Iris
“That’s two daughters now,” my father fumes as he paces the length of the sitting room. “First Selina, now Iris. He has scorned both of my daughters, and—”
“Francis,” my mother chides gently from her seat beside me on the sofa, “you’re not helping, darling. And Selina is no saint.”
“Perhaps,” my father huffs, stopping his pacing to look at us. “But she is still my little girl, despite… everything. So is Iris. And this… boy has hurt both of them.”
I understand my father’s anger. I really do. Selina might have caused a lot of trouble, but she’s still the daughter they raised, and in her own twisted sort of way, she did love Arthur, only to have him publicly denounce her. Given everything that’s happened, to anyone on the outside, Arthur might look like a heartless bastar
