Page 53 of Scars of Silk

“She will be on television soon with her new art show. Dan, do you know how many people will want ink by the guy who made her look like that?”

I stop kissing her for a moment and meet her eyes. “That’s not what’s it about.”

“You don’t realise. The papers are already talking about her. She will be a huge star on that show.”

My gaze narrows. “What do you mean the papers are already talking about her?”

“Eli called me this morning while you were out getting breakfast. The stories have broken about Aiden and what happened.”

“What?” My fingers clench into tight fists.

“Dan.” She smooths a hand around my face. “It doesn’t matter. If anything, it might help with the trial, because public awareness will give it more severity if it gets there.”

“I don’t want people knowing what that bastard did to her.”

The air in the shop gets sucked away from my lungs.

“I think he’s thought it through. Why are you so upset?”

“Because I don’t want people knowing I failed her.”

Sienna shakes her head, but it does nothing to ebb the rage pulsing through my veins. “I don’t think anyone is going think that.”

“No? What if I think it?”

“Then why don’t you help? Why don’t you give her father the half of the shop he thinks is his? You could set up anywhere. Look how popular you are? You’ve been open for one morning, yet you haven’t stopped working.”

“This is my dad’s shop. I can’t leave it.”

“Not even to help Faith get justice? If this all comes down to money and what he thinks is his?”

“Elijah’s loaded. Why doesn’t he pay him off? That’s what he does anyway, isn’t it?”

“Because her dad doesn’t want cash. He wants the shop he believes is his.”

“Well, she wouldn’t want to share it with him; she hates him.”

“That’s for her to decide. You could do this and set it in motion.”

“Why are you pushing me on this?”

She folds her hands across her chest. “Why won’t you consider it? I’ve come up blank here, Dan. I don’t know how to help her and neither does Reggie nor Elijah.”

“It’s my dad's.” I stare out the window at the same view I’ve been looking at for years. The same view that’s been my winter life since childhood.

“Your dad isn’t here.”

I gasp in a breath. “I know.”

“You could earn five times the money in London.”

“I don’t want to live in London. I hate it. Where would I live? Ask Faith to lend me her little flat in Islington?”

She steps back.

“Tell me the truth. Why won’t you sell?”

My shoulders slump. I don’t know why she’s making me say this shit. Or why I just can’t let go. “What if she comes back and I’m not here?”