Page 173 of Reckless Obsession

Across the table, my mother reaches for my father’s hand—not gripping it, not making a scene. Just resting her fingers over his for a moment.

“He needs space sometimes,” she says quietly.

He looks at her.

Then at me.

The silence stretches long enough that I start considering whether I can fake food poisoning and escape upstairs.

“I’ll have my phone on,” I say at last. “I’ll check in. I’ll send you the hotel details.”

It is not entirely a lie. I can give him hotel details. Just not the ones he expects.

My father considers this.

“And you answer when I call.”

“I answer when it is reasonable.”

“You answer.”

“Fine.”

His face does not relax, but something in his posture eases.

“Send the details tonight,” he says. “Before you leave.”

“I will.”

“And don’t disappear.”

My chest tightens.

The words are simple. The fear beneath them is not. I look at him for a moment, at the man who has spent his entire life being feared by everyone except the people he is terrified of losing.

“I won’t,” I say.

He nods once.

Conversation resumes around the table, cautiously at first. My mother asks for more wine. The tension thins, though it never fully disappears.

I reach beneath the table and touch the phone in my pocket, but deep down I know there’s still nothing from Tristan.

❧

I wake up alone.

For a few seconds, I don’t understand why that feels wrong.

Then the room comes into focus. The high windows. The pale morning light. Tristan’s side of the bed untouched.

My phone sits on the nightstand beside me, facedown and silent.

Of course.

Last night, after dinner at the mansion, I came back here instead of going home. I told myself it was because I had packing to do, because my flight is tonight, and because, technically, this apartment is closer to the airport.

All lies.