Page 101 of Boiling Point
He didn’t flinch, but his jaw ticked. “This woman you’ve brought.”
“Gabrielle? What of her?”
“Is it serious, or just a passing dalliance?”
“I wouldn’t have brought her if it weren’t serious.”
He fingered the handle of his teacup but didn’t lift it. “She’s American.”
“You’ve noticed.”
“So does that mean you’ve cast off for good now? No chance of ever returning home?”
I let out a breath—not quite a sigh. “I cast off a long time ago. Long before Gabrielle. You know that.”
He didn’t argue. Just watched me with those razor-edged eyes, still calculating the damage.
“Why the sudden concern?” I asked, quieter this time. “It’s not like I have a place here—not truly. James is the heir and your company man through and through. He was born and built for it. And I’m more than happy in academia. He’s where he belongs. I’m where I belong. End of story.”
“Yes, I gave up on getting you interested in business years ago. But why not come home? You’ve made your point. I could get you a post at Cambridge.”
“Then clearly Ihaven’tmade my point. I don’t need you to get me anything. I’m perfectly capable of building a career on my own.”
“By sleeping with one of your students?”
I didn’t blink. “That’s beneath you.”
“Other way around, I should think.”
I stood. “I’m not here to ask permission, Father. Gabrielle is my choice. And if you’re expecting an apology for how or where we met, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Oh, do sit down, Callum,” he said, biting and dry.
I paused, the tension between us stretched taut.
He coughed—a hack that rattled like a loose shutter in the wind.
I sat hesitantly, studying his face. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t fuss. It’s the spring air.” He waved a hand, dismissive. “Gets me every year.”
I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Just pinched the bridge of his nose and drummed his bony fingers on the desk.
“What’s this really about, Father?”
He looked up, eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “Your intentions for the girl. What are they?”
The question landed like a blade. I held his gaze, unwilling to let him see how deep it cut.
“Will you marry her?”
I let the silence draw out. “If she’ll have me,” I said at last, my voice steady. “Then yes.”
He picked up his cup, studied the contents, and set it down again. The soft clink of porcelain rang louder than his voice when it finally came. “In that case, I insist on a prenuptial agreement.” He slid a business card across the desk. “That’s my solicitor. He can sort everything for you.”
I tapped the card once, then eased it back toward him. “What exactly do you think she’s after?” I asked, voice sharp as cut glass. “My vast fortune as a physics professor?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
