Page 9 of Forbidden Game

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I’m beginning to think that coming to dinner was a very bad idea.

The restaurant is empty. Other than the employees, there’s not a single other patron inside this establishment. It’s a Saturday night downtown at one of the most renowned seafood restaurants, The Bay. It shouldn’t be empty. Which can only mean that my grandfather has taken it upon himself to rent out the entire place.

This is so not going to be a good conversation.

I should have faked sick…pretended I caught food poisoning or something.

I reach up and absently spin my hoop piercings while tapping my foot against the hardwood floors.

I spent the entire ride over here trying to figure out how tonight was going to go down. My bike couldn’t go fast enough to combat the barrage of ideas pounding through my head, each one worse than the next. Something tells me this dinner has everything to do with that damn rumor.

Reaching forward, I grasp the delicate stem of the flute in front of me and down the remaining champagne inside. The crisp bubbles travel through my system and mingle with the butterflies in my gut, popping around them.

A gust of wind signals the arrival of my grandfather, and I promptly stand up as he walks through the door.

Philip Covington is a formidable man. The eighty-year-old looks not a day over sixty with a full head of silver hair and deeply corded muscles.

He shucks off his coat, and one of the hostesses snaps it up instantly before another one steps in to take his hat. My grandfather’s eyes scan the restaurant briefly before landing on me. He gives me a dip of his head before strolling over.

A thin, wiry man reveals himself from behind my grandfather’s figure. Frank, his right hand, is carrying a worrisome briefcase in his hand.

A wrinkly smile breaks out across my grandfather’s face, and the storm brewing within me calms a touch.

“Come here, boy.” He encases me in a giant hug, patting my back, and I grip him tightly in return. “It’s been far too long. You never come home.”

“I’ll be back in a few months for the holidays,” I remind him as he releases me. My grandfather gestures for me to take a seat while Frank pulls out a chair for him to sit on.

“Christmas is the only time of the year I know I’ll see you. You need to make an effort to come back more often. Your nana misses you.”

“And here I thought it was you missing me.” I give him a wry grin, and he scoffs.

“I love you, boy, but you’re a troublemaker. Having you home promises something uncouth on the horizon. Your nana might be forgiving, but I still remember that time your bum was on display in the Venus Fountain.”

“I was seventeen.”

“You were seventeen,” he deadpans.

One drunken night with the lads in Chelsea, and I’m still paying for it eight years later.

A waitress comes out to deposit an assortment of fresh oysters and caviar on the table before refilling my champagne glass and pouring one for my grandfather. Grandfather takes a small spoon of the deep black caviar before depositing it onto the back of his hand, letting it warm briefly, and then tipping it to his lips. He hums in approval before taking a sip of champagne.

I repeat the same motions, picking up one of the mother-of-pearl spoons. The slight saltiness of the caviar pearls melts onto my tongue with a mild undercurrent of richness.

We make small talk, exchanging stories about what we’ve been up to lately while polishing off the appetizers. All the while, the true purpose of our dinner looms in the background like an ex-girlfriend at a bar.

It’s not until the waitress removes our empty plates that Frank clears his throat and my grandfather sighs. His expression turns weary for a minute before steeling. He turns from jovial grandfather into the hardball founder of the Covington Hotel conglomerate in mere seconds.

“We have to talk about your future, Parker.”

His words are like a vice to my lungs, squeezing them tight.

Fuck.

This is the exact conversation I didn’t want to have.

Grandfather laces his hands and places them on the table in front of himself. “I’m sure you saw some of the tabloid stories today.”

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