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I’d never been in love. Lust, yes. Crushes, absolutely. But love? Where I’d cut out my own heart for the other person? Did such a person exist?
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I said quietly. “Theresa sounds amazing.”
Dad snapped out of whatever reverie he was in and drained his wine.
Standing, he said, “Theresa and Ciaran land a week from tomorrow. That same night, we are hosting a welcome gala. Your presence is required. On Sunday, Theresa and I depart for our honeymoon. We’ll be gone three weeks, give or take a day or two.”
“Wait a minute.” Alarm bells rang in my head. “Who’s watching the brat?” I stood to face him. My hip hit the table and the glassware rattled. The dainty fabric of the tablecloth snagged under my callused fingertips.
“Ciaran’s an independent kid with a good head on his shoulders,” Dad said. “He’ll stay in the guesthouse with you until we get back. Show him where everything is and don’t let him drown in the ocean, and that should be good enough. Theresa mentioned Ciaran’s taking the rest of his AP exams next week and will finish the rest of the school year virtually. Plus, he’s a writer, or an aspiring writer. He’ll probably be in his room for most of the day. A few select staff for the main house will remain behind to check in on everything and Franky said she’d ensure he was fed. You don’t need to worry about his care and feeding. Do you think you can refrain from killing the kid while we’re away?”
That might be asking for too much.
I did not want to babysit this child, this seventeen-year-old punk. I did not want him invading my private domain. I did not want him around when my friends came over. I didn’t want to look at his handsome face.
“Yes,” I lied, not that I thought Dad believed me. “I can refrain from killing the kid, but if he does something stupid, I will knock some goddamn sense into his head.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He came around the table and put a hand on my shoulder. There was a sparkle in his eye. “I need to call Theresa to finalize plans. Have a good night, son.”
I watched him exit the informal dining room, his stride eager. Zara and others entered to clear away the dishes and straighten the room.
Night had fallen and when I stepped out on to the terrace, the orange sun was right at the edge of the ocean. Silhouettes of palm trees cut through a gradient sky of orange and yellows. Birds squawked and if I listened closely, I’d hear voices on the public beach below. Living on the coast meant twenty-four-hour noises.
Soon another person would be adding to those noises.
Ciaran.
I’d just have to avoid him.
7
MATTHIAS
The night before my dad’s new wife and her son were due to arrive, I took Zoey out for dinner at Nobu’s.
Dressed to the nines in a gorgeous red cocktail dress, Zoey was tall and leggy, with ample assets and pouty lips to draw the eye. Her blond hair glimmered, and I knew she’d look amazing in the photos come tomorrow’s celebrity gossip sites.
It wasn’t easy to eat our monkfish pâté with caviar and carry on a conversation while pretending to ignore the constant flashes of light that came from the restaurant’s ocean side. We couldn’t even enjoy the sunset with the two paparazzi standing there.
For as long as I lived, I’d never get used to flash photography, but at least I looked presentable in my Tom Ford draped Mikado Cooper suit.
“Thanks for being flexible on our date night, Zoey,” I said from across the table. We normally went out on Saturday nights, but tomorrow night was my dad’s big celebration.
Zoey was a theater major at UCLA and was, by all appearances, a good actress. But film studios and major directors didn’t look twice at a pretty blond when pretty blonds were as plentiful as palm trees in Los Angeles.
But draped on the arm of a billionaire’s son, Zoey was able to get her face and name mentioned in the right circles. A few weeks ago she landed a speaking role on a major commercial, so things were looking up for her.
“I hope I’m not so much an ogre that I’d begrudge you for wanting to attend your father’s gala celebrating his recent marriage,” Zoey said thoughtfully.
If she was disappointed I hadn’t invited her to the gala, it didn’t show on her expression or her voice.
Not that we were dating dating.
This was business.
“No one in their right mind would think you’re an ogre,” I said. While Coach Anderson and I butted heads loudly and often, Zoey was, thankfully, not of the same caliber.
After asking for the check, I suggested to Zoey several options for the rest of the evening. A small indie film fest premiere or the usual get-together at The Beverly Hills Hotel? Filipe, while he was being flippant last week, knew me so well.
