I couldn’t look at his face without imagining Arabella lying beneath him, purring like a cat, and it scared me to think our relationship was irreparable. I still hadn’t spoken to Poppy about it, but I knew she deserved to know, and that she’d be just as broken as I was, if not more.

After emerging from the showers, downing more coffee, and helping myself to another heavenly brownie, I uncovered my work in progress and stared at it, holding its dead gaze. It had taken a familiar shape, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something about the frown of the sculpture made my heart squeeze in pain. I continued working on it all day without taking as much as a bathroom break, until someone knocked on my door.

“Who is it?”

It was probably Rafferty, checking in on me. I’d turned to the door and started walking when a voice boomed behind it, grave and serious.

“It’s your father.”

I froze in my spot, like a statue carved from ice. It took me a second to recompose.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Frankly, that’s exactly why we should be having a conversation right now.”

Frankly, you’re a fifty-nine-year-old perv, and I carry your DNA. I wish I could scrub myself clean of my association with you.

I turned around and made my way back to the statue, picking up the needle and thread for the fabric I’d stitched to its shoulders.

I didn’t expect him to barge into my room.

I didn’t expect him to fling the door so hard it put a dent in the wall.

Edgar sucked in a shocked breath behind me. “Whoa.”

At first, I thought it was because I looked like something that had crawled out of a sewer. But I turned around and noticed it wasn’t me Papa was looking at.

It was my assemblage sculpture.

“You did this?” he gasped, his eyes wide and exploring.

I snorted out a chuckle. Now he was impressed with my work? How bloody convenient. And unlikely.

I returned to the stitching, ignoring his words.

“Lenny, that is…”

“Brilliant? That’s quite a coincidence, considering you didn’t give me the internship I’ve been dreaming of since I was five, and this comes less than a full day after I publicly called you a pig. Are you trying to make amends, or are you trying to cover your arse so I won’t go around telling people what kind of person you are? Because rest assured, Papa…” I spat out the word. “I don’t want people to find out the extent of how corrupted you are.”

Strong words, but time, I found, had two opposite effects. Either it made the pain dull and evaporated the anger or it allowed you to stew in your fury, multiplying your rage. The more I thought about my encounter with Arabella yesterday morning, paired with the two occasions where she’d slipped from his room, the more I was livid with my father. She’d confessed the affair to me, and Vaughn had confirmed it. In fact, according to Arabella, Vaughn had caught them in the act. It couldn’t get any clearer than that.

Papa put his hand on my shoulder, twisting me around to face him. I swatted his hand away.

“Touch me again, and I’m calling the police.”

He stared at me, confused and hurt, the creases around his eyes deeper than I remembered them yesterday. He had dark circles under his eyes. He was tired. Sleepless. Pale as the ghosts of his castle. Bet it was Arabella who kept him up at night, not the showdown with me.

“Darling, what is this about? You are worrying me to death. It is unlike you to get irrationally upset. And it is definitely unlike you to lash out. What happened yesterday?” His voice was tender, crisp as an autumn leaf. My father was not an unkind person, but he was busy, impatient—a gentle giant.

I could tell he was being genuine, but just because he regretted hurting me didn’t mean he was excused.

“Maybe I got bored of being good.” I hitched up one shoulder, thinking about Vaughn’s pet name for me. “Maybe my eighteenth birthday resolution was to be myself. And I don’t like you right now. You disgraced Mum, me, and Poppy. I know it was very convenient for you when I walked around in black clothes and piercings. I got the grades, did my volunteer work, steered clear of trouble. But know what, Papa? It didn’t work for me. You didn’t work for me.”

He stared at me, shocked. “What on Earth are you on about?”

His question only riled me further. I couldn’t help myself. I gave him a little shove toward the door. He was huge, yes, but he also knew social clues when they were thrown in his face. He took a step back.

“I’m talking about how you never asked me about my art. About my life. Mum died, and you did nothing to make us feel like we had someone to talk to. I was lucky Poppy took the role of a mother. But what if she hadn’t? You were always too bloody busy for me. Still are.” I shook my head, finding the first thing in my sight—Poppy’s poster, still wrapped—and throwing it like an arrow. He dodged it, taking another step back.

“You don’t understand—”

“Oh, but I do.” I smiled, feeling lighter somehow, now that everything was out in the open.

Sure, I’d always felt timid and embarrassed about asking for my father’s time. I didn’t want to bother him. But I never quite realized the extent of the anger I’d harbored toward him until now.

I picked up another wrapped gift and aimed it at him. “I understand everything so perfectly clear. Vaughn is more important than me. Arabella is more important than me—”

“They are not more important than you,” he cried desperately, flinging his arms in the air. “Vaughn got his internship because he deserved it.”

“And Arabella?” I raised an eyebrow, cocking my head, waiting for his explanation. “The affair,” I enunciated meaningfully.

“Arabella…” He drew a deep breath, his cheeks staining red. “I made a mistake. I cannot undo it right now.”

Of course you can’t, Papa.

But this was a full-blown confession. I’d said the word affair, and he hadn’t contradicted it.

I closed my eyes, begging the tears not to fall. I didn’t want him to see what he did to me, what his despicable behavior stirred inside me.

“Leave,” I whispered, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

I didn’t have Vaughn. I didn’t have Papa. Apparently, I was officially at odds with the opposite sex. Well, there was Pope, but he was hardly male as far as I was concerned.

“Lenny…”

I threw the second gift at him, and this time, I hit his chest. Before he could gather his wits, I took one of my sculpting tools and boomeranged it at him, too. Knowing he was a living target, he turned around, stalked to the door, and slammed it behind him.

I collapsed on the floor, the sobs ripping from my mouth.

I didn’t stop until night fell.

Vaughn didn’t come to see me that night, or the night after.

But Pope did, just as he’d promised.

We played board games and drank cheap, boxed wine and talked about philosophy and art and celebrities we’d like to shag (he said Rooney Mara was his dream girl, while I fancied Machine Gun Kelly). He told me about the progress he was making with his piece. He also admitted, albeit reluctantly, that he’d seen Arabella sneaking into my father’s office again.