Her father had lied. He’d told her what she wanted to hear. What he’d desperately wanted her to believe.
But why had Daisy let herself believe it?
When her mother got so sick, her father had stopped spending time at the gallery, spending it instead at home with his beloved wife, and their young daughter. Yet somehow, his gallery had done better than ever. He’d hired more people. Instead of their family having less money, they’d had more.
Why hadn’t Daisy ever let herself see the truth?
Because she hadn’t wanted to see. Because she’d wanted to believe the best of her father. Because she’d loved him.
And she still loved him. She would have forgiven everything, if he’d just given her the chance...
“Why didn’t Dad tell me?” she said brokenly.
Franck shook his head. “He said you had to believe the best of him, or he was afraid that you wouldn’t survive.”
“That I wouldn’t survive?” she said slowly. She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. It...”
She had a sudden memory of her father trying to talk to her, the day he’d been questioned by the police.
Daisy, I’ve been arrested... He’d paused. You should know I’m not perfect—
Of course you are, Dad, she’d rushed to say. You’re perfect. The best man in the world. Don’t try to tell me anything different.
Would he have told her then? If she hadn’t made it clear she didn’t want to know about his mistakes?
And Leonidas. It was true that she’d never totally forgiven him for what he’d done to her father. She’d tried to forget. She’d told him he was perfect. Because she loved him.
The men she loved had to be perfect.
I’m not wonderful. I’m not perfect. I’m a selfish, cold bastard, he’d told her. And she’d insisted he was wrong.
But he wasn’t. Leonidas could be selfish. He could be cold. Why couldn’t she admit that, and say she loved him anyway?
Rose-colored glasses were a double-edged sword. She’d believed in her father, believed in her husband. She’d boxed them in, pressuring them to live up to that image of perfection, an image no one could live up to for long.
No wonder Leonidas had fled.
She’d insisted on his perfection, as if he were a shining knight on a white charger. And when he’d finally shown his weaknesses, she’d betrayed him, by telling his secrets to some reporter.
The fact that the lost Picasso had been finally found, as she’d heard that morning in the news, did not absolve her. Her cheeks went hot with shame.
Leonidas had been right. She’d betrayed him.
“We could be partners, you and I.” Speaking softly in the sunlit garden, Franck moved closer to her. “My hands aren’t what they used to be, but I have connections now. Even if you don’t need the money after your divorce, you could do the paintings just for fun.” He cackled. “Old masters for suckers. Much more satisfying than sketching fat babies and dogs!”
Daisy jerked back, glaring at him. “I like fat babies and dogs!”
His forehead furrowed. Seeing rejection in her set jaw, he stiffened, scowling. “Fine.” Then his pale blue eyes gleamed. “But you owe me. For all those months I took care of you.” He gave an oily smile. “If you won’t paint for me, I’ll take payment in other ways—”
He grabbed her roughly. She tried to pull away. “What are you doing—don’t!”
“Don’t you think I deserve a little kindness,” he panted, his long fingers digging into her shoulders, “for all those months I took care of you—”
She struggled desperately as he lowered his head. Before he could force a kiss on her, she screamed—
Then everything happened at once.
Her baby woke and started wailing in the baby carrier...