"-is only acting in your best interests, don't you?" He says it with a tone of such painfully false kindness that I want to stab him with my pen. "Now, the corporate retreat next month; I'm excited to tell you about it. Let's have lunch. There's a great little place a couple of blocks over. Marino's, great Italian food."
My thoughts immediately return to Roman's revelation about Jack's gambling debt to "the Italians."
"It's far too good for this area of the city," he chuckles heartily, and it dies off as he realizes I'm not laughing with him. He holds up his phone, his banking app is open. "Lunch for a $20,000 donation. That's worth an hour of your time, isn't it?"
Oh, hehateshaving to negotiate. I can see it in his eyes, dimming to a cruel glitter that's sharpening my senses. Still. I know he won't tell me the real plans he and the rest of The Chads have for my sisters. But maybe I can piece together enough information from whatever ton of bullshit he's about to unload on me.
Once we've left the comforting confines of Hope House, I cut off his request to drive. "Let's walk to Marinos," I say, "it's only a couple of blocks away, as you said." He looks sullenly at his town car, which is illegally parked in the alley next to the shelter and blocking the delivery trucks. I'mnotgetting in an enclosed space with him. "Isn't the fresh air wonderful?" I smile sweetly, watching him step over a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk. Yeah, his Brunella Cucinelli loafers wouldneverrecover from that.
"I think you'll find the air at the corporate retreat will be far healthier," he says, trying to force that country club grin back on his face. "Very private, very secluded. It's a beautiful place. The company bought it a couple of years ago."
"And where is this retreat?" I ask, trying not to cringe when his jacket sleeve brushes my arm.
"Up north," he says vaguely. "It has expansive ocean views."
Marino's is a lovely little spot. I've never eaten here before because I can't morally accept spending ahundred and fifteen dollarsfor truffle gnocchi, no matter how much I love it. But hell, since he's paying…
The hostess shows us to a table in a private corner of the main room, almost hidden behind two big potted palms. This is an old building, renovated to keep the warmth of the exposed brick and the steel beams crisscrossing overhead. The first few minutes pass with excruciating slowness as he chats about the weather, his latest golf game with his finance bros, and a trip he’d just taken to Singapore until the waiter finally sets down our plates with an excessive amount of fawning and then backs away.
"I wish you could see how important your future is to your parents," he says, trying for an avuncular tone. He's in his early forties, maybe.
"Are you a father, Colin?" I ask sweetly.
"No, not yet," he chuckles heartily. "But I'm looking forward to raising children of my own. Jack, and your mother Poppy, have been so inspiring." I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what the temperature is on his planet. "What about you, Violet?"
I take a gulp of water to soothe my suddenly dry throat. "Well, Colin," I say. "I feel like I've got a couple hundred of them right now with all these children in the program, so–"
"Not them," he interrupts impatiently. "Children of your own. Children with promise, and a good background. Where nothing is denied them."
Setting down my fork, I look at my truffle risotto with some sadness. It really does look delicious. Maybe I can get a to-go box so I can have it later when my stomach is not trying to crawl up my throat.
"Are you trying to say that these children don't deserve opportunity as well?Unlimitedopportunity?" I ask.
To Colin's credit, he doesn't bother to pretend. "There will always be those who are superior, Violet. Children who deserve the best. Whose parents come together to give them every opportunity to lead."
"Genetic superiority?" I ask, all wide-eyed innocence. "Superior genes, and breeding? Sort of a master race?"
Colin picks up his drink, the ice clinking. "I refuse to apologize for wanting to raise exemplary children," he says sternly. He is Deeply Displeased with me. "I appreciate your egalitarian attitude and the devotion that you've shown for the lessfortunate, but when are you going to see that you have a higher purpose?"
Oh, my sweet Lord. This is even worse than I thought.
"I love children," I say, leaning back. "I've always hoped to have some of my own. But never once have I thought my children will be superior to any other child. They're all human. They all deserve opportunity and a chance for a better life. That's the difference between us."
He aggressively chomps on an ice cube from his drink, the crunching noise makes my skin itch.
"Let's change the subject. You said you had plans for my little sisters next month at the corporate retreat," I prompt. "What do you do there? Trust falls? Teamwork scavenger hunts?"
When he looks up at me, his gaze is flat and almost reptilian. "I think you'll understand soon," he says, "that family is everything. Your mother and father-"
"Jack is not my father."
"Yourstepfatherhasalways spoken about how much you love your sisters, that you would do anything for them." He taps his fingers against the polished wood tabletop and I stare at them. "Whatwouldyou do for your sisters?"
The air is still around us and even the sound of other diners seems hushed, like the entire place is holding their collective breath, waiting for my answer. The bright scent of sage and rosemary from the kitchen that smelled so good before sours into something cloying.
Leaning closer, I watch his eyes dilate. "I would do anything," I say slowly, precisely. "You can'timaginewhat I'm willing to do, to keep them safe." We face off against each other for a moment.I can tell he's trying to determine if this is sisterly devotion or a predilection towards violence. I hope he realizes it's both.
There's no reason to be here anymore. I can't sit across from him and smell his horrible overpriced cologne. I hate that I've let him control me through money.
