“Are you going to get cleaned up before dinner, Drew darling?” she asked now, and my father made a grand gesture of dabbing his towel over his throat and chest.
“Of course, of course! My apologies, Sasha. You know how these things are, I’m sure. Need to stay in shape…” He was rubbing the towel in circles over his firm belly. Not that there was a drop of sweat anywhere on him.
The fucker was totally hitting on my woman.
And not for the first time.
“I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Walker,” Sasha replied smoothly as she linked her hand through my arm. “Although I suppose some have to try harder than others. I don’t know how Alec finds time to stay in such great shape when he puts so many hours in at work.”
My father raised an eyebrow, and I wasn’t certain if it was at the reference to work, or the use of my given name. Either way, I had to bite back a laugh.
“We’ll be taking drinks in the conservatory, darling,” my mother deftly redirected the conversation. “Why don’t you meet us down there when you’re done?”
He gave a curt nod. “Ahh…there it is. You know how I know I’m in charge around here? My wife tells me that I am allowed to be.” Despite the lightness of his words, the look he aimed at her was baleful, and it was not lost on Sasha. She was far more perceptive than her youth would imply. He moved off without a backward glance, and I realized he hadn’t looked at me once since he met us.
Chapter 11
Prince Walker
Half an hour later, my mother’s light chatter had changed the mood, and she quickly had Sasha laughing and chatting along with her. We were seated on white wicker furniture in a conservatory that was crisp and bright in creams and greens. Inocencia, Mom’s right-hand woman, had set out a drinks trolley with all the obligatory aperitifs and liqueurs. Sasha and my mother opted for white wine. I had a gin and tonic in hand when my father returned, making a fuss about needing his martini to be “right this time.”
“That damn woman,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I don’t know why you keep her on, Eleanor.” Inocencia had returned with his glass on a tray and beads of condensation trickled down the icy surface. Of course she’d picked up every word. She’d been with us since I was a child and her English was as good as anyone in the room, but my damn father continued to treat her like some sort of illegal alien.
“How you doing, Mr. Alec?” she grinned as she bustled past me, completely ignoring my father’s rudeness.
“Just great, Nonno,” I answered, gesturing to Sasha. “I’d like you to meet Sasha Ramirez,” I grinned. “My fiancée.”
“Ay linda!” she cried out, taking Sasha by the shoulders, and brushing a kiss on each cheek. “How pretty you are!” Sasha stared bemused, and then Inocencia rattled off in rapid-fire Spanish that left her even more confused.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Inocencia,” Sasha responded. “Although I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t understand much Spanish.”
“Oh, what a pity,” Inocencia replied in heavily accented English. Though sometimes I suspected she did that just to annoy my dad. Plus, it was charming as hell. “But no fear, we will have plenty of time to teach you. You’ll just have to be sure to visit more after the wedding.” She cast a look my way. Sasha’s face had frozen, and she was fussing with the strap of her purse.
My father seemed content with his martini at last and was sprawled in a nearby armchair. He’d dressed in light beige chinos and a white cotton button-down shirt. A pale green Lacoste sweater was draped over his shoulders and tied at the neck. He looked like some kind of fucking Kennedy. I suspected the get-up was a reaction to my own dark clothing. As promised, I was wearing the black shirt Sasha had bought for me – it had been worth it just to see her expression when I emerged in it before we left the house.
“Leave the girl alone, Inocencia,” my father muttered. “There’s no sense in filling her head with such nonsense. Why would she want to waste time learning all of that Mexicano lingo of yours anyhow? Leave us now; we’ll call you if we need you.”
Sasha stared in astonishment at the man’s lack of manners but turned her attention back to my mother, who was fluffing cushions in a way I recognized as her attempt to hide her discomfort.
“So, you’re Mexican too, huh?” my father switched his attention to Sasha, who was seated stiffly on the edge of a sofa beside me. I lounged back in the same casual pose as my father, masking my watchful state. I ran a hand up and down her back, hoping it would settle her.
“My mother is, Sir,” she replied. He still hadn’t told her to address him by his name. Drawing out the imbalance in their status.Asshole.
“That so? What does she do?” As if he didn’t know.
“She’s a maid, Sir. Or was,” Sasha smiled and looked back at me. “We’ve helped her into retirement now.” My own smile was designed to set her at ease. We’d discussed these questions in the drive over and I knew she’d be freaking out right now. Sasha had always been intensely private, and her family background wasn’t one she shared easily. Knowing my fuckwit father, he’d already delved deep, though. The firm set of her jaw told me she was remembering what I’d said to her earlier.He already knows everything, Sweetness, just don’t let him use it as a weapon.
“A maid?” He raised his eyebrows and watched her over the wide rim of his martini glass. “Interesting.” The word sounded dirty as he said it. “And what about you? What do you do when you’re not fucking my son?” I felt her jerk against me.
“Drew,” my mother said sharply. “Don’t be crass, dear. It’scommon.” I thanked the lord for my mother’s intervention. My first instinct would have been to punch him square in the mouth, which would only have escalated things. Mom’s way was better. She knew how deeply my father’s insecurities lay. He may have accrued a vast fortune in his day, but he’d started in the trenches, the son of a bricklayer. His first property deal had been for a small cottage in a low-cost housing development. It made me angry that he’d forget that and hone in on others’ humble origins. Her pointed reminder would hit him where it hurt.
“I… I was an executive companion,” Sasha fumbled with the words. My father’s eyebrows rose higher, as if alarmed. The man was a complete motherfucker.
“You mean a call girl?” he said sharply.
“An escort, Sir,” she replied. I could sense a hoarse edge to her voice and squeezed her shoulder.
“You never told me you were dating a call girl, son.” My father’s eyes slid to mine. It was the first time he’d turned his attention to me all evening, and I knew what that meant. The fun was about to get started.
