Page 96 of His Black Onyx

Epilogue 1

Malia

"What's his name?"

Oh my God, I can't believe I never asked. We've talked about him so much, but his name didn't come up once. Nate never mentioned it, and for whatever reason, it never occurred to me to ask.

Now we're about to meet him, and I still have no idea.

We have been driving for hours, and the closer we get to New York City, the faster my anxious heart beats. I've been trying to calm myself by trying to play the importance of this trip down. It's just a weekend getaway, a business trip for Nate, really, and a little leisure on the side. Leisure and family.

Killing two birds with one stone, as Nate put it once I managed to convince him to go through with this.

That's the thing: I was the one pushing for this meeting, but now I'm also the one who seems to fear it more than him. It feels like a giant step, something so significant. And I guess, it kind of is. Meeting the family of your new partner can be nerve-racking for anyone, but that usually includes the parents. And we're not meeting his parents, not yet, that is.

We're about to meet his brother. His half-brother, who I have heard so much about, but who up to this point remained nameless.

Nate steers the car off of the freeway and huffs before he replies.

"Not sure what name he goes by now," he says eventually.

I cast him a quizzical look from the side. "What do you mean? He must have a name?"

"He has two," Nate says, nodding. "Michael Raad, one was given by his father, one by his mother."

He pauses to throw me a short look from the side. "She was from Egypt and very keen on emphasizing his roots as much as she could, but my father—despite his infatuation with her—insisted on an all American first name. Even years after her death, he still complained about the fact that she never addressed their son with his first name, but only with his middle name."

"And your brother? He uses both?"

Nate shrugs. "When we grew up, he did. It greatly depended on his mood—and his attitude toward my father. It may come as a surprise to you, but they didn't have the greatest relationship either."

"I thought he was the golden son?" I ask mockingly. "The one and true heir to an empire and all that."

"Sure," Nate says, nodding. "But being the chosen one comes with its own kind of pressure. And if my brother were the kind of man my father wanted him to be, he would never have gotten into that mess with the mafia back then."

I nod in understanding. We're almost there, already driving through the urban canyons of New York. I never understood how wealthy Nate's family really is, up until we planned this trip and he simply told me that we're staying at one of their houses in Manhattan.

"One of your houses?" I asked in shock. "In Manhattan? No one can own a house in Manhattan!"

He laughed at me and gave me a kiss on the forehead, a gesture that could have easily come across as condescending. But it was laced with deep running affection and a closeness that still makes my heart flutter.

The palpitations I'm experiencing when Nate slows down the car are of a different nature.

He stops in front of a nice looking townhouse, parking the car right in the middle of the driveway. Just as I'm about to ask him whether it's okay for us to park here, a young man in a black uniform comes running toward the car. I mistake him for some kind of security guy at first, expecting him to wave us off.

But he does the exact opposite.

"Mr. Brower," he greets Nate as he opens the door on the passenger side, before he smiles at me. "Ma'am."

I throw Nate a puzzled look before following the young man's gesture to step outside.

"Ma'am? Mr. Brower?" I whisper as Nate leads me up the house's entrance, leaving the car to the concierge guy as if it was the most natural thing to do. "Do you know him?"

An amused chuckle escapes Nate when he shakes his head. "No, of course I don't. But he knows that my brother is expecting us. He has to act as if he knows me."

I swallow dryly, fixing my dress like a nervous school girl when we make our way up the stairs that lead to the heavy main entrance. The door opens before we reach the uppermost step, and we're greeted by a friendly looking middle-aged woman in a black dress.

"Oh my God, Nathaniel!" she exclaims, throwing her hand up to her mouth. "It's really you!"

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