No, I want to pretend I'm not your father, he might have said, to correct her, but he doubted she would see much of a difference between the two. He picked his glass back up, feeling he needed something in his hand to prevent himself from gesticulating with it too much. "And what did you want?" he asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "You want to move in here, change your name? You want to tag along when I go drinking, gambling? Next time someone challenges me to a duel? Do you even know anything about me?" he continued. Clearly not; if she knew even one thing about him, she might have deduced that he would be a terrible father.

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