Page 27 of Promised to the Heir

My father clears his throat. “I thought I’d walk you down the aisle.”

I stand slowly, smoothing my hands over the dress that suddenly feels too tight across my ribs. “That won’t be happening, Dad.”

He shifts his weight. “It’s tradition. A father gives away his daughter.”

I hold his gaze, my voice steady. “Then I guess you’ll have to sit this tradition out.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His voice slips into that pleading register I grew up with, soft around the edges but sharp underneath. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. It’s tradition. I’m your father.”

The word lands heavy. I push to my feet, the skirt brushing across the floor. “Biologically, maybe. But Mr. Weston has been more of a father to me than you ever were. He’ll walk me down the aisle.”

His mouth twitches, the smile he tries to hold turning stiff and hollow. “You’d really do that? Humiliate me, on your wedding day?”

My fingers tighten around the edge of the vanity. “You handled that part years ago.”

For a second, I see the flash in his eyes—the one that used to send me running to my room. His jaw works, shoulders tight, but then something shifts. The air leaves him in a quiet exhale, his chin lowering as if the weight of it all has finally settled. “You’re right,” he says. His voice is rough, scraped raw. “I deserve that. Probably worse.”

I blink, not sure what to do with the silence that follows. Then the door swings open and Jeremy fills the doorway, tie hanging loose, eyes scanning the room. His grandparents linger just behind him, steady and unyielding.

“What’s going on?” Jeremy’s tone is calm, but his focus cuts clean through the space between us.

My father straightens, rubbing his palms against his thighs like he doesn’t know where to put them. “I came to apologize. To both of you.”

The room stills. Even the ticking of the clock fades.

He looks at me first. “You were right. I’ve been running from myself for years. Gambling. Drinking. Losing everything that mattered and pretending it wasn’t my fault.” His voice thins as he glances toward Jeremy. “You didn’t owe me anything, and still you gave me a chance to make things right. I won’t waste it.”

Granddad Weston leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed. His tone stays even. “You planning to prove that, or just talk about it?”

A shadow of a smile pulls at my father’s mouth. “I’ll prove it.”

Jeremy pulls his phone from his pocket. “There’s a treatment center a couple hours from here.” He taps the screen, searches for a moment, then brings up the number. “Here.”

My father hesitates before he takes the phone. His fingers hover, then close around it like he’s afraid it might burn. He looks at the number on the screen for a long breath before pressing call. The room goes quiet while it rings.

When someone answers, his shoulders pull tight. “I’d like to admit myself to treatment.” The words sound foreign on his tongue. “Gambling and alcohol mostly.”

He listens. “Over thirty years.” His throat moves with a hard swallow. “Yes.” Another pause. “Yes.”

His free hand grips the back of a chair, and the knuckles turn pale. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” His voice cracks on the word. He nods once. His eyes are glassy but steadier than I ever recall seeing.

“Yes. Today. I’ll come in today.” When he lowers the phone, the silence feels thick with something fragile and new. For the first time in years, his gaze meets mine and holds.

The restless glint I’ve always known is gone. “I can’t undo anything I’ve done.” His gaze drops but then my dad straightens and meets my eyes. “But I can try to be better. If you’ll let me, I’d like to watch you get married.”

It takes effort to find my voice. “You can stay. But Mr. Weston will walk me down the aisle.”

He nods, the faintest hint of peace crossing his face. “That’s fair.”

He shakes Jeremy’s hand, grips it tight, then lets Grandma Weston straighten his crooked tie while Granddad watches in silence. When they step out, the door clicks shut and the quiet folds back in.

Jeremy doesn’t move.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

His breath stirs the tiny hairs near my ear. Heat curls low in my belly. The sound of him breathing feels too close, too steady, like he’s inside the same heartbeat.