembling smile.

“Probably, but then I wouldn’t have heard what you just did.” He stepped toward her and enfolded her in a big, Santa Claus, hug. “I’m very proud of you, Rona,” he said. “So, very proud.”

Rona breathed him in. Sinking not only into his embrace, but his acceptance. And she knew that no matter what happened, she had a home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Bain wasn’t quite sure how it’d happened, but he suddenly found himself leading a resistance movement. A weird resistance movement, whose only defining cause seemed to be to stick it to the Dalgliesh family.

As he looked around his living room, at all the eager faces staring back at him, he wondered how things had gotten so completely out of hand. And then his eyes settled on Rona, and the answer presented itself.

“So,” Dougal said. “What’s the plan?”

He was perched on a kitchen chair he’d dragged into the room after taking one look at the lumpy sofas. Sofas that were now crammed with, it seemed, every woman of retirement age who lived in Invertary. Plus, Kirsty Benson and, for some reason, the wife of the guy who owned the restaurant at the spa. Bain didn’t know Brenda Miller as well as he did her husband, he played football with Deke, but she was wearing a Knit or Die T-shirt, so he supposed she belonged with the rest of the group.

“Bain,” Dougal boomed. “Time’s ticking, son. It’s almost seven and we’d like to get the planning phase of this operation wrapped up by nine. We want to take a nap before the main event during the night.”

Yes, he wouldn’t want to get in the way of his army’s nap time.

“I need a word with Rona first,” he told Dougal before catching Rona’s eye. “Upstairs, please.”

She scrambled out of the big cushion she’d placed on the floor in the corner of the room.