Page 15 of Sinful Beauty

“Never saw you as a corporate man.”

As I pull up my chair, I sense Cassandra’s gaze. No doubt she’s intrigued by the prodigal son. I fix my attention on my father.

“Thought it might be time for a change.”

“Well, you know, I had a change of heart around your age, too.”

“I presume you’re referring to mum?” I’ve heard the story plenty of times. Dad entered a conference room, and he was so smitten by her beauty he stumbled over his presentation. My grandfather accused him of day drinking afterwards. I arrived about five years after they met. While they had a whirlwind courtship, my grandparents insisted on a lengthy engagement, and while my dad claims my mother locked him down at first sight, I’ve always sensed neither of them was eager to become parents. Indeed, they didn’t have a second, and I always had nannies.

After taking our orders, my father says, “Have a glass of wine with us. These days I consider a glass to be a requirement.”

I ordered only water. While I wish to appear aloof, I aim to be quite aware of my surroundings this afternoon. It will be my first chance to get a good look at the key players and to observe how they react to me.

“These days being your golden years?”

“You’ll be there too, one day.” His lazy smile is unfamiliar, but it’s the way he gazes at Cassandra that puts me on alert. “So tell me, what’s new?”

“Other than I returned to Geneva and accepted a position at Lumina?”

“There’s more to life than work and residence. You’re living at the condo?”

I inherited my condominium from my grandfather. It’s furnished, but I wouldn’t call it lived in. I far prefer my London flat. “Yes.”

“And is there a special someone in your life?”

“Are you getting sentimental in your old age? If you’re hunting for grandkids, I can assure they are not on your horizon.”

He chuckles and his cheeks rise with his smile. “Trust me, son, I’m not pressing you. I just want to know you’re fulfilled.” He coughs slightly, covering the noise with a fist. When he relaxes again, he sets a warm gaze upon me. “Tell me about your life.”

This is not the father I grew up with. We’re sitting at the table with a woman I likely know but do not recall and he’s behaving like…I don’t know. My grandfather. I push up from the table.

“Excuse me. I should wash my hands.”

Outside of the rest area, I check my mobile. There’s a text from Nigel asking if I’m situated. I reply that I am.

To buy some time before returning to the table, I scan the BBC headlines. Record heat. Electric vehicle order increases. A boat carrying migrants overturned.

I glance up from my phone and watch my father. His head leans close to Cassandra’s. They’re talking like close friends. Laughing. Perhaps I’ve got a bit of an ego, because I can’t help but feel they might be talking about me. Or laughing about how alike father and son are.

I slip my mobile into a pocket and stride to the table. But then I halt. It takes a second to fully process what I’m seeing.

My father’s fingers are linked with Cassandra’s above the table.

His gaze lifts, and he sees me. Gaze fixed on me, he half rises from his chair, presses his lips to Cassandra’s cheek, and only then does he remove his hand from hers. He brushes his hand across her back with kindness and fondness.

I can’t quite bring myself to do anything but watch his approach.

“Son,” he says, clasping a hand to my arm, “I’m glad you’ve met Cassandra. She’s an important person in my life.”

There’s a table to my right of two men dressed in business attire, and one glances our way.

“Would you like to step outside to talk?” He presses on my arm, pushing me in the requested direction.

“To talk?”

“Do you have questions?”

“If I am understanding the situation, you’re cheating on Mum and you’re asking me if I have questions.” My words sound slow to me, and I’m sure I sound like the fool, but my brain lags.

---