Page 7 of Pleasure Island

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Mila

When I was younger, we started up a tradition where I had dinner with my father once a month.

Before Mom died, she’d asked that we please continue it. The relationship between my dad and me was…odd.

I loved him, and I knew he loved me.

But he wished I’d been more like him, and I wished he’d get over that already.

Because of our difference of opinion, not to mention mannerisms, personality, and just about everything else, a dinner with him wasn’t really what I’d called relaxing or calm.

Still, out of respect for my mother, I continued in the practice, and I was ready in front of my condo when my father’s driver picked me up at seven. As I slid into the car, I glanced at Eduardo. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’ll be meeting us there. A meeting ran a little long.” He gave me a polite smile before closing the door.

Typical.

I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes.

Pulling out my phone, I spent the drive clearing my emails and penning a quick one to my maternal grandmother, Millie. I was much closer to her than I was to my father. If I had a standing dinner date withheronce a month, I’d look forward to it instead of dreading it.

“Stop it,” I told myself, feeling bad when I knew my dad at least made an effort.

It was more than some kids could say.

We got to the restaurant quicker than usual, and I slid out before the driver could come around to open the door. Still, Eduardo came around to meet me, a pleasant smile on his face. “Your father asked that I walk you inside, Miss Mila.”

I cocked a brow at him. “That’s new.”

He spread his hands wide. “I do what I’m told, Miss Mila. You know that.”

I also knew that he picked up on a lot of things but decided not to push him. At least I had something to talk to my father about tonight.

And that was a pathetic way to look at it.

Still, I knew it would come up for discussion, so I accepted Eduardo’s quiet presence at my side as he escorted me to the door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” he said.

“I’m taking a cab,” I told him.

He frowned in consternation.

“Sorry.” Giving him a waggle of my fingers, I added, “I already have other plans after this.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I really had no intention of going straight home. I’d be too tense to do anything but pace away the time inside those four walls, and that wasn’t conducive toward sleep.

* * *

Dad keptme waiting for almost thirty minutes.

He did send a text about five minutes after I arrived and told me a meeting had run over, but he’d be there shortly.

I told myself I’d give him a half hour.

Two minutes before his time was up, Christopher Golding arrived.

Dad didn’t pause at the hostess stand, just strode right in, his eyes searching until he found me. A broad smile creased his face and my worry increased by about fifty percent.

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