“Just lovely,” added the petite, silver-haired human of the group as she wrapped cool fingers around Jordana’s hands. “If the museum doesn’t take care of you properly, tell your director I may have to steal you away to curate our family’s private collection.”
Jordana accepted the praise with a polite smile to the elderly matriarch who’d raised a powerful Boston political clan the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the middle of the twentieth century.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Amory,” Jordana demurred. “I’m so pleased you’re all enjoying the exhibit.”
The old woman winked and leaned in close. “If any of my unwed sons were here tonight, I might attempt to convince you to join our family in a more permanent capacity. Not that they would complain. Have you met my youngest, Peyton? He’s quite the charmer.”
“I, um …” Jordana stammered, eager to make her excuses and move on, but then her father stepped in to do it for her.
“I’m afraid you’ll find my daughter is immune to matchmaking, Mrs. Amory,” Martin Gates replied smoothly, placing a light, sheltering arm around her shoulders. He offered a gracious smile to the now-giggling ladies before turning a warm, if less jovial, look on Jordana. “Take it from someone who knows.”
She winced inwardly at the private chastisement. So much for hoping she might delay having to explain about her abrupt breakup with Elliott.
“May a proud father steal his daughter away for a moment?” he asked the women, to a collective round of approval. As he guided Jordana away from the well-meaning society hens, he murmured quietly, “An interesting choice of dress tonight. You look …”
She waited for him to disapprove, to tell her it was too provocative, drawing too much attention. Or maybe her father would say no more than he had, merely give her the silent, pensive look that always made her worry she was letting him down by not doing what he expected of his only child.
He paused and affectionately smoothed his hand over her hair. “You look beautiful, Jordana. And what you’ve done here tonight is remarkable. I’m very impressed.”
His praise was heartfelt; she could see as much in his caring expression. That he approved meant more to her than all of the other attendees’ compliments combined.
Jordana reached up and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Father.”
“I want you to know that I’m pleased that you’ve found something that gives you so much obvious satisfaction—”
“But,” she prompted, noting the faint crease forming between his dark brows. He was trying to be supportive, but it was obvious he couldn’t turn off the part of him that seemed determined to direct the way she lived her life.
His frown deepened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Jordana, this is hardly the best time or place—”
“Say it,” she said without venom or dread. “It’s okay. I’ve been avoiding this conversation long enough. I’ve got a few minutes before I need to make my welcome speech. We might as well have this talk right here and now.”
Although he didn’t seem to agree, Martin Gates lowered his voice to a private tone. His features were pinched with genuine concern. “I’ve always been proud of your accomplishments, Jordana. You’ve given me so much reason to be proud that you’re my daughter. But when I took you in as my own, I made a promise—to myself, and to you. I made a promise to the parents you would never know. I vowed to do the best for you, to provide everything you could ever possibly need.”
“And you have.”
Unmated and without heirs of his own, it was common knowledge that Martin Gates, the Vancouver hospital’s most generous benefactor, had stepped in to take personal responsibility for Jordana after learning that a Breedmate had been orphaned there by a penniless, unwed mother who died giving birth to her.
“No.” He slowly shook his head and muttered a low curse. “I made a vow that I would see your future was secured. It’s all that matters to me, and I’m failing you in that, Jordana.”
Seeing his genuine distress, she reached up to touch the tense jaw of the Breed male who had always been her father, her only family. “Elliott Bentley-Squire was never my future. I know you hoped he would be. That wasn’t your failing, Father. It wasn’t even Elliott’s. It was mine.”
“It doesn’t matter who’s at fault now. We must fix it,” he argued quietly but firmly as he took her hand in his. Idly, his thumb moved over her Breedmate mark on the inside of her wrist. “It’s important that you find a suitable mate. Time is running out, Jordana. You must do this—for me, if you won’t do it for yourself.”
His grip tightened, desperation filtering into his stern gaze as he spoke. Jordana’s veins jangled at the urgency in his voice. She’d seen him argue this point before, but never with such intensity. “I’m a grown woman. You worry about me too much.”
“No,” he snapped, giving a taut shake of his head. “Jordana, we must talk this through. When this event is over tonight, I want you to come home with me to the Darkhaven. I’ll tell Elliott to stop by—”
“I can’t,” she said. “Father, I won’t. I don’t want Elliott.”
Her father’s mouth flattened, but his tone was tender with concern. “He’s a good man. Can’t you understand, I only want what’s best for you. Someone worthy. Someone decent.”