I grab a pillow and chuck it at his head. He deftly swats it out of the air. “Who told you?”
“Not you!” I cry out. “Were you just going to keep it a secret?”
“Your father hasn’t talked to you in weeks and you didn’t notice. Did you miss him? Were you sad the greedy bastard hadn’t reached out?”
No and no. The last two weeks have been amazing. But I can’t tell him that. Not now.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you lied to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t lie.”
“You kept information from me. You interfered in my life as if my opinion didn’t matter.”
“Because your opinion would be to move him into the mansion when he got sick,” he snorts. “Or you’d want me to pay for the hospital bills he drank himself into.”
Shame slices through me so sharply I’m surprised I don’t fall to
