Page 70 of My Destiny
“No, Sydney. I moved to Melbourne for a few months, but it ended up not being for me.”
“What about your family, are they still in Sydney?”
“Umm… no.”
“Oh.” Placing his empty glass on the coffee table, he crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle on his knee. The curious look on his face as he observes me is unnerving.
“What do they do for a living, your parents, I mean?”
“I don’t see the relevance.” Maybe it’s my paranoia, but I feel like I’m being grilled. Or possibly it’s because I’m worried my answers won’t be enough for him. Will he think I’m not good enough for his nephew?
“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning forward. “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping the line. I can see how much you mean to Logan, and I was just hoping to get to know you better. That boy is like a son to me.”
“Can I get you another drink?” I ask, trying to steer him away from this conversation.
“Please” Standing, I collect his glass.
“Where in Sydney did you grow up?”
“Surry Hills.”
“Oh, not that far from here.”
“No.”
“And your family, were they originally from that area?”
Again with the questions about my family. There’s no denying we’re from two different worlds, but just because my mother didn’t have a lot of money doesn’t make her—or me, for that matter—a bad person.
“No, my mother grew up in Strathfield.”
“And your father?”
I hand him his drink before taking a seat. “I have no idea where my father grew up.” His eyes slightly widen at my answer, and I can’t help but feel like I’m being judged. It’s not the first time in my life I’ve felt this way. Even when I was young, kids at school often asked why I didn’t have a father. I hated the way it made me feel back then, and nothing’s changed. “I was raised by my mother, but everything she did more than made up for only having one parent. She worked hard her entire life and did the best she could with what little we had.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His shoulders slump as his gaze moves down to the polished floor, and my temper rises a little. I shouldn’t have to justify my upbringing to anyone. He turns his head to make eye contact with me again.
“I grew up in humble conditions,” I say, straightening my back. “But if you think I’m here to get my hands on your nephew’s fortunes, then you’re mistaken. I’m not—and never will be—interested in his money.”
“Please, you have me all wrong.” He holds his hand up in front of him as he speaks. “I just wanted to clarify a few things before saying something that’s completely off the mark. How old are you, Brooke?”
“Twenty-five, turning twenty-six in a few weeks. Why?”
He pauses for a moment. “What’s your last name?”
“Ryan.”
“I knew it,” he whispers under his breath. “Is your mother’s name Maree?”
“Yes,” I say, with surprise in my voice. “How do you know that?”
“Your mother never mentioned me?”
“Why would she? Did you know her?”
He stands and digs into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet before closing the distance between us. “You’re probably going to think this is crazy, but maybe showing you this will help explain.” An uneasiness settles over me as he opens his wallet and pulls out a tattered photograph. The moment he holds it out in front of me, I clamber backwards on the sofa.
“Why do you have a picture of her in your wallet?”
