“Toby.” Jasmine immediately wrapped her arms around her oldest son’s neck when he met us at the door of the Cartwright house in Torquay. It was this massive white-rendered two-storey home situated on a secluded slice of land just outside the city centre. There was a swimming pool, a tennis court and a three-car garage beside the main house facing the curved driveway. The gardens were all immaculately maintained, the trees surrounding the property tall. The entire thing screamed money and a desire for privacy. You could probably wander around outside naked and no one would be able to see you beyond the thick trees and bush.

“How was the trip?” The question was directed at her, but his eyes found me and then searched the remaining faces. His expression told me he came up empty. Looking for Nate, perhaps? None of us had seen him since the outburst at the hotel, and we hadn’t seen Holland since the wedding. Jasmine said they’d flown back early and were probably at Nate’s house. Everyone else seemed fine with that, but I was worried. She had been so scared and upset before the wedding, and I wished I’d had a little time with her afterwards to find out how she was feeling now.

“Worse than expected,” Jasmine announced, sauntering into the house after handing Toby her bag. He frowned, then rolled his eyes.

“The surf was good,” Abbot teased, slapping his big brother on the back as he walked past.

“So was the fishing.” Kristian followed, slapping Toby on the opposite shoulder.

Toby shook his head in response. I assumed surfing and fishing were two of his favourite things.

“How were things here?” Sam asked, lugging our bags through the door on one arm.

Toby shrugged. “Quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good.”

“And how about you?” Toby’s clear blue eyes landed on me. I wasn’t sure what to think of him. Out of all the brothers, I’d had the least interactions with him. While he shared in their good looks and oversized build, he seemed a little more intense than the rest; he studied his surroundings more and stayed quiet in the noise of the house. I felt that Jasmine was the closest to him and trusted him most. I wondered if that meant I should be more careful around him, or if it meant that I could trust him too. Time would tell.

“What about me?”

“How are you?”

A nervous feeling fluttered about in my stomach. Did he seriously want to know, or was he asking in a general way to be polite?

“I—”

“She’s fine.” Sam’s arm slipped around my waist, and he guided me through the door ahead of him. I guess I’m fine. He gave me a little nudge so I stepped in ahead while he stopped and spoke quietly to Toby.

I heard Toby ask about the damage to the twins’ faces and the mention of both Nate’s and Holland’s names.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Sam said, obviously not wanting me listening in to whatever he wanted to say. I took a quick look around and headed in the direction I recalled walking the last time I was here—the day Holland and I trespassed on their property and got caught. The day my life completely changed.

Everything felt different now that I knew I wasn’t allowed to leave. Not horrible, just different. I hadn’t seen my father in almost a week, hadn’t received a lecture on the way I conducted myself, or been made to feel that I wasn’t living up to my potential. Here, I didn’t feel like I was a lost cause. So yeah, I felt different, better, and I didn’t want to go back to what I was before, even if I could.

“Coffee’s brewing,” Jasmine said as I entered. She was pulling mugs out of a cupboard and lining them up along the counter. “How do you take yours?”

“White with two sugars, please.”

She took out an extra cup and placed it on the end of the line before she met my eyes and smiled. “Same as me.”

Not thinking the comment needed much of a response, I simply smiled in return, then headed to the fridge and got the milk to make myself useful. I was never good at sitting still. When I was young, my mother used to say I had ants in my pants. We would laugh and she would tickle me, telling me she was trying to tickle my sillies out. Life was so much better when she was around, and I’d missed her every day since she left.

Sometimes I thought I saw her in a crowd. Of course, it was never her, though after twenty-two years and only a child’s memory of her face, I didn’t think I’d recognise her if she was standing right in front of me. Actually, I didn’t even think that would be a possibility. I had a feeling that my mother died long ago and my father just never told us. Possibly to protect us, possibly because he couldn’t face it himself. Either way, I still wondered about her.

The coffee percolator hissed and gurgled, spitting out the last of the coloured liquid into the pot. Jasmine finished adding sugar to each cup, then filled them all with coffee. I uncapped the milk and followed along behind her, the only words exchanged when she told me that Toby preferred his black.

One by one, the Cartwright brothers filed into the kitchen, picking up their mugs without having to ask which one was theirs before disappearing into various corners of the house, obviously intent on relaxing after travelling all day. Sam stood next to me and hooked one finger into the belt loop of my jeans, holding me in place. It was such a subtle thing to do, but I loved the possessiveness of the action. It made me feel like he wanted me.

“Elixir of the gods,” Sam moaned after he’d taken his first sip. “I really needed caffeine.”

“I think we all did,” Jasmine added. “Remind me the next time we book a holiday that I hate travelling.”

“Sure thing.” He chuckled, watching her over the edge of his mug as she picked up some mail and left the room. Then he set his mug down and turned to me. “Want to see my room?”

A smile crept across my face. “That depends. Do you have any cool toys in there?” The moment I said it, I realised how it could be taken and blushed. “I meant, like, action figures and stuff. It was supposed to be a joke.”

He lifted his hand and ran his thumb lightly over my cheek. “I’m sure I can find something in there that will interest you.”

Taking my barely drunk coffee out of my hands, he set it on the bench next to his, then led me up the grand staircase to the room across from the guest room I’d stayed in on my first night here. He’d slept in there with me but on the floor, kind of blocking the door. I didn’t sleep much that night.

When he pushed the door open, I found myself in a large room painted a soft grey with white edging. The carpet was thick and a darker grey than the walls, and there was more furniture than one room should really have—a king-size bed, a desk and chair, two bookcases and a TV unit dominated by an LCD TV and a couple of gaming consoles. There were posters of surfers on the walls, a couple of women with enormous tits and round arses looking sexy on the beach or holding a surfboard as well. Besides that, there was one really beautiful framed photo of five kids standing at the edge of the surf, looking out to the setting sun. I couldn’t make out any features because the boys were silhouetted, but I figured it was Sam and his brothers. It was the prettiest part of the whole room.

“So, I guess you really like surfing,” I said, pointing out a poster featuring a curvaceous brunette arching her back while lying on a surfboard.

He followed my gaze. “Shit. I should probably take that down.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, closing up a little. Those posters made me feel inadequate. I didn’t look anything like those women. “It’s your room. You can have whatever you want on your walls.”

“Well, it’s your room too, now.” He moved around the room and tore down all the busty women, scrunching the shiny paper in his hands. “And this shit really doesn’t need to be here anymore. They’ve seriously been up since high school.”

“You’ve kept your room the same since high school?”

“Not really. I haven’t always lived here. But my room has always stayed the same, and sometimes it’s just easier to stay at the house.”

“You have your own place?”

He tore down the surfing posters too, anything that wasn’t in a frame.

“Not exactly. Toby and Nate are really the only ones with property of their own. The rest of us kind of share the family portfolio when it suits.”

“So we’ll be living here with the rest of the family?” Their house seemed like it was always busy and noisy. I wasn’t sure if I’d like that or if I’d crave the peace and quiet I was used to. I’d been on my own for a long time.

“Yeah, we’re staying here.” He looked around the room to make sure he had all the posters, then tossed them into a wastepaper basket. He moved to stand in front of me and took a hold of my hands. “Maybe we can redecorate.”

I took a deep breath and looked around. This was my new home. We were in our thirties and living with his family like we were all in our teens. OK. I could deal with that. If Sam kept looking at me like he wanted to undress me, I could probably handle anything.

We’d had a wonderful few days in the Cook Islands, and I was feeling a little high on sex and pheromones. Still, my married life was beginning in what still looked like a teenage boy’s bedroom. “Can I paint the walls pink and get a sequinned bedspread with fluffy pillows?” I asked, keeping my voice serious.

His eyes widened, and he blew out a burst of air as he struggled to maintain an impassive expression. “If that’s what you really need to feel comfortable,” he said diplomatically.

“I don’t want pink walls and sequins, Sam.” I laughed. The fact that he’d actually agreed to that really warmed my heart.

A relieved sigh caused the tension to leave his shoulders. “Thank God.”

“And I don’t particularly want to change your room.” I looked around again. It was a large room, but if it was going to be the place we spent most of our time in, it might get a little cramped. “You know, if there’s some reason we can’t stay in a place of our own, I have a whole house we could live in.”

“There’s no reason. It just works better when we’re all here.” His response was quick and clipped. It gave me the impression that there was more to it than convenience—like maybe we had to stay here because of me. That made sense, when you broke it down, I wasn’t exactly a free woman. I was living in a glorified prison, and I needed to remember that. Sam might say that I’m a Cartwright now, but I had no doubt that my existence within the family would be tenuous until I somehow proved my worth.

“OK, then I do want to change it a bit, but only condense it so some of my stuff can fit in here. We can go and get some of my stuff, can’t we?”

“Of course. I’ll take you tomorrow. We can pack up all your clothes and whatever you feel you can’t live without. Then we’ll work out how to fit it all in here.”

“And I just leave everything else behind?” Reality was creeping through my carefully composed façade. I’d worked so hard for that house, for my things. Were they going to clean it out and sell it all, or would it just sit there and fall into disrepair?

“For now. We’ll work out what to do with it later.”

Disrepair it is.

“And what am I supposed to tell my family?”

“What do you want to tell them?”

Pressing my lips together, I tried to work out what I could tell Dad without him flipping out. I’d been doing this on and off over the past few days, and there wasn’t really much I’d come up with. “I’m considering writing a letter to tell my dad that I joined the Peace Corps and am already on my way to the jungle. Failing that, I’m thinking that faking my own death might work too.”

He laughed. “Have you considered telling him you got married and are moving in with your husband and his family?”

“No.” I drew the word out so it lasted for a few seconds too long.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t because he thought I was funny. “Why don’t you want to tell him that? Is there something wrong with my family? Well, besides the obvious.”

“You, um… aren’t Christians.”

“Excuse me?” He seemed visibly shocked.

“He won’t be happy that I married a man who wasn’t religious enough to get married in church. He’s very… traditional.” For years, he tried to set me up with single men who he deemed appropriate from within our church, but when none of them worked out, he shook his head and said, “There is no one for you,” before he gave up on me, relegating me to the position of his spinster daughter forever. I didn’t mind. It was easier than being forced to make conversation with men I had nothing in common with.

“Are you upset we weren’t married in a church?”

“No,” I answered quickly. “I don’t believe the way he does.” I prayed sometimes as a knee-jerk reaction, but I didn’t really believe anymore, especially not since my mother left and everyone we knew responded with ‘only God can save her now.’ I didn’t think she needed God to save her. She needed people to care enough to make sure she got the help she needed.

“So you don’t care that I’m not religious?”

“No. Just my father will. And also my brother. And my uncle. And everyone else in my family. Maybe not my niece and nephew though.”

“You’re saying that your family will be prejudiced against me because I’m not a Christian?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Isn’t that very un-Christian of them?”

I shrugged. “It’s just the way they think.” And it made sense to me. One of the reasons I didn’t want to marry anyone from Dad’s church was that we fundamentally believed very different things. Surely going into a marriage knowing we’d be so intrinsically different would be asking for a divorce. I wanted to marry someone like-minded, someone who understood me. And I married a thief. What does that say about me?

He raked his hands through his hair and paced back and forth a couple of times, clearly exasperated. “So, let me get this straight,” he said when he stood still again. “You would rather tell your father you died than introduce him to me?”

Oh dear. When he put it that way, it sounded really horrible.

I opened and then closed my mouth, not knowing what to say. I really needed to quit talking. Sometimes honesty wasn’t the best policy.

“Um….”

I pressed my palms together, sweaty and a little nervous. I almost didn’t want to respond, knowing that whatever came out of my mouth, be it a truth or a lie, wasn’t going to fix the situation.

“Well?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

Letting out a sigh, I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my palms against my knees. Fuck it. “Yes,” I said, going with honesty.

The muscle at the side of his jaw ticked as he stood there staring at me, his blue eyes locked on mine while God only knew what flew through his thoughts.

“Get your things,” he said finally.

“What?” Is he dumping me?

“Your things, your bag, whatever shit girls grab before they walk out the door. Grab it and let’s go.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re taking me to meet your father.”

“Now?” My eyes went wide. “Noooo.”

He wrapped a big hand around my upper arm. “Yes. Let’s go.”

I set my jaw. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

Sam drove a flashy-looking Range Rover that was a dark metallic red with a really fancy black and grey leather interior. It smelled new.

“Is this car stolen?” I asked after about half an hour of keeping a lookout for cops.

Sam’s grip tightened on the wheel, and I heard the leather creak beneath his fingers.

“That would be kind of stupid, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. The only thieves I’d ever known had come from movies and TV. Take Jimmy-Steve from Shameless as an example—he drove around in stolen cars all the time.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I thought it was stupid.” I looked at my hands, my voice a little quieter than before. I hated it when someone made me feel bad for asking questions. I had an inquisitive nature and rarely let a curiosity pass me by. Asking questions was how I learned things about people. I’d always thought it was normal but had learned later in life that most people would just pretend to understand, because asking too many questions is considered rude. That made zero sense to me but explained a lot about why humans struggle to understand each other—everyone was just pretending to know.

Well, I wanted to be sure. So I asked.

Sam reached over, letting out his breath before he took one of my hands. “I wasn’t calling you stupid. I—” He stopped abruptly, seeming so close to an apology that he knew he shouldn’t deliver. Then he took his eyes from the road for a moment and changed tack. “For all intents and purposes, we run a legitimate business. We don’t bring anything we take into our own lives. That’s too risky.”

“So what, you just put it all in that storage facility to be sold off?”

He took a moment before he responded with a simple “Pretty much.”

“Does that mean yes? Or that you aren’t telling me because you don’t know if you can trust me?”

He just looked at me, telling me it was the second one.

Fine. Be that way.

Slipping my hand out from his, I folded my arms across my chest and looked out the window. I knew I hadn’t really done anything to earn the trust of the Cartwrights in the few days I’d known them all, but the fact that I knew enough to get them all sent to prison and hadn’t once used the hotel phone or taken advantage of an unguarded moment to run meant I understood my place—if I kept quiet and behaved, I’d be just fine. I wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardise my own safety. It kind of stung that he wasn’t forthcoming, I guess I figured that since I already knew so much, the rest of it was just semantics, but whatever.

“I can’t tell you about the business, peaches.” His voice was soft and felt nice in my ears. I closed my eyes as a surge of emotion shot up from my chest and pressed against the back of them. I didn’t understand what it meant, just that I couldn’t handle him shutting me out and then treating me with kindness. The two didn’t seem to line up in my mind.

“It’s fine,” I responded, keeping my gaze on the passing scenery. My voice came out a little thick.

“You’re upset with me?”

“I’m fine.” A tickle beneath my eye told me a tear was falling. I swiped at it quickly, hoping he didn’t see. I had no clue why I was crying.

“You don’t look fine.”

“You should be looking at the road, not me.”

Clicking on his indicator, he pulled off the main road and stopped the Range Rover.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, putting the car into Park. The engine idled.

“Do what?”

“Visit your father. It’s obviously got you stressed, and I was being an arsehole getting my nose all out of joint over the religion thing.”

“Yeah, well what do you think you’re going to do? Force him to like you? He’s not going to understand no matter what we do, or how long we leave it. But we’re going to have to do it eventually if you don’t want him to report me missing and get the cops involved, so we might as well get it over and done with now. We’re almost there.”

As much as I hated my father’s scrutiny, I knew it came from a good place. He cared about his children and wanted what he thought was best for them. He just did it in a really crappy way that involved laying the guilt on thick while using his strict interpretation of the Bible to convince us that God would send us to Hell if we didn’t obey our parents. It wasn’t until Holland went through a rebellious teen phase and dragged me along with her that I even started to question my father and the things he’d been teaching me. That was when there became two sides of me—my father’s Alesha, and Holland’s version of me. I was never sure which one I really was and often wondered if my true identity was still struggling to break through. Did I even have a true identity, or was I capable of only being someone else’s version? Perhaps there was no real me at all.

Sam had said he’d liked the girl he first met running across his front yard. That I’d had spunk. Would he be horribly disappointed when he saw the me my father knew? The girl who bowed her head and watched her toes more than she looked into eyes? Was that what I was more worried about than Sam actually meeting Dad?

“I’ll try to come up with something,” Sam said, then put the car in gear and merged back into the traffic. I didn’t like his chances. My father didn’t suffer fools gladly. He could sniff out a lie a mile off.

When we arrived at the funeral home about half an hour later, my nerves twisted my stomach.

“This is it?” Sam looked upward, taking in the imposing building. One would think a funeral home would more closely resemble the Addams family residence, but my uncle’s looked nothing of the sort. It was built specifically for the business in a blond brick with a dark tiled roof. The gardens were manicured with sweet-smelling flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes that lined a concrete walkway leading to the main door. If it didn’t have a massive sign out front saying ‘Eastern Funeral Services’, you’d peg the building as a community centre, or something a little more fun like an RSL club.

“This is it.” I took a deep breath and unclipped my seat belt, preparing to face the music.

“Wait,” Sam said, jumping out of the car and jogging around to my side. “What kind of husband doesn’t open his wife’s door?” He stood grinning as he held his hand out to help me.

“How very chivalrous of you.” I smiled, placing one hand against his chest. Lord, I love to touch his chest.

“Ready to go in?”

I looked towards the building and shook my head. “No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

Catching my face in his hands, Sam pressed a lingering kiss against my lips, causing my head to lighten and my toes to tingle—among other parts of my body. “After we do this, I promise I will never make you do something you don’t want to do again. This was really shitty of me.”

Yes it was, but it needs to be done.

I released a heavy breath. “Let’s just go in.”

“Alesha.” My aunt Miranda looked up from the reception desk she often manned as we entered. “You’re back.” She smiled, but there was an accompanying annoyance in her eyes. I’d left them without a make-up artist for several days. Replacing me at short notice wouldn’t have been easy, so she was understandably pissed. “And who might this charming young man be?” She had a real smile for Sam.

He held out his hand. “Samuel Cartwright, ma’am.” Wow, she gets the full formal introduction and everything.

As she took his hand, I noticed my aunt blush a little. Those Cartwright boys seem to have that kind of power over most women.

“And how do you know our Alesha, Sam?” she asked when she reluctantly took her hand back.

“I’m her—”

“Where’s Dad?” I jumped in before Sam could say anything more. There was no way I was breaking the news to her before I’d told my dad. It would be yet another thing he’d never forgive me for.

“Downstairs with Trevor. We had two new clients come in today. Tragic accident. You’ll have your work cut out for you if they want a viewing.”

“OK. Thank you.” I grabbed Sam by the hand and pulled him to the side door that opened straight onto a narrow staircase leading to the basement, where the bodies were stored and my brother and I performed our work.

I was thankful to Sam for not making me feel bad about cutting off his conversation with Miranda. There was no way I would have been able to explain without being overheard. Sound travelled easily in this facility. “You might see a body,” I warned as we alighted the stairs.

“Consider me well informed,” he said, following along behind me.

“Dad?” I called out when I heard familiar voices. Trevor was talking about turning a tap, and Dad was questioning the order in which he wanted things done. Typical. My brother had performed the embalming procedure on hundreds of bodies over the years. My father had performed precisely zero, yet he still felt he knew best.

“Leesh?” The nickname came from my brother’s mouth.

“Nice of you to join us,” Dad said, keeping his back towards me as they came into view. “You’ll find we’re likely too busy to talk since one of our workers decided to take a last-minute trip without giving any notice.”

“Dad had to do Mrs Hill’s make-up himself. She looked horrifying.” I met Trevor’s laughing eyes and he gave me a sympathetic smile. Despite his perfection in my father’s eyes, I didn’t hold anything against him and actually got along with my brother quite well. It had felt like we only had each other growing up, so there was no space for sibling rivalry.

“How bad was it?” I asked, trying to fight a smile as I imagined the job he would’ve done.

Trevor produced a wide-eyed manic smile that could have been mistaken for the Joker on a bad day. I put my fist against my mouth to stifle my laugh.

My father didn’t seem to find it funny. “You don’t need to be here, Alesha. Unless of course you’re here to do some work,” he added, fidgeting with the tubes attached to the pump.

“I actually came to introduce you to someone,” I started, which was when he decided to turn around and actually look at me. Then he did a double take when he saw Sam standing beside me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t entertaining to watch his eyes move up, up, until he finished noting the entirety of Sam’s size.

“Young man.” My father nodded politely at Sam, pulling his disposable gloves from his hands. Then he looked at me. “Why did you bring him down here? We have a body out. Have some respect.”

“He can’t see the body from where he’s standing, Dad. It’s hidden by the curtain.”

“Still.” Then he gestured for us to follow him to his office.

I gave Trevor a wave and he mouthed, “Are you OK?’. I nodded and motioned that I’d talk to him later, even though I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow through on that promise. I had no idea what kind of contact I’d be allowed to have with the people I cared about once this visit was over. Would I be able to call them? Visit? Could I see them on holidays and birthdays? Would every moment be supervised? My head throbbed from all the questions bursting inside it.

“What is all this about?” Dad asked, looking fairly put out once we were inside. He pulled his glasses from his face and started cleaning them with his handkerchief.

I decided to jump right in. “This is Sam, Dad. My husband.”

His cleaning motion stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Samuel Cartwright, sir. I’m married to your daughter.” Sam held out his hand, and my father didn’t even register it.

He’s in shock.

“But,” Dad blustered. “But… but how?”

I opened my mouth to tell him a fairy-tale version of how we met, but Sam jumped in first.

“My church group was spending the day taking underprivileged kids to the beach—kind of like a big brother program. One of the kids got scared of the surf and tried to run away. Alesha saw him, saw me calling after him, then caught him before he could get too far. We got talking, and sir, I fell for your daughter then and there. I was honoured enough that she agreed to have dinner with me. You won’t believe how honoured I felt when she agreed to be my wife too. We got talking about our dreams and then we thought, why wait? God had obviously brought us together for a reason, right? So we flew to the Cook Islands, got married in this quaint little church that opened out on the beach, and sealed our union under the eyes of the Lord.” Oh dear. “It was beautiful, sir. My only regret is that you weren’t there to see it.”

When Sam finished, my dad was dead silent. He finished cleaning his glasses, then slid them back on before he looked at me. “Is this guy for real?” He obviously didn’t believe a word. I didn’t blame him—that story was probably even more far-fetched than the truth.

“Um….” I glanced at Sam, who widened his eyes slightly, silently telling me that I should back him up. And I should back him up because he was my husband, and wives were supposed to honour their husbands, right? But then, children must also honour their parents. So who came first?

Sam’s brow twitched like he couldn’t believe I wasn’t immediately rushing to back up his story, but he didn’t understand. He wasn’t raised the way I was. The guilt over lying to my dad would consume me until it ate a hole through my insides. But then I had to share a bed with Sam, become a part of his family and live by their rules. They had their own moral code. It didn’t align with the way I was raised, but it worked for them. It would work for me too.

I was a Cartwright now. I had to remember that, had to act like it too.

I took a deep breath before I answered.

“The boy was running towards the road. I had to step in. Sam and I have been inseparable ever since.”

Sam’s expression softened. I’d chosen him.

I feel sick.

My father still didn’t sound convinced. “So you two just ran off to some island and found a priest to marry you? Just like that?” He clicked his fingers.

He really doesn’t believe us. “Yes,” I said. “Just like that. We didn’t want to wait. I’m sorry if this has upset you.”

“Upset me? Losing the chance to walk my only daughter down the aisle? Being unable to participate in the tradition of giving that daughter away to a man I believe worthy of her hand?” His voice rose with each word. “I’m not upset, Alesha. I’m furious. I do not condone this… this impulsive and wanton behaviour.” He lifted his hands and gestured that he wouldn’t discuss this anymore. “You will have this marriage annulled.”

Sam held up his hand. “With all due respect, sir, you’re out of line.”

“Some Christian boy you are. Sweeping a naïve girl off her feet, then whisking her away from her family. You didn’t even have the respect to ask me for my daughter’s hand.”

“Alesha is an adult who is capable of making her own decisions,” Sam argued, staying surprisingly calm.

“What are you, one of those Pentecostals? So free with your interpretations of His word, singing in your fancy stadiums while you all look like you’re on drugs,” Dad growled, his face turning red while angry spit foamed at the corners of his mouth.

“Dad!” I gasped, horrified at the way this had escalated. “How dare you speak to him that way. He’s done nothing to you.”

“He’s taking my daughter away,” he returned without missing a beat. “How could you marry a man you just met? How could you be so irresponsible? This isn’t how I raised you. He must have brainwashed you somehow. This isn’t you. You belong here, Alesha. With us.”

No I don’t. I never belonged.

There was a long pause where we just stared at each other. There was nothing I could say, no way I could explain any of this away to make him feel better. I couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t assure him that this wasn’t what I’d wanted, that I’d done it to protect my life, and his, and Trevor’s and everyone else in the family. The happy by-product was that Sam wasn’t a bad man. He treated me kindly when he could have been horrid, and he cared enough to try and make my father believe he was the kind of man he’d want me with. It was a bullshit lie, but the kindness was within that lie. The kindness was in the caring.

Sam’s hand caught mine, his voice gentle when he spoke. “I think we should go, Alesha.”

I blinked twice at the contact, shocked out of my turbulent mind, then gripped Sam’s hand a little harder, borrowing some of his calm strength. “He’s a good man, Dad. If you give him a chance, you’ll see that too.”

“The man is a thief. He stole my daughter from me and took her innocence. I see no good in him.”

“Dad.” My mouth fell open, further words failing me. It seemed like such a horrible thing for him to say, while at the same time he’d hit the nail on the head. Sam had done all of those things. But he was wrong about one thing: Sam was good. I knew that in my heart.

“Come on, peaches. It’s OK. I get it now.”

He slipped his arm around me as I turned away from my dad, from my brother, from my entire family.

“If you leave, Alesha, don’t ever come back. You won’t be welcome around any of us.”

I looked back over my shoulder, seeing my father one last time. “I love you, Dad.” They were my last words to him. Then we left.

I’m sorry.

Wait.

I thought about Sam’s earlier words. A Cartwright had to own their shit. So I wasn’t sorry for what I’d done, I was sorry that my father’s arrogance and parochial attitude would lose him a daughter.

I guess it didn’t matter how much access I’d be allowed to have with my loved ones since I wasn’t welcome anymore. The realisation felt heavy on my heart as I leaned a little closer into Sam’s side, the man who was currently the only family I had, the only one who hadn’t turned me away.