“Your father was into child labor?” my father asks, a hint of incredulity in his voice.
Oh, fuck. Not Ben’s dad. No fucking way they’re tearing into him about his family.
“Ach, no.” At last, Ben’s startled into quiet. He leans back in his chair, trying to compose himself before speaking. “Far from it. Everyone in the family helped. It was just the way it was back then. When I left school after his accident, it was more than I could manage as a teen, but God if I didn’t try.”
Dead silence. Someone coughs slightly. Great Aunt May purses her lips.
At the end of the table, my mother finally speaks archly, laser focused on Ben like the rest of us are invisible and of no consequence. “And how exactly do you see this so-called relationship working out with your music and Charles’s duties to his young daughter?”
Fuck, cutting right to the bone.
“Mum! That’s hardly fair—” My face blazes with sudden heat as I ball up my fists.
“I’ll decide what’s fair and what isn’t.” My mother fixes me with her legendary stare.
I bite down on my words for at least thirty seconds, till someone attempts to resuscitate the conversation.
Ben puts a hand on my wrist between us, a gentle grounding before I totally lose it in front of everyone in what’s supposed to be a celebration for Michael and Jenna.
“Howdoyou envision this relationship with Charlie?” my father asks Ben.
“We’ve just started dating not that long ago.” Ben meets his gaze. “We’ll work that out together.”
Mum looks at me. “Ben should be fully aware of your situation and obligations given your formerly reckless lifestyle, Charles. I trust you told him about Carys?”
“Of course I did! What did you take me for?”
“Charlie sounds like a terrific dad,” Ben offers.
“And how would you know?” my mother counters instantly. “Have you seen him with Carys?”
“Well, no, but I see how hard he works for her and Emily, how he’s in touch with them daily.”
“It’s okay, Ben.” I give him a desperate look. “You don’t need to defend me.”
“Quite right,” says my father coolly. “Our son doesn’t need defending from his own parents.”
“I’m championing Charlie, not defending him.” Ben looks unflappable. I envy him his composure.
My mother meets Ben’s gaze over steepled fingers. “Charlie has no defense for his past behavior and the mess he’s made of his life.”
“Please,” I beg. “Stop talking about me like I’m a write-off. Or like I’m not even sitting here in front of you.”
Unwanted tears sting my eyes, and like I did last month, I flee the table for the kitchen, where I startle the caterers as I burst through the door. Ben’s fast on my heels.
The last I heard was Michael chiding our parents, and next thing I know I’m shaking in the kitchen, eyes blurry with tears.
Ben catches up with me, tries to gather me into his arms, but I back up abruptly into a granite counter and clatter against an empty metal caterer’s tray with a sharp clang. The kitchen is steamy and hot, even with the window open to the now darkness outside. The caterers do their best to ignore us and go back to preparing the pudding course, a series of cakes and trifles.
“Don’t,” I snap.
He blinks, peering at me. “Charlie. I know you’re upset. What they said wasn’t right.”
I shake with anger. Out of sorts, I’m hot and dizzy, caught on the knife edge of a panic attack.
Ben looks at the wretched state I’m in. He gives me a tight-lipped look, more grimace than smile. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“’Kay.”
