‘Imani?’ My father’s voice cuts through the haze.
I jerk upright like I’ve just been electrocuted. ‘Yes?’
‘I was just saying how proud I am of you,’ he says, looking genuinely delighted. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down and you’d find a way to get along with him.’
Get along.
Well. That’s one way to put it, I suppose.
I clear my throat and try to inject as much flatness into my tone as possible. ‘I mean, I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is. He was just being polite. Nothing more to it. We still haven’t addressed our, erm,issues.’
My father chuckles like I’ve just said the funniest thing he’s heard all day. ‘You can say that all you want, but this photo tells another story.’ He taps the printout with a finger, obviously satisfied.
I glance down at it again and immediately regret it. My body remembers the warmth of Asher’s hand at my back and the exact pressure of his palm against me. And worse, my mouth remembers everything else. The soft insistence of his lips, the slow way he deepened the kiss, even the little noise I made against his mouth. I’m remembering it all now with perfect, excruciating clarity.
I force a laugh and shake the image of Asher’s hand slowly drifting upwards to the curve of my breast from my mind. ‘You’re reading too much into it. Like I said, he was just making sure I got home safely.’
It hits me then that my father hasn’t actually asked why I looked like I was about five seconds away from fainting, or why Asher even had to guide me out of the venue and take me home in the first place. He hasn’t even asked whether I’m okaynow.
His eyes are fixed on the photo like it’s a quarterly report showing profits soaring into the green. As if the only thing worth noting isn’t that I was unravelling in public but that my very public unravelling would ultimately be good for business.
My chest aches suddenly. Has he always been like this? I’ve always known he’s had an unhealthy obsession with optics and reputation, but I’d never realised how unconcerned he truly was aboutme. Did I just never notice because I was too dazzled by the glittering edges of our life – by the penthouses and the constant flights and the limitless bank account?
Or is this new? Is it only now, when he has something big at stake, that he’s stopped seeing me as his daughter and started seeing me as a pawn?
I can’t decide what’s worse. That he’s always seen me as nothing more than a commodity? Or that something recently has changed to make him forget that he once loved me the way a father should love his daughter?
Asher’s question from last night slams into the front of my mind.
‘Travelling? What kickstarted the love?’
At the time, I didn’t know why the question made me pause. It’s one I’ve been asked plenty of times before, andmy stock answer of just loving, exploring and experiencing everything the world has to offer has never failed me. But last night it did. Because when I opened my mouth to say just that, the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, a new answer started to form. One that revolves around the fact that I think I’ve being lying to myself for most of my life. Because suddenly I’m wondering if my love for travel wasn’t in fact sparked by Peregrine looming over me my whole life and stoked by an innate love for exploration, but maybe I’ve been using it as an escape.
From what?
Fromthis.
From my parents, from my legacy, from all the madness of being Imani Davies. And I hadn’t even realised it. I’d been operating on a subconscious level, my brain desperately trying to protect me from my father’s machinations, that I hadn’t even realised how bad things had got until it was too late.
I stare down at the page between us and, once again, take in Asher’s hand on my back and his expression etched with real, unmistakable concern. For me.
It’s clear that my father only sees this moment as proof of potential for a profitable alliance between Peregrine Airways and Vouvalis Resorts. But when I look at it, all I see is the one person who noticed and cared when I couldn’t breathe.
I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat won’t budge.
‘Imani,’ my father says, still smiling, ‘I’ve got a board meeting next week, and I’m going to float the idea ofpartnering with Georgios Vouvalis. It’s a little earlier than we’d anticipated, yes, but the timing is perfect.’ He taps the photo again and I don’t know whether I want to tear it into little pieces or snatch it from him and keep it pressed close to my chest. ‘And when I inevitably get pushback due to Georgios’, er, well, due to hisreputation, I’ll casually mention that you and Asher are dating and that, as they can see from this photo, things are getting serious. To them, we’ll be two families soon to be united through marriage, so why not make it official in business too? The board won’t be able to resist,’ he finishes, clearly pleased with himself.
I, on the other hand, choke on my own breath. The room is spinning. I thought we had more time. I didn’t think one slip-up would result in him pushing his plans forward like this. ‘You can’t,’ I croak out weakly.
‘Remember, Imani,’ he says, waving my protests away like they’re nothing more than a light breeze, ‘this is good for everyone. For the companies. For us. For our family. For our legacy.’
My mind races as I try to come up with a plan to get him to slow down.
‘You can’t announce it to the board just yet,’ I blurt out, forcing my voice to sound calm, even though my heart is hammering like a drum.
My father lifts an obviously unimpressed brow. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because… because…’ I fumble around for an excuse that won’t immediately be brushed aside. ‘Because Asher and Ihaven’t exactly been the picture-perfect example of a stable and happy relationship these last few months.’
