But those eyes remained unchanged. Piercing blue and rapier-sharp, they could cut with a single frigid glance- as Philip knew all too well. Gray strands marked his temples, but his ebony hair remained thick. He looked like an older, tired, paler version of the hearty man from a decade earlier. A man with whom Philip had shared little other than cold silence and tension after Philip’s mother’s death-a situation made all the more painful as he and Father had enjoyed a warmer relationship prior to Mother’s death. A man who had made a deal with Philip, one that had afforded him the opportunity to pursue his dreams, albeit only until “someday,” asking only one thing in return.

Father had not reacted well when he learned it was the one thing Philip could not give him.

His father walked slowly toward him, his eyes taking in every aspect of Philip’s appearance. He halted when only two feet separated them. A wealth of memories hit Philip like a blow, rushing images through his mind, ending, as thoughts of Father always did, with the reverberation of his quiet, condemning words: A man is only as good as his word, Philip. If you’d kept yours, your mother wouldn’t have-

“The ceremony is about to begin,” Father said, his expression unreadable.

“I know.”

“Unfortunately, your bride has not yet arrived.”

Thank God. “I see.”

“You told her.” The words were a statement, not a question.

“I did.”

“We’d agreed that you would not.”

“No. You requested that I not tell her. I never agreed that I wouldn’t.” Philip’s hands clenched at his sides. “I had to tell her. She had the right to know.”