Page 8 of Silk and Sirens

The heavy menu creaked in my hands, so I calmly put it down. “You mean you didn’t invite your nephew to his own mother’s remembrance dinner?” Why was I surprised? It wasn’t exactly a secret the tension between my father and cousin. Dad believed that Sebastian owed him for saving his life, as if flying to France just in time to pull him and Langdon from a burning building was somehow a good deed that needed to be repaid.

Dad was strange like that, keeping a grudge because his twin sister was killed and his nephew wasn’t. Not that he blamed Sebastian, but it was just how he dealt with the loss.

Taking off his glasses, Dad reached up to pinch the top of his nose, as if I were the problem. Manic wife or not, he was still a complete prick for snubbing his own nephew.

With a sigh he stared at me, his eyes the same cold blue as my own. Unfortunately for me, I was his carbon copy—with the same straight aristocratic nose, strong jaw and naturally stoic expression—just taller and younger. Luckily, I didn’t have the same pompous accent that only came from old money, mainly because my grandfather fucked up all the family wealth by partying too hard with sex workers and hard drugs. I didn’t grow up in the countryside in a manor like my father had, instead spending the duration of my younger years in the East End of London while my father spent my childhood trying to regain some of the family legacy. I didn’t grow up poor, far from it, but there was a difference between wealthy and old money rich.

I’d argue that Alexander Ackworth was richer now than my grandfather ever was, and that was all because of Sebastian. Not that my father would ever admit it.

“I’ll have the fish,” he said when the waitress reached our table, “and a glass of your best Château Figeac.”

“I’ll have the same.”

I didn’t even bother looking at the menu, knowing that if I had the exact same, Dad was unlikely to question my choice. Because everything was a test with him. My clothes. My words. My silence. I was born to bear the Ackworth name, but never to live up to it. To Dad, I would always be a disappointment because I was too uninterested in politics. Too serious. Too violent even when that violence was what helped build an empire.

Good thing I didn’t give a toss about his validation.

“You going to tell me why you were late?” he asked rather than demanded, which was a nice change.

“I had to deal with something.”

“More important than remembering your aunt?” he tutted, his smile strained when he acknowledged the waitress bringing the wine. For all his faults, his devotion to his sister was the one thing I couldn’t criticise. He still blamed himself for her death, despite being in another country when her husband’s mistress murdered her.

I think that was why he struggled with Sebastian. He reminded Dad too much of the sister he’d lost, of the guilt of arriving too late.

“We both know the real reason you invited me tonight wasn’t to honour Alicia.”

Dad studied me over the rim of his glass for a moment too long. “I see Sebastian is rubbing off on you. Tell me, how is Arabella?”

“Dad …”

“Fine.” He wrinkled his nose. “I think you should get married.”

It took me a moment to hear him correctly. “No.”

If the disinterest surprised him, he didn’t show it. “Sebastian seems happy, and you’re about to turn thirty-four⁠—”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Thirty-four. Not fucking seventy.”

“Language,” he hissed, leaning forward across the table. “Look, I want grandchildren. Heirs to⁠—”

“Heirs to what, Dad? The only thing you have left is your title, and only because you can’t sell it.”

“Watch your tone.” He took another sip of his red wine. “We still have the estate.”

I wanted to laugh, the estate he spoke about nothing but ruins by this point. That was the problem with British aristocracy, you inherited manors and land that cost more to sustain the illusion of wealth than what they were really worth.

My chair screeched as I stood, knowing this wasn’t a conversation that was worth my time.

“Caden,” he hissed quietly. “You’re making a scene. Sit down.”

I debated whether to ignore him but knew it wouldn’t be worth the hassle. So, I sat down, downing the entire glass of red just because I knew the lack of etiquette would upset him.

“There’s something else,” he said, and I pinned him with a stare that I’d learned from him. “I need you to take care of something for me.”

Raising a brow, I waited.

“Don’t look at me like that. This concerns us all, including Sebastian and the business.”