Moonlight on Nightingale Way

by Samantha Young

  Slowly Aidan’s shoulders relaxed and his eyes warmed. “So what you’re saying to me is ‘keep your big nose out of it.’”

  “Never. You’re my family, Aidan. If you didn’t care, I’d hate it. But Logan and I need to work all this out for ourselves without you pushing his buttons.”

  “Gotcha.”

  We wandered back into the room only for Logan to grab my hand and lead me over to the table where Maia was opening her presents. “When she’s done, we talk.”

  “Logan, it was nothing,” I tried to explain, but he was already focused on Maia and ignoring me for the moment.

  I let her delight distract me as she opened present after present. She received books, gift vouchers, makeup, DVDs, chocolate, and other gifts galore. The tribe spoiled her rotten.

  “Dad, did you see?” Maia ran up to him after thanking everyone. She’d left her presents in the care of Beth, who had organized her brother to clean up the wrapping paper while she tidied the gifts into a neat pile.

  “I did.” He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners attractively. “Having fun so far?”

  Eyes wide, she stared around at the room. “I’ve never had this many presents before, let alone a party.” She turned to me, eyes bright with excitement. “I got eighty pounds in gift vouchers for the bookshop.”

  “Nice,” I said. “We’ll go tomorrow if you want.”

  She nodded, looking dazed.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” Logan said.

  “I just don’t know what to do next.”

  “I’ve got something.” He disappeared behind the table and brought up his present.

  I grinned as Maia opened her mouth in surprise. “Another one?”

  “From me.” He gestured her over. “Open it.”

  “There’s another present!” Beth yelled at everyone, drawing attention back to the table.

  “Horsey!” Belle, Jo and Cam’s daughter, cried out excitedly, running for the table.

  Beth eyed the rectangular-shaped parcel and then Belle, this time dubiously. She shot a look at Jo, as if to say, What are you teaching your child?

  I had to wipe the tears from my eyes, I was laughing so hard.

  Jo narrowed her eyes on Beth. “She’s just going through a horse phase.” She turned back to look at Joss and mouthed, Smart-arse.

  Joss just grinned.

  “What is it?” Maia said, and I turned back to her. I wanted to see her expression when she opened it.

  “Open it and find out.”

  Carefully, Maia tore open the paper and turned the box around so she could read the front. Her jaw literally dropped at the sight of the laptop.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Logan said softly.

  She immediately burst into tears.

  His eyes flew to me.

  Good tears. Good tears, I mouthed, waving my hands at him frantically.

  He rounded the table at my direction and pulled her into his arms.

  “I think it’s cake time,” Elodie announced, her years of experience as a mother shining through as she deftly drew attention away from Maia while she composed herself. “Let’s go, kids. Let’s get the cake for Maia.” They followed her, chattering at her the whole time, and I marveled at the way she could take in everything and have multiple conversations at once.

  I stepped forward toward Maia and Logan, and I was only about a foot away when Logan reached out an arm and jerked me into the huddle. They both wrapped an arm around me and I held on tight to them.

  “You’re going to make me cry now,” I whispered over the lump of emotion gathering in my throat.

  “Good. That will make me feel like less of an idiot.” Maia sniffled.

  Logan and I pulled back, and I cupped her tear-streaked face. “You are not an idiot. You’re a sweetheart.”

  She wiped her face and gazed up at her dad as if he were a hero come to life. “Thanks for the laptop, Dad.”

  Wetness shimmered in his eyes, and he could only nod.

  My fingers curled into his T-shirt, and I fought hard not to cry at the sight of his emotion.

  “Maia, why don’t you go show Beth the laptop,” I suggested softly, realizing Logan needed a minute.

  Maia seemed to realize that, too, and did as I asked.

  In turn I took Logan’s hand, led him out of the room and into Gio’s office. “Are you okay?”

  In answer he pulled me into his arms and just held on tight.

  We stood there for a while not saying a word.

  “You’re mine,” he suddenly whispered.

  I stilled. “What?”

  Logan drew back just far enough so he could cup my face in his hands. “Did you consider going out with Maia’s history teacher?”

  Surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, I shook my head. “Aidan is just being an arse.”

  “Did you?”

  “Logan —”

  “You’re mine,” he said, his words fierce. “I’m yours. I’ll never let anything or anyone come between that.”

  I shivered at the sweet possessiveness in the words and clung to him tighter. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

  He closed his eyes as if in relief and leaned his forehead against mine.

  The silence wrapped around us, this time only emphasizing our closeness, our connection, and the wordless promises we made to each other.

  CHAPTER 25

  I

  t was one of those perfect mornings. Not too hot, but the sunlight was pouring in through the window. Earlier I’d woken up in my boyfriend’s bed after a night of sweet lovemaking. We’d had breakfast with Maia and then she’d gone off to the YA summer program at the library and Logan had left for work.

  I’d returned to my flat, where I was working on Joss’s new manuscript and eating leftover croissants from yesterday’s trip to my favorite bakery. For the first time ever, I was able to throw off my inner angst over… well… everything… and I was just enjoying my work and life.

  I should have known it would all go to hell.

  The knock at the door was the signal of the start of it.

  The man standing on my doorstep was the “hell” part.

  “Father,” I said softly, shocked by the surrealism of him standing on my small but clean landing.

  Gabriel Bentley stood there in a crisp white – most probably designer – shirt, lightweight leather jacket, and dark trousers. He was shiny and clean from the top of his perfectly combed hair to the gleaming black Italian loafers on his feet.

  But the shiny and clean were only skin-deep.

  My fingers curled around my doorframe. “What do you want?”

  “May I come in?” he said, pushing his way past me.

  I felt the panic rise up from my chest, a choking sensation wrapping around my throat as I closed the door and followed him inside my flat.

  I found him in my sitting room, looking around, taking it all in.

  “What do you want?”

  He gave me this weary sigh in response to my snappish tone. “Your mother is sick. She has breast cancer.”

  Hearing him say the words out loud suddenly made it so real. “I know,” I said. “I saw an article in the news.”

  My father jerked his head back as if I’d slapped him. “And it never occurred to you to come see her?”

  I fought off a wave of guilt. “Last time I spoke to her she told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  “To be fair, you did tattle on her to me about her lover,” he chastised.

  Dumbfounded, I shook my head. “One – he was not her lover. He was my boyfriend. Two – do you not hear yourself? I will never understand your mutual lack of respect for each other and your marriage.”

  “On the contrary, I have a healthy respect for your mother.” Looking saddened, he sat down on the arm of my sofa. “I just wished you’d inherited her realism. You get hurt so easily, Gracelyn. It’s hard to watch.”

  “My name is just Grace,” I reminded h
im coldly.

  He nodded. “Grace.”

  “Why are you here?”

  The sadness melted just enough for that steely determination of his to shine through. “I’m here to convince you to come home. The media have shown some interest in the fact that you’re not home, standing vigil at your mother’s bedside.”

  I sneered. “Of course. It’s all about appearances with you.”

  He had the audacity to look hurt. “I am the head of a media company. Image is everything. But I do need you for more than that. She’s sick, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the niggle of sympathy I felt or the ever-increasing guilt. “Is she dying?”

  “She’s fighting it. But it’s a difficult battle. Sebastian has stepped up to take a more hands-on role in the company so I can concentrate on getting your mother the best treatment possible.”

  I crossed the room, my legs shaking too much to stand any longer. Once I was seated across from him, I somehow found the courage to ask the question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. “Has she asked for me?”

  I received only silence as my father looked at the floor.

  “That would be a ‘no,’ then.” I closed my eyes, fighting the pain of her rejection. Like always.

  “I am asking you.” He stared me straight in the eye and gave me that coaxing smile he’d always given me when he was intent on getting me to do whatever he wanted. “I have missed you.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “I never would have known that what with all the e-mails, calls, and cards you sent over the last seven years.”

  He frowned, seeming perturbed by my stubbornness. “The lack of communication goes both ways.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I was betrayed by my mother, and you and Sebastian brushed it off like I was a child who needed to grow up and understand the ways of the world – as though betrayal is just a part of life. Well, it’s not. I know that now. I have people who care about me, and they would never betray me like she did. Like you all did.”

  My father cocked his head to the side in thought. “Are you talking about this man, this neighbor of yours? Logan MacLeod. The ex-convict and his long-lost child.”

  I sat back, the panic rising within me again. “You’ve been looking into me?”

  “Of course I have. You’re my daughter. I didn’t let you go off into the world entirely by yourself. You needed space from this family and I’ve given it to you, but I’ve also been watching over you. I know all about you. I know about the rugby player, Aidan Ramage, and his fiancée, Juno. Canadian, yes? And, of course, your best friend from college, Chloe. I know you all go to Skye every year for a weekend in the summer and Paris for a weekend in the winter. I know you, Grace.”

  “That doesn’t mean you know me.”

  It didn’t.

  But I was also completely thrown off-balance by the news that he had always been looking out for me. Looking out for me or into me – the result was the same. My father hadn’t completely abandoned me.

  I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  “I know you well enough to know you’ve been taken in by an ex-con.” He stood up, towering over me, no longer the weary father but the intimidating businessman. “I know you enough to know betrayal is something you cannot stand for. You’ve abandoned your family over it. And now you’re opposed to returning to us because of this Logan and his daughter. I think it’s important, then, that you know he’s manipulating you. He’s not what you think he is.”

  “Enough!” I jumped to my feet, my anger boiling in my blood.

  My father flinched back, shocked that I would use that tone with him.

  Shocked, because he was wrong.

  He did not know me.

  I wasn’t afraid anymore that speaking out would turn him away from me. “You don’t know the first thing about Logan.”

  “Oh. Do you?” He stepped toward me, his cheeks reddening with his rising temper. “Why don’t you ask him about the American blonde he’s sleeping with? Ask him why she was at his club during the day while he was working there. Twice. This week.”

  It was like a punch to the gut. It actually winded me.

  How did my father know about the American? He could only know if what he was saying was true.

  But surely there was an explanation…

  “Get out,” I gasped, slumping down onto my sofa, curling into myself for protection.

  “All right.” His voice was soft with sympathy now, real or faked. “But once you see reason, you can find me at the Balmoral Hotel. I’m staying there until you agree to come home with me.”

  It was an understatement to say my father had sucked all of the happiness out of my flat when he’d left. It was like my family had radar or something!

  “Oh, look, Grace is truly happy. Let’s go shit all over it!”

  I barely moved from my sofa for the rest of the day as I went over and over everything my father had said. The confusion, the guilt, the sadness… it was all so much.

  I needed to talk to Logan.

  That afternoon, around dinnertime, he and Maia walked into my flat together. I knew Maia had been going to a friend’s house after the YA program and that Logan had agreed to pick her up after his work. That meant I’d been stewing, and knowing that I’d have to stew for hours, until this moment.

  As soon as they walked into the living room, I looked at Maia. “Could you give me and your dad a few minutes alone, sweetheart?”

  Maia took in my expression, concern in her eyes. But she nodded. “I’ll go next door.”

  “Grace, what’s wrong?” Logan asked as Maia left the room.

  When I heard the door shut, I stood up. “My father was here today.”

  “What?” Logan marched across the room and took me by the arms. “Are you okay?”

  “No. He wants me to come home. To be with my mother. She really is sick.”

  “Breast cancer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck.” Logan’s grip on me tightened, and he tugged me closer. “You told him no. He’s off his fucking head if he thinks you’re going home with him.”

  I blanched and pulled out of his hold. “He did his usual. He tried to manipulate me.” I glanced over my shoulder at Logan, whose own concern seemed to have quadrupled since I pulled away from him. “He said you saw the American. Sharon, was it? He said she visited the club twice this week. During the day. How did he even know about her?”

  Now it was Logan’s turn to blanch.

  My stomach fluttered unpleasantly. “Did she visit you?”

  “It’s not what you think. I saw her once this week. If she visited before, I wouldn’t know about it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get upset over nothing. She was there to see if I wanted to rekindle things one last time before she left the country. I told her about you and she left. End of story.”

  My heart was pounding at the thought of that woman being anywhere near him. For Christ’s sake, I could still hear her screaming his name from his bedroom next door. I gritted my teeth against the memory. “If it was nothing, you should have told me.”

  “And upset you over nothing? You’re starting to trust me. I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

  “Clue in, Logan. It’s better to hear that shit from you than someone else. Least of all my goddamn father!”

  “This is what he wants!” Logan yelled back, gesturing between us. “To fuck us up so he can sweep in and manipulate you into going home with him!”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, lowering my voice. I sagged against the back of the sofa and stared up at him balefully from beneath my lashes. “Don’t keep something like that from me again.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” He rounded the sofa and put his hands on my hips, drawing me against him. “Tell your dad to go home, Grace, before he causes any more trouble.”

  The slamming of my heart became a sledgehammer pounding. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “What?” He sta
red down into my eyes, his filled with incredulity.

  “Logan, you know I’ve been carrying this guilt, this weight, over my mum’s cancer. The fact that I feel like this means something. I need to work it out, and if that means talking to my dad again, then so be it.”

  “You know what the guilt means, Grace? It means you’re not a soulless bitch like the woman who gave birth to you. It’s as simple as that. Don’t let him draw you back into that world.”

  “I’m trying not to. I feel panicked just at the thought of it,” I confessed. “But, Logan, what kind of person does it make me if I don’t go to my possibly dying mother’s side?”

  “What are you worried about? What the world thinks of you? What we think of you? Or what you think of you? Because at the end of the day, babe, the only opinions that matter are your own and those of the people you care about.”

  There was a huge part of me that knew Logan was right and another huge part of me that hyperventilated at the mere thought of letting the Bentleys back into my life. Yet there was also this small voice inside of me that kept telling me Logan was biased. He couldn’t give me advice because he had a stake in the outcome.

  Although I knew Aidan did too, I called him that night as Logan and Maia sat in my sitting room watching a movie after dinner. I closed myself in my bedroom with the phone and dialed my oldest friend’s number because he had been there with me through the trauma of my mother’s betrayal and my family’s apathy toward me.

  He also had a far less hotheaded reaction to drama than Logan.

  “Oh shit,” Aidan said once I’d finished telling him about my father’s visit.

  “So what do I do?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do.”

  I stared at my phone in horror for a second and then put it back to my ear. “The whole point is for you to tell me what to do!” I hissed.

  “No, it’s not. I can’t make this decision for you. No one can. It has to feel right for you. All I can tell you is that not one of us will judge you for whatever choice you make. Just do what you have to do.”

  We talked for a little longer before I finally hung up, feeling no more and no less confused than I had when I’d called him. I was just getting up off my bed when the bedroom door opened and Logan stepped in.