Page 46 of Full Circle

“Sugar bee,” he replied softly, “you have to. We need to focus on your schooling and your future.”

“No!” she sobbed, throwing herself back in his arms. “What if I leave and don’t get to say good-bye to you?!”

The sound of her sobs drew tears from my own eyes. It was sheer agony to witness someone I loved in so much pain, let alone a pain I couldn’t stop. There was no happy ending to this scenario, only a hope that she would come out okay on the other side. Given how early Celeste’s mother left her, it made perfect sense to me why she would be afraid to leave her dad for even a bathroom break.

“I’ll fly us up here every weekend,” I found myself offering. It was an insane thing to promise because my father used his jet all the time and it was pure luck that it had been available earlier today. Flying commercial wasn’t nearly as fast or comfortable, but if I had to buy tickets from Savannah Express every weekend, I certainly would without batting an eye. “And we can be here for any surgeries or scheduled procedures. That way you don’t miss any of the important stuff.”

Celeste sniffled. “Really? You promise?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her. “For my whole life.”

Her face crinkled into a watery smile in return before rounding on her father and pointing a finger in his face. “I want to be notified of everything!” she warned him. “I’ll call Willow five times a day for updates if you try to get on the phone and tell me everything’s fine. You can’t brush this off, Daddy. I won’t let you.”

Doug chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you will. Might as well buckle down and get you a cell phone, too, while we’re at it. Suzanne, think you can handle that for me? That way I can call y’all at the drop of a hat.”

Nana nodded. “As long as I don’t have to finagle with the damn thing,” she muttered.

“I’ll go make the arrangements for us to fly home,” I offered.

Stepping out into the hall, I let out a shaky exhale. Today was fast becoming the world’s curviest emotional rollercoaster and I was ready to get off the damn thing. Going back to River’s Run without Desiree would definitely help. Nana would never keep me and Celeste apart, that much I knew. For all the hassle she gave me in the beginning, I was pretty sure Nana was one of my biggest supporters.

Phillip answered on the first ring. “Your father is back in town,” he said, “and he wants to have dinner with you and your girlfriend tonight.”

Fuck.

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea, Phillip,” I groaned. “We found out her dad has an incurable brain tumor. Kinda bad timing. Why don’t you add it to his calendar a year from now and see if he remembers?”

“He means it, Wesley,” Phillip countered, lowering his voice. “He’s already made a call to Montmeri today to see if they have a room available.”

“Damn it!” I kicked the wall next to me in frustration, creating a small dent in the drywall. “Fine. Have the car pick us up in an hour.”

“You got it, boss.” The phone clicked and I kicked again. The hole was definitely noticeable now, but they could add it to the fucking bill. Now if I could only figure out a way to explain this to Celeste without her freaking out over a meal with my old man.

And that’s exactly what she did. She frantically ran to the bathroom to try and smooth down her hair, lamenting over the fact that she hadn’t borrowed any makeup from Maggie or brought a nice dress. I offered to buy her a dress on the way there and she almost bit my head off.

“I’m not asking you to buy me stuff, Wesley! I want your dad to like me!”

I didn’t bother telling her no dress in the world had that kind of magic. If my dad could barely tolerate me, there was no way he would ever like my choice in partner.

Celeste gave her father a tearful goodbye, swearing up and down to return Friday night, before I gave him a firm hug. He felt so fragile in my arms, which was the polar opposite of my impression of him, that I had a sudden urge to stay. If something were to happen with Mr. Hendricks before Celeste had a chance to make it back here, I could never forgive myself. Nana followed us a minute later, asking if it would be too much trouble for the driver to take her to the airport to wait. Although she didn’t say it, I strongly suspected she was just as eager to get away from Desiree as I was.

The ride to the restaurant was tense with only the periodic snap of my neck to break the silence as I tried to force myself to relax. I was on high alert, too suspicious of my father’s unusual dinner invitation to focus on Celeste in the seat beside me. She hadn’t said a word, not that I blamed her, merely looking out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. I knew I should be saying something to comfort her, but it was hard to give something I couldn’t feel at the moment.

As always, Benedict Madden the Third chose one of the swankiest restaurants in downtown Atlanta, Magnifique. The driver dropped us off at the door to a white gloved doorman and I thought Celeste was going to have a stroke from how loudly she sputtered. Guests were exiting the place in crisp suits and sparkly cocktail dresses, and I knew her well enough to know she deeply regretted blowing off my offer to stop and buy her a dress.

I, however, could not care less. It was so second nature to me to arrive at these types of places in ripped jeans and crumpled shirts just to piss off my dad that I didn’t hesitate to grab her hand and drag her inside. Another doorman scampered forward to hold open the door, but I brushed him aside to open it for Celeste.

My poor girl looked like she had been through the ringer and then some. Her face was ghostly white, with dark circles under her eyes. Sleep would probably avoid her for a good long while now that she had a cancerous tumor to worry over at night. Her clothes were clean, but very clearly from the bargain bin at Madden Markets, something that might make a normal businessman proud but would only make my father snort in derision. If you didn’t have money, you weren’t worth his time, and nothing was going to change his mind.

Yet another attendant stepped forward to politely inform me of Magnifique’s strict dress code. “I am so sorry, sir,” the man said, his French accent heavy. “You and your guest are not permitted here.”

His condescension made me want to strangle him. However, I would never embarrass Celeste in that manner, so I settled on smirking at the poor fool. He was about to be toast.

“I am the son of Benedict Madden,” I replied in flawless French, “He will not take kindly to you insulting me, so unless you prefer to be unemployed after tonight, you’ll take us to his table.”

The man visibly shuddered. He waved over another host, whispering something in his ear that caused the host to beam at us and grandly sweep us forward.

“You speak French, too?” Celeste whispered. She was clutching my arm, out of support or nerves, I wasn’t sure.

---