Julian Mackenzie's POV
"Do you have something to say to me?" I snapped at my father. Ever since we left the house, he hadn't stopped staring at me with those bloodhound eyes, sniffing out an open wound.
"Nothing, son," he replied, raising a hand with that irritating calm that usually characterizes him. "I already said I wouldn't interfere in your life. I was just noticing how worried you are about Zara."
Worried. What a mild word for what it really was: a nervous breakdown.
"Dad, I feel guilty," the words came out more raw than I expected. "I was the one who almost killed her. For bringing her flowers."
He stifled a laugh, and the worst part was that I understood why. It was pathetic. I knew it.
Pathetic that the woman I was going to marry in less than a week had a lethal aller
