Page 94 of Sweet Heart

“Doctor Durand?” I ask softly, and he lifts his chin.

He gazes down at me for the longest moment. A muscle in his jaw twitching as he does, and he blows out a gust of air through his nose.

“And you must be Mary. Eduardo,” he offers, pointing at his chest. “I would say it is a pleasure to finally meet you, but I fear that would be a lie.”

His cold eyes hold my gaze. He pins me in place with his stare alone, and I have to fight the urge to squirm. I really want to slam the door in his face, turn around, and crawl back into the safety of the bed, but I can’t move. I can’t speak. All I can do is look at him and feel the ice-cold fingers of dread grasping at my insides. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

“I would like to have a word with you, Mary. Can I come in?”

I don’t know why, but my body moves aside of its own accord. Katherina’s father walks in as if he owns the place. He has that same self-assured stride as his daughter, and I can clearly see where she got her pride from.

“Sit, please.”

It isn’t a suggestion, but I don’t argue. I sink down into the chair across from him and position myself on the edge. My fingers grasp at the seat, and the touch seems to ground me a little. Enough for me to finally open my mouth.

“What did you want to speak to me about, Doctor Durand?”

It is weird how the words that normally feel so good in my mouth now have the total opposite effect. They don’t even feel familiar, not with him.

He doesn’t speak but instead lifts an eyebrow in that sarcastic, questioning look that Cat gives me all the time. The resemblance is uncanny, but with Eduardo… this time, I do shiver, and he frowns slightly. That same muscle in his jaw moves again as he drops his gaze over me once, assessing.

“Catherine didn’t have an easy life as a kid. Cuba is a poor country. And while I was building my reputation as a neurosurgeon, she had to live with her abuela and mother. With all the bills from med school, my paycheck was thin, so they had to survive just like any other Cuban family out there,” he starts.

There is no emotion in his tone, nothing that gives away that he is talking about his family. It sounds more like he is giving me a list of symptoms than the background on his daughter. I nod anyway. I don’t know why.

“She was twelve when I brought them to the States. My mother, my wife, my daughter, and her best friend, who, at that point, was basically living with them.”

He sits back and curls his hands around the armrests while looking down at me. His posture reminds me of the Lincoln statue. I never liked it because it feels so condescending. But Eduardo Durand’s presence presses down on me ten times worse.

“They had a rough time adjusting here. Katherina acted out just as any young teenager in her position would, but she soon found out that drive and motivation are actually rewarded in this country. That’s the moment she changed and became highly motivated to make a difference. She started to dream of a career as a trauma surgeon to help those in need.”

He lifts his fingers in air quotes, and I can almost see a younger Cat with that determined frown speaking to her father about this.

“She wanted to make a difference, and she has in more ways than one. Do you know she has dreams of setting up a clinic for the less fortunate someday?”

I shake my head. She hasn’t spoken to me about that. We haven’t spoken much about her work to begin with. I think she avoided the topic with me because there has always been that awareness. That lingering thought that she shouldn’t be doing this with me, even if she never said it out loud.

I’ve seen it in her eyes time and again. That question of whether she wields some sort of power over me. It’s almost always followed by the question if I am only into her because she is a doctor, as if it is some sort of kink. So I never asked.

This time, it is my jaw that ticks, and Eduardo’s eyes narrow a little at the sight.

“Of course she didn’t,” he states simply. “What are your intentions with my daughter, Miss Van Achthoven?”

The way my surname rolls from his tongue makes me shudder. He pronounces it perfectly, with almost no accent, but there is an icy bite to it.

I press my molars against each other and frown.

“I love her, if that is what you are asking,” I offer, unsure of what he wants to hear.

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Love? You call this love?” He gestures wildly with his hands as his voice gains a little volume.

Eduardo opens his mouth, but instantly snaps it shut again as if he is stopping himself from saying something unwanted. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and again, something so familiar to me suddenly feels foreign.

“This isn’t love. This is lust at best.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he raises his hand.