“Give me a few minutes, will you, Jodie?” With a quick nod, she closed the door behind her. I crossed the room to Saint’s side and stared out for a minute before addressing my son. “You’re angry?”
His expression blank, his gaze shifted from the busy street outside the office to my face. “No. Just curious why my father lied about his age all my life and got away with it.” He shook his head. “Strangely, I always wondered what you did to look this young, this alert, and on top of your game.” His laugh lacked mirth. “I once joked with John that he was a spring chicken because he considered himself old at sixty, and I thought he was younger than you,” he said, referring to our butler. “If you’re not sixty-four, you want to tell me why and how old you are?”
Sighing, I scratched my chin. “Fifty-four.”
His eyes flared for a moment. “How?”
“I was a bit rebellious in my teenage years and against a ritual I didn’t believe in. On my fifteenth birthday, when it was time for my ascension, no one could find me.” I chuckled. “The castle was just too much open space for them to cover, so they left me to my wiles. Father was upset, but there was simply nothing he could do about it.”
Saint laughed. “You? Rebellious? I find that hard to believe.”
“Trust me. I only became level-headed after you were born. Once they placed you in my arms, I wanted to be the best-damned father to you.” Pride straightened my spine.
“And you are.” He gave my arm a gentle squeeze.
“It didn’t stop Father from trying, though. Aware of his plan to hold a special ritual for my sixteenth birthday, I disappeared again. Unfortunately, he wizened up, and before the clock struck twelve ushering in my seventeenth birthday, he had my cousins grab me while I slept.” I recounted the events leading to my ascension.
“You’re not serious.” Saint grinned, turning to lean his back against the window.
His surprise amused me. “Your mother wasn’t impressed, and I removed her mask.” I smiled, remembering Saint’s mother with fondness. “Her beauty caught me off guard, but then she ran.”
“Like father, like son.” He chuckled. At my frown, he added. “I removed Levana’s mask. But you already knew that since you sent me after her.” Despite his accusing tone, his eyes danced with gratitude.
I gave him a sheepish smile. “Things didn’t go down as easily as they did for you. I went another step further, son. Stupidity at its finest, as your grandfather would say. I don’t regret my actions, though.” Saint frowned, and I continued, “I never used the condom. When my father welcomed me into the Brotherhood, I vowed never to perform the ritual again. Not long after that brash declaration, I had to eat my words...” I trailed off, remembering my former years and how fate had played a hand, no one saw coming.
“You’re such a fucking—”
“Andrew, get your arse over here!” Coach Peters barks through his megaphone from the opposite side of the field, ending the banter I was having with the flanker on my team.
“Go,” I tell him.
“We’re still on for that trip tomorrow?” he asks, running backward toward Coach.
“Yeah,” I call out, then stare up at the sky, wondering if the weather would hold up for our intended drive into Clovelly, a small fishing town about an hour’s drive from my college. Andrew’s father had mentioned that one of the quaint restaurants there served the best seafood, and we should try it out if we got bored with the mundane.
Given the warm sun kissing my back right now, it is likely that it wouldn’t rain. Then again, this is England. The weather is as unpredictable as my father’s rule. It has taken almost five months to get my head around his manipulation and the ritual. But it was the girl’s response that got to me the most. It took time to accept what I’d done was wrong and that I couldn’t do anything about it. Father refuses to provide details about her whereabouts, stating I already broke one rule.
I gave up trying.
Now that I’ve returned to my position as fly-half on the college rugby team, it speaks to my state of mind. I’m back to my usual rebellious self. My father hates rugby. Grinning, I watch the scrum, my body alert and ready to receive the ball.
The next day, I park the car, don’t bother locking up, and follow my four mates into the restaurant. It isn’t a prominent place, and the setup has that whole blue and white seaside cottage décor going for it. We take our seats, and an older woman with a pleasant smile immediately approaches us. Soft sobs behind me catch my attention as she takes my mates’ orders. Unconsciously, I lean back, my ears pricking to hear the conversation.
“Please, Daddy, I don’t want to do that,” a girl sobs.
“You don’t have a choice, Rowena,” the man’s voice is tight with anger. “You’re young. You still have school. This...” he breaks off, and I hear an irritated exhale before he continues, “our family name.”
“Please...” the girl begs.
Unsure what sparks my curiosity, I turn slightly in my chair while trying to act inconspicuous. I see the girl with her head bent, her dark hair hanging down her cheeks, obscuring my view.
“What are you drinking, Sinclair?” Andrew prods my shoulder.
“Beer,” I say, distracted by the girl lifting her head. Startled by her beauty, it takes a moment before recognition slaps me hard enough to draw in a harsh breath. “Fate is one twisted fucker,” I mutter as the girl jumps from her seat and shoots past me.
I stand up, and Andrew grabs my arm. “Where you off to, mate?” I catch his smug grin and respond with one of my own.
“Why? You want to hold my dick?” I scoff, walking off before he can reply. Not sure how I plan to walk into the girl’s bathroom without getting my arse kicked out of the restaurant. I’m saved the embarrassment when I see her sitting in a hidden alcove just outside the restroom. Her knees tucked to her chest, her brow rests on her hands folded over her knees, and her shoulders shake with intermittent sobs.
