Page 83 of When Forever Falls Apart

“I’m going to head back this afternoon. How about dinner at my place?” I ask, teasing him with my smile. “We can talk more without worrying about Eva and Aston hearing us, plus I can cook.”

“You cook?” he questions with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry. I meant, I will order takeout. How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

Elliot dips his head, a soft chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Add some spicy pepperoni and you’ve got yourself another date, Miss Beaumont.”

CHAPTER 23Madelina

My father chose an upscale restaurant for our brunch, nestled just a stone’s throw from Carnegie Hall.

As I hurriedly left Cinnamon Springs yesterday, my mind was a whirlwind, and in my haste, I only managed to grab my clubbing attire along with a spare outfit for today. I quickly realize that my bohemian skirt and tank top won’t cut it for such a refined occasion.

I raid Eva’s closet, desperate to find something that will be acceptable for brunch. Her style is more conservative than mine, which makes it easier to choose something. I finally settle on a taupe turtleneck blouse with matching tailored dress shorts. For shoes, I slip into her chic leather wedges, then style my hair into a sleek bun so I don’t look like a hot mess from last night’s shots.

As soon as I enter the restaurant, the concierge greets me. I tell him my name and follow him toward the table where my father is already seated. I quickly glance at the time to see I’m five minutes early. Thank God, he can’t lecture me on punctuality.

Immediately, he stands to pull back my chair politely. Despite what happened between us the last time we saw each other, I kiss his cheek hello, then take a seat at the table.

“You look well,” Dad says in a cordial tone.

Given the history between us, all I can manage is a polite smile as I arrange the pristine white napkin across my lap.

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice laced with uncertainty as I search for a way to steer the conversation. “Are you in the city on business?”

He nods, settling back into his chair with an air of calculated relaxation that suggests he has something more significant on his mind. I brace myself, sensing that a storm is brewing beneath the surface. “Yes, I’ve actually been spending quite a bit of time in Virginia lately.”

“Nice. Well, the weather has been unseasonably warm of late. Cinnamon Springs feels hotter than usual.”

Yeah, that could have something to do with your best friend’s older brother.

“And are you back at the theater?” he questions.

I shake my head. “No, I’ve been helping out Eva. They have a baby on the way, so…”

The moment it slips out, my father’s brows rise with curiosity.

Fuck, I’m an idiot for spilling the beans.I don’t understand why I feel so nervous around him. I’m a grown woman, for Christ’s sake, and don’t rely on him for anything anymore. I stew in regret, wishing he didn’t make me feel so uncomfortable to the point that I blurt out things I should be keeping to myself.

“I suppose congratulations to your brother are warranted,” he states, his voice wooden and devoid of the enthusiasm one would expect upon hearing news of a new life on the way. The flatness in his words hangs in the air, like a gray fog that suffocates any sense of joy.

“I’ll pass the message on,” I say, but I know I won’t. Aston will probably lose his shit. “Anyway, you said you’ve been spending time in Virginia. What are you doing with Beaumont Manor?”

“There are plans,” he says simply.

“Plans? You’re selling?” I ask, surprised he’d even think about it.

“It isn’t exactly being used, Madelina. A wasted commodity.”

There are so many options rather than sell it off to someone who, if ruthless like my father, will knock it down and probably build a highway through the land or something like that. What the hell is he thinking? Just because he’s divorcing Mom, doesn’t mean he should take away a place I once called home.

“But why don’t you—”

The waiter arrives at our table, interrupting our conversation to read out the specials. My father appears distracted, and when I open my mouth to order the lobster Benedict and truffle scrambled eggs, my father rises from his seat, instantly ending our talk about Beaumont Manor.

“Here he is.”

I turn around to see a familiar face staring back at me. A sudden wave of anger surges through me as I snap my attention back onto my father.