Page 116 of The Unwanted Wife

My grandfather seems to be taken aback by the question. “We are partners, so Tor will attend the board meetings. But Davenports hold the majority stake, so I count on you, Quentin, and Nathan to exercise your veto power as you see fit.”

“Can I start with saying I won’t dine at the same table as a Whittington?”

Arthur purses his lips. “Tor’s our guest.”

“And I’m your grandson.” Knox juts out his chin.

“Let the boy be.” Tor bares his teeth in what should be a smile, but instead, makes him look like a predator scenting his prey.

I frown. For the first time, I realize it might not have been entirely wise to bring the Whittingtons onto the board of our company. Toren is not one to be underestimated. I sensed that when I met him, but I was too focused on finding a way to stave off the Madisons and get my revenge on Arthur. What better way to make the old man pay than by forcing him to work with his mortal enemies?

Although, Arthur may have beaten me at my own game. He seems to be making the most of having to work with the Whittingtons. The old man’s a survivor, all right. And more astute than I gave him credit for.

“You thinking what I am?” Quentin says in an aside to me.

“That there’s a reason he’s trying to present himself as all cordial with the Whittingtons?”

Quentin nods slowly. “Arthur is up to something. I’m just not seeing it yet.”

“Me neither.”

“Perhaps, it’s not to do with business, but something else?” My wife offers.

Quentin and I exchange glances, then he nods. “That’s possible.”

I kiss the top of my wife’s head. “That’s brilliant, baby, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Boy, did you call me boy?” Knox rises to his feet.

“You’re younger than me, both in age and in business experience, boy.” Toren’s smile widens.

Knox throws down his napkin, pushes back his chair, and begins to round the table, but Quentin jumps up and grabs his arm. “Wanna take a walk with me?”

Knox begins to shake off his arm, but Quentin holds firm.

“My son’s getting married; come with me to the wedding.”

Knox snorts, “Why would I do that?”

“Because"—Quentin seems to measure his words—“he didn’t invite me, and I’m crashing his wedding.”

Quentin

“I don’t want you at my wedding.” My son looks me up and down. He’s dressed in a tux and bowtie, and the fuzz on his chin forms dirt-colored patches. He’s twenty-three years old. Sure, he’s an adult, but he’s not yet able to grow a proper beard. Not to mention, the only job he’s found so far is that of a pizza delivery boy. Barely enough to support himself, let alone, a wife. And he decides to get married. I shake my head.

“This is a bad idea,” I growl.

Felix firms his lips. He sets his jaw, and his face takes on a mutinous expression I’m all too familiar with.

Jesus Christ, did I have to go and lead with a ‘no’? I might not have been a good parent to him… and this shows why. I’ve been able to strategize on military missions and lead my men with tact and diplomacy, but when it comes to my son, all finesse deserts me. I’ve never managed to handle our discussions with delicacy. I know, if I tell him no, he’ll want to do that very thing, and yet, any reading I’ve done on reverse psychology deserts me when I need it the most. You’d think facing down the enemy and escaping from my last mission would be the most difficult thing I’ve done. Well, think again. This parenting gig is the one exam I’ve never passed.

“And who are you to tell me that?” Felix snaps.

“I’m your father.” It’s out before I can stop myself. How trite I sound. How hackneyed. How banal. I may be his sperm donor, but really, have I done anything to merit the title, father?

Felix feels the same, for his eyes narrow. “Father,” he sneers. Cheeks flushed, he takes a step forward then stabs his finger into my chest. “You gave up the right to call yourself my father, considering you were barely around for me when I needed you.”

I wince. “I did what I thought was best for you. I had to find a way to parent, despite being on tours of duty.”

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