Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) by Marie Ferrarella Page B

Harry. He had never fully approved, had felt there was something dark within the man his daughter had chosen, something self-centered that didn’t make enough room in his life for Johanna, but he had said nothing. His daughter’s happiness was everything to him. But now it was different. Now he was free to tell her what he thought.
    “About time.”
    “What?” The shock of her father’s answer brought her around like nothing else could.
    “I never told you.”
    “What?”
    “That I didn’t like him.”
    “No,” she found that she could smile now, “you never did.”
    Inexplicably, she wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug her father. A door had opened somewhere, a door to her cell. She was free.
    There was time enough for details later. Now he needed to know only one thing. “When are you coming home?”
    She pressed her lips together, thinking. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.”
    “I’ll wait to hear your call. And Joey—“
    “Yes?”
    “I love you.” His voice was full, rich. “Remember not to settle. You deserve better than that.”
    “Yes.” She laughed softly, remembering that Paul had said those exact same words to her. “I do. Goodbye, Daddy.”
    Johanna clicked off the phone and stared at it a long time.

Chapter Twelve

    “It can’t be helped,” Harry repeated, his voice rising in agitation, though Johanna hadn’t asked for an explanation. “I have to go to Italy for a few weeks, maybe even a month. Something about the locations shot we decided on not working out because of expired work permits and problems with the crew. The pain-in-the-ass art director can’t seem to get it through his damn thick head that we’re already over budgeted on this.”
    Annoyed, Harry paced around his bedroom, throwing things haphazardly into his suitcase. Every so often, he snuck a glance at Johanna. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she wasn’t herself this morning. He had fully expected some sort of scene after last night. He had never hit her before and a part of him did regret it, even though he couldn’t bring the words out to tell her. Another part of him, the part he listened to, felt that she deserved it, deserved that and more.
    But she didn’t seem to expect an apology. Actually, he got the distinct impression that she didn’t care if he apologized. She looked composed, almost serene when he had walked into her room at ten. She was up and dressed while he still had on his robe and pajamas. He had been prepared for tears, for pleas, for hot words. There weren’t any. When he had told her of the sudden change in plans, she had met that without so much as a blink of an eye. Though he should feel relieved, it irked him.
    As if she had no objections to his departure and to the things they both knew would be occupying him while he was gone, she calmly followed him to his room when he motioned her there.
    She tried not to show how relieved she felt that he was leaving, even for a few weeks. “Who’ll take your place here?”
    “Nobody can, but Sara’s going to try and hold the fort together until I get back.” He straightened and leveled a look at her. “You can’t come with me.”
    She looked down at her hands to keep from looking at him. Why hadn’t she realized before how much she loathed him? How pitiful he had become. She had deluded herself for so long, deluded herself into thinking that this weakness of his, that his maniacal behavior would all somehow pass. But in reality this turmoil between them had lasted longer than the period of time she had held onto so tenaciously. The Harry before her was one she had known for almost eleven years. The Harry in her heart had lasted less than one third that time. The handwriting had been on the wall a long, long time, but she had been trying to put wallpaper over it without seeing.
    She saw now.
    “I wasn’t going to ask.”
    Harry stopped packing. His sandy brows pulled together as he studied her. What was she up to?