Raffael stands in the doorway, a shoulder cocked against the frame, his expression neutral. Unreadable. “Are we all up to speed?”
He should be smug, but I guess he doesn’t have to be when his foot is pressed to my throat.
My father bows his head while I fight not to shatter beneath the pressure of my limited knowledge. Not to announce that all I have are broad strokes. Lethal slashes. There are no specifics. Nothing to makes sense of this.
Yet I’m too ashamed to speak. I divert my gaze instead.
“The silence sounds promising.” Raffael’s attention needles my periphery. “Do you think you could spare me a minute alone with your daughter, Philip?”
My father’s eyes cut to mine, concern and fear building in his features.
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter, despite every inch of me fraying.
I can handle Raffael. He doesn’t scare me.
What’s more troubling is the nausea that increases whenever I think of how self-righteous and moralistic I’ve been while unknowingly balanced on a temperamental deck of duplicity.
Dad stands, slow and fragile.
Everything in me strains to reach for him. To console him. But I don’t. I can’t. Not when he’s betrayed my past and endangered my future.
His hand grazes my shoulder. A phantom apology.
I cringe, the contact wrapping a two-fisted grip around my resolve. I retreat toward the window, needing the distance, the isolation, the view of dark water glinting under city lights.
He walks away, his feeble posture reflected in the tinted glass as he murmurs something to Raffael I don’t catch. Then he’s gone.
I stand there, suspended in the void he left behind.
My hands shake. My chest won’t expand properly. I want to scream, to throw something, to rewind time.
But mostly, I want to crawl out of my skin and discard the shame.
I’ve spent my whole damn life trying to earn a seat at the table only to learn that the table is warped and rotten.
I don’t know who I’m more furious with—my father… or me.
Raffael crosses the room and perches a hip against the front of his desk. “You should’ve listened to me.”
“I should’ve done a lot of things.” I cross my arms over my chest, clinging tight against the whirlpool of chaos. “And if anyone had been kind enough to clue me in to the reality of the situation earlier, I would’ve.”
“What would you have done?”
Distanced myself. Not planned a future that revolved around lies.
Not that Raffael cares. He only wants more ammunition.
I meet my gaze in the reflection of the tinted window, the desperation in my expression aging me by a decade. “How do you suggest I fix this?”
“I don’t have suggestions, Isla. Only stipulations.”
Asshole.
“So I’m Isla now? NotMs. Cross.” I swing around to face him. “I guess there’s no longer a need to hide behind professionalism since it’s now come to light that you have none.”
His jaw clenches. “I didn’t start this.”
“No? Well, you sure fucking capitalized on it.”
