The corner of my mouth wanted to tug up into a smile at the idea of my mother going all tiger mom on him. If she blamed Dr. Galliat for nearly killing my sister, I understood. I felt that way a little too.
He sighed. “You don’t owe me anything after the way I treated you, but, Emily, I made a mistake. I was scared, but I’m not anymore.”
My sister had such a big heart, I could already see his words thawing the ice he’d put around it. It wasn’t my business, but I couldn’t help myself. My tone was pure condescension. “Good for you.”
He wasn’t fazed, and his focus remained locked on my sister. “I’m sure you’re tired and you’ve been through hell, so I’ll get right to the point. I want a second chance. Maybe you can grant that to me, and maybe you can’t, but at least let me be a part of our daughter’s life.”
She pressed her lips together, but her chin began to quiver, and tears flooded her eyes. “I’m not going to keep her from you, but I don’t know about anything else right now.”
It wasn’t a solid ‘no,’ and Dr. Galliat seemed to take it as a win. He let out a breath like some of the tension in his chest had eased. “You didn’t answer me before. Are you okay?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, but then winced when her body reminded her not to move. “I’m tired and—”
There was no knock on the door, because he’d unfortunately been in this hospital’s suites before and understood how they afforded privacy. Royce came in, the tail of his tie hanging out of the pocket of his long overcoat, and an even bigger bouquet than the one Dr. Galliat had shown up with. My fiancé scanned the room, found me, and flashed a smile before moving deeper into the suite and depositing the flowers beside the other arrangement.
“Congratulations,” he said to my sister. “Your mom pointed her out to me in the nursery. She’s as beautiful as her mother.”
Dr. Galliat’s shoulders lifted and his chest broadened. It was a territorial posture, and he gazed at the younger man like he was a threat.
“Thank you,” Emily said. She turned her gaze up to her former—and I suspected soon to be current—lover. “Brandon. This is my sister’s fiancé, Royce.”
Dr. Galliat went rigid, and his voice was strained. “Royce Hale?”
“That’s right. You are?”
Emily wasn’t sure what label to use but decided to go with the truth. “This is Selene’s father, Dr. Brandon Galliat.”
Something flickered in Royce, like the name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He held out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
Dr. Galliat stared at the offered hand like it might bite him, and the mood in the room quickly became awkward when he didn’t move. But finally, he broke and accepted a quick shake.
“Congrats,” Royce said.
Dr. Galliat’s eyes widened. “For what?”
Royce’s head ticked to the side. “Your daughter?”
“Right. Thanks.” He turned to Emily. “I should go and let you get some sleep.”
She blinked, stunned. He’d just gotten here, dropped a bombshell, and now he was leaving? “Oh. Okay.”
He was already moving toward the door. “I’ll text you tomorrow and see how you’re both doing, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” she said, sounding anything but.
“Okay, good.” He paused at the doorway as if there was something else he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He went out the door without another word. Like he couldn’t get out of this room fast enough.
“That was weird,” I said.
Royce looked indifferent. “Sometimes it happens.”
“What happens?”
“The Hale name makes people uncomfortable.” He stared at me with his enigmatic eyes. “You’ll get used to it.”
Would I? I doubted it.
ELEVEN
AFTER THE HOLIDAYS WERE OVER, I’d hoped things would settle down, but they only grew more frantic. I entered my final semester of college with a plate full of wedding planning. Even with a team of event coordinators to handle things, there were still obligations I had to fulfill personally.
Like my bridal shower.
Since my sister had a newborn and was still recovering, another bridesmaid stepped in to help—Sophia Alby. Paired with Alice as a host, my two frenemies threw a lavish luncheon, complete with a fairytale theme and specially commissioned Swarovski crystal figurines as party favors. They were a glittering version of Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage, and I wanted to laugh at Alice’s shade.
She wasn’t wrong. I was the poor girl, playing dress up and pretending to be someone else while I fell in love with the prince. But her plan to get under my skin backfired. The figurine said more about her than it did me. It was a paperweight in the digital world—its only use was for the background of Instagram pictures.
The weekend after my twenty-second birthday, Royce attempted to take me to the British Virgin Islands, only to discover when we arrived at the airport the jet was already gone. An emergency with the German branch had called Macalister away with just enough time to change the jet’s flight plan, but apparently not enough to let us know about it.