‘Steaks from a butcher?’ I ask. ‘Fancy.’
‘Blame Yan and his anti-supermarket propaganda.’
I smile. ‘Sounds about right.’
‘Red okay?’
I nod, and he takes out two glasses. There’s already a full, uncorked bottle of wine on the counter.
‘You do that whole “let red wine breathe” thing?’
‘Depends.’
‘On?’
‘The wine.’ He pours us both a glass. ‘And the company.’
I take a sip of wine because I don’t know how to respond to the compliment.
In the weighted silence that follows, I make a decision. ‘Before you start cooking, can we talk? It won’t take long.’
‘No problem, the steak needs a little time out of the fridge.’
The kitchen has counters on two sides. I walk to the side where the sink is, needing some space between us.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asks.
‘Yes, absolutely.’
I sip my wine for courage. ‘When I visited Dad earlier, I asked him what you meant when you said you owed him more than I could imagine.’
He leans back against the fridge.
I use my palms to boost myself onto the counter. Sitting here, I’m closer to Mark’s eye level, and my feet are free to swing, which helps me dispel my nervous energy.
‘He told me everything,’ I continue. ‘That you wanted to pay back Giovanni’s debt, that you literally gave him a cheque.’
He nods. ‘I only regret that I couldn’t do it sooner.’
‘Dad will never accept your money.’
‘I’ll keep trying until he does.’
‘If you think that, then you don’t know him.’
He puts his glass down. ‘The problem, Nella, is he doesn’t knowme. This isn’t something I’ll ever let go. How can I? He saved Mum and me from a fucking monster. I used to plot ways of really hurting him when he was asleep. I would have ended up on a very dark path if your dad hadn’t stepped in. He saved my life.’
His voice is steady, but the room crackles with the energy it’s costing him to stay calm.
‘You don’t have to pay for the sins of your father, Mark.’
‘I hate the idea that Giovanni caused your parents money issues. He wasn’t their problem to solve.’
‘My dad loves you,’ I say, my voice catching. And the next thing I know, my eyes are filled with tears.
In two strides, Mark’s in front of me.
‘Hey,’ he says, taking my hands. ‘Why are you crying? The only person who should be crying is my bank manager.’
