“Have you told him about Oliver yet?”
I shake my head and pick at a piece of the muffin. “I thought about it on the drive to Birmingham on Christmas day. But when I got to the house, there were other people around and then my father made himself scarce. I didn’t feel the party was the right time either – not that it ended up being an option – and now something feels off, and I don’t know when the right time is.”
Florence stretches out a hand and steals a chunk of muffin, popping it in her mouth. She chews, before licking her bottom lip.
“The right time is whenever you see him next. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? He’ll disapprove. Maybe say something disparaging, and then what? You’re an adult.” She drops her voice. “Newsflash. You don’t actually need him to approve of your boyfriend.”
She is right, and really, the only reason I haven’t told my father yet is because I don’t want to hear those disparaging remarks. What Oliver and I have means the world to me; I don’t want anyone to be anything but happy for us. When I think about it, it’s a silly reason not to tell him. So what if he doesn’t approve?Oliver isn’t a secret; he’s the love of my life, and the world needs to know that. Oliver deserves that.Ideserve it.
“You’re right.”
Florence beams. “Love it when you say that.” She takes another sizeable chunk of the muffin, and I roll my eyes and push it towards her.
“Was that a late birthday present?” Florence points a finger at my neck where I know Oliver left a rather large love bite earlier this morning. Heat rises in my cheeks. “Look at you blushing. You’re too cute. You’re both too cute.”
A customer walks in at that moment, and Florence straightens up and hurries over to serve them. After that, there’s a steady flow of people coming in for the lunchtime rush, and then my shift is over.
I text Ollie a selfie because I know he likes them, and he replies with one of himself in someone’s half-built study, dust along his brow where he’s removed his safety goggles. I’m smiling all the way to my father’s office – if I were a cartoon character, I’d be floating on clouds, hearts coming out of my eyes.
My father’s office is on the twenty-second floor of the same building that hosts The Vista. The place looks different during the day, mostly because there’s other people around and I’m kind of tempted to go up to the forty-seventh floor just to look at the spot where Oliver and I first made love. I don’t, though, my eagerness to know what my father wanted to see me about winning out. Nerves tickle at my stomach, which is odd – I’ve never been nervous to see my father, but I cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.
His personal assistant greets me and tells me to go straight through to his office. I open the door and come to a standstill when I see him. He looks pale, and there are obvious bags under his eyes. His suit is creased – which is something I haveneverseen before – and his hair looks like he’s been tugging at it. In all,the man in front of me looks nothing like my father – at least not the version I’ve always known.
“Darius. Take a seat.” His words are short, with no niceties or preamble. If I wasn’t already sure that something was up with him, this is a clear giveaway. I’ve only taken a few tentative steps further into the room before I realise we’re not alone and my movements halt. There’s a tall, dark-haired man in an immaculate Armani suit leaning against the bookshelf on the far side of the room – his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks to be in his late thirties, with dark brown hair that matches his beard and eyes a dull grey that rake over me like ice skating down my spine.
I give him a once over then turn to my father, who waves his hand at the seat. “Dad,” I start, inching closer to his desk, ignoring his command for me to sit. “What’s going on?”
My father’s eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them I’ve never seen before.
Fear.
My stomach twists, and I look between the two men; a mix of nervous energy and anger bubbles inside me, and I clench my hands into fists.
“Someone, please tell me what’s going on.”
“Sit down, Darius. Please.” My father’s voice is firm when he speaks, and I shoot him a glare, but then sit, realising obeying is the only way I’m going to get an answer.
From the drawer of his large mahogany desk, my father retrieves a small black box and pushes it across the shiny wood towards me.
I take the offered box, briefly wondering if it’s a gift, but given that the tension in the room feels like a live wire’s about to snap, I push away the thought. Lifting the lid, I peer inside and ask, “What is this?”
It’s obvious it’s a ring, a simple platinum band, wedged into a red silk cushion, but I don’t get why he’s giving it to me.
My father clears his throat. “Darius,” he starts, looking at the ring and then at the other man in the room, and I’m already shaking my head, mouthing the word ‘no’ before he has a chance to answer.
“No,” I say a little louder. “Whatever this is, no.”
“Darius. This is Floyd Hastings.” He points to the other man, who straightens, taking a step closer. “Your fiancé.”
I scoff, the incredulity of his words making me want to laugh out loud. “The fuck he is. I’m not marrying him! Jesus, Dad, I humoured you these past few years, but this is taking it too far.” Fury burns hot as I press to my feet and turn my back on my father.
“You may want to hear him out before you dismiss me, Darius,” Floyd says, and I turn to find him standing at my father’s side, looming over him. My father has never looked smaller.
“Darius.” There’s a pleading edge to his voice when he says my name this time. “I need you to do me this favour. Please, son.”
“Why?”
My father moves around his desk until he’s standing right in front of me.
