Page 59 of The Marriage Clause

The automatic doors slide open with their usual whisper, and lemon cleaner hits me first.

"Aria," Gladys says from behind the desk, her smile bright and inviting "You're early today."

"I had some time."

That's a lie. I made time. Since moving into the penthouse, time doesn't feel like mine anymore. Everything's scheduled. Fitted, planned and approved. There are stylists and drivers and security that make me feel important instead of like a girl who used to count quarters for laundry.

I needed one place today that still felt like mine.

"How's he doing?" I ask.

Gladys softens immediately. "Good day. Very good day. He remembered it was Thursday and complained about physical therapy before Lena even showed up."

Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle.

A good day. Thank God.

I stopped at the farmer's market on the way and picked up peonies. Pink ones, the kind Dad used to grow along the fence in our backyard before everything changed. Mom would cut them and put them all over the house until every room smelled like June. I packed up most of her things after the accident.

Bringing something beautiful that might remind him of his garden felt like a way to show him love today.

Dad is sitting by the window when I walk in, one leg stretched, glasses sliding down while he pretends to read a newspaper that's mostly sports photos.

When he sees me, his whole face changes.

"There she is."

I smile and lean down to kiss his cheek. "There you are."

He notices the flowers immediately. "Either I'm dying or you've got news."

I laugh, but it comes out thin. "You're not dying."

"That's good to hear. I had bingo plans."

I fill a little ceramic vase with water from his small kitchen and place the peonies in them and then set them on his dresser and turn to face him. He's studying me with that sharp, present look he gets on really good days. The one that reminds me so much of the father I had before the accident that it almost hurts.

"You look nervous," he says.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you’re fidgeting with the vase instead of taking a seat. It looks fine the way you have it."

I sit in the chair beside him and smooth my hands over my blue dress. One of the many dresses that Lana handpicked for me. Expensive enough that I still feel like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life.

My father notices everything.

"I'm getting married on Saturday," I blurt out.

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, the words sit between us for a moment, and for one awful second I think maybe I've lost him after all. But then his brows pull together, and he leans back slowly.

"Married."

"Yes."

"To the jerk."

"How did you guess—" I blink back trying to think how he would come to that conclusion. "I mean... You remember him?"