“Oh, yes,” Mom says, eyes narrowing. “That was quite a surprise.”
“Mistakes were made,” Dad shrugs, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“I could bring up the fact that we have children who would enjoy growing up with their father alive andmostlyintact,” she retorts. “But we’ll save that conversation for later.” She turns her attention back to Afton with a smile. “Have you ever been to this MacTavish restaurant? It’s one of my favorites here.”
Afton looks around the rooftop with a smile, “It’s my first time, and it’s magical. I love how you can see the ocean from here, the little lights of the boats as they pass by.”
The Rooftop is not a particularly creative name, but the restaurant is situated on one of the tallest buildings in downtown Edinburgh and we bought it specifically for that reason. The perimeter is crisscrossed with strings of Edison bulbs and surrounded by potted trees and huge, flowering plants. There’s a retractable roof for the never-ending Scottish possibility of rain.
My wife is beautiful tonight in a dark green dress with a low back, and all that bare skin is making it difficult to concentrate, her thick thighs are demurely crossed and if we weren’t dining with my parents, my fingers would already be slipping between them.
Sliding my arm across the back of her chair, I lean in to murmur, “Given your love of lobster, they have a crab-stuffed version here that you’d enjoy.”
Her lips turn down for a moment. “I was looking at the salads…”
Putting my lips against her ear, I whisper, “Your father isn’t here. He no longer has any control over your decisions. Order the lobster, wife.” My tongue darts out to taste the little hollow under her earlobe and I groan internally. If we were alone, I’dalready have her on the table with her legs spread and she’d be my dinner tonight. I catch my mother watching us with a slight smile and I pull back.
“We spent a summer in Barbados when Mason was twelve when we were setting up a satellite shipping division there,” Mom volunteers. “He learned to free-dive deep enough to catch us lobsters every day. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten better than that summer.” She smiles, a bit misty with the memory. “You know what? I’m having the lobster, too.”
“Why does it not surprise me that you had that kind of breath control?” Afton asks me with a little, sly smile. I suspect she’s remembering the last time I ate her out with her thighs wrapped around my head.
“Mason is good at anything he sets his mind to,” Mom continues happily. “He excelled in sports.”
“Oh, like archery, or polo?” Afton glances at me with the quickest of winks.
“Contact sports actually, the rougher the better,” Dad adds in, pointedly looking at my swollen jaw. “Speaking of which, what happened to your jaw, then? It looks like someone hit ye in the face with a brick.”
“That’s essentially accurate,” Afton murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
I am spanking the hell out of her tonight before I let her come.
“Slipped in the shower,” I say, gulping my Jameson.
Fortunately, my father and my wife decide to stop poking at me by the time the meal comes and I endure the rest of the night as my mother devotes it to “tender” memories of me as a child.
Finally checking my watch, I say, “I’m sorry to close the night out so early, Mom. But I have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “Afton, I’ll be seeing more of you as we plan your wedding at the MacTavish estate.”
“The what?”
“Oh, Mason hasn’t told you yet? What a surprise,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I’ll have to tell you about our wedding and the whole helicopter incident…”
Fifteen minutes later, Mom wraps up the story of one of the few MacTavish weddings that did not involve gunfire and given that it included my father, that is a miracle. Rising from her chair, she stifles a yawn. “I have to visit the ladies’ room, if you’ll all excuse me.”
“I’ll join you,” Afton says.
I stand up to pull out her chair for her and murmur, “I need a quick word with my father, and then I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
“We’ll be fine.” She smiles up at me sweetly as Mom links their arms and pulls her away.
Dad gestures to the waiter for two more glasses of scotch for us. “Any new information about our missing drones?” he asks.
“Only that Cavendish has them all over the dark web, trying to kick off a bidding war. That sloppy bastard has no idea how deep he is digging his own grave.”
We talk about the possible sites where Cavendish could be hiding our drones until I check my watch again.
“It’s been fifteen minutes. They should be back by now.”
