Page 69 of Sinful Beauty

“It’s none of your concern.” I push forward, squinting to see a street sign so I can figure out where the hell I am and make my way back home. A brisk wind cuts the suit fabric and bites my skin.

There’s a dial tone. I glance at the screen and see it’s disconnected. My mother hung up on me. Bloody brilliant. What a day.

In the ten minutes it takes for me to find my way to my flat, fury rises. Disbelief my traitorous father would tell my mother mingles with the emotions I lack words for. Feelings I’ve never felt before. A sense of helplessness. A knowledge I didn’t handle myself well. Shame because I should have done better. A vision of Lucia’s tear soaked face blinds me. She has to know I’ll support her financially. I needed to leave to get my emotions in check. What did she expect of me? Blindsiding me. Fuck.

More than that, though, what the hell was my father thinking?

As if I mentally summoned him, he’s on the street in front of my flat when I approach.

I storm past him. He follows me.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Your mother called. I was nearby.”

I stab at the code.

“What’s wrong?”

I spin on him, suppressing the urge to throttle his neck. “You told mother? We had lunch less than an hour ago. What did you do? Immediately call her?”

“No.” He speaks slowly, like I’m a wild beast he needs to soothe. He doesn’t have a fucking clue. I could kill him with my bare hands. “She called me to find out how our lunch went.”

“She keeps tabs on me, eh?” I sound like a low class Brit, and I do not fucking care.

“Your mother and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

The elevator dings and I step in, hands balled into fists. My father wisely steps in cautiously. “What did she say to you?”

I let out a loud breath, replaying the conversation in my head. What did she say? More of nothing. More of exactly what I expected her to say. My head hits the back of the elevator. All this emotion isn’t over the call from my meddling mother, and I bloody well know it.

The ride up to my flat passes in silence.

The doors open and I step out. My father holds the door, hesitating before stepping into my place. “May I come in?”

“You’re here. Come the fuck in.” It’s an insolent response. I’m being an ass. A spoiled fucking brat. I’m just…I did not expect a pregnancy. And Jesus, Lucia crying sucked all. I don’t want to be a father. In my line of work, it’s not a prudent choice. I don’t even like babies.

My father sinks onto a sofa, leaning over his legs, watching me with concern etched around his wrinkled eyes. Growing up, he was hardly ever around. I suppose I should be thankful he’s here now, even if my preference might be otherwise.

“I need a drink. You want anything?”

He shrugs. “Always.”

That’s an accurate statement. I’ve never known dear old Dad to decline a drink.

At the bar, I select the first bourbon I see and pour it into two highball glasses, splashing a little and not giving a damn.

After I deliver a glass to my father, I throw my glass back, drinking the entirety and closing my eyes to the burn down my throat. I sink into an armchair. As the minutes pass, the liquor loosens my muscles almost imperceptibly as my mind goes numb.

When I open my eyes, Dad sits across from me, patiently swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“Lucia’s pregnant.” Saying those words aloud stirs something inside me. I’m not sure what.

“Oh.” He nods sagely and a smile spreads. “Salut.” He toasts to the air and takes what is most likely his first sip of whatever the fuck I poured.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he’s so much like my grandfather now, there’s no anger. He’s simply a doting old fool.

He sits back, apparently relaxed now that he knows the issue. He throws an arm across the back of the sofa, and crosses an ankle over his knee. “You are my proudest accomplishment.” He waggles an index finger over the rim of the glass he’s holding. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s the absolute truth. This might be a confusing time, but trust me, you won’t regret this child.” He exhales and places the dangling foot back on the ground, leaning forward so he can set the glass on the coffee table. He pushes up his spectacles and places his palms together. “Now, I can understand how having a child with a woman you aren’t in love with might be daunting, but never doubt the love you will feel for that child.”

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