Page 34 of Baby for the Bratva King

“What?”

“Yesterday,” he says, jogging my memory. “When I offered to turn the lights out for you.”

“Problems only disappear when you learn how to face them.”

Felix watches me. “And have you faced them?”

As if right on cue, the newscast changes, my father appearing on screen.

“...And now, live with us in the studio, is the one and only Vesper Brouwer.” Applause fills the room, almost like I’m in the studio myself.

“Mr. Brouwer, where on earth do we begin?” laughs the journalist when the audience eventually decides to simmer down. “First of all, congratulations on running twenty-six miles.”

“Please, call me Vesper,” says my father, arms slung over the back of the couch as he relaxes into the seat. “And technically, I ran twenty-six-point-two.”

“Of course,” says the second journalist, laughing along. “If you’re a runner yourself, you’ll know yourself how much those last few kilometers count.”

“Indeed,” says my father. “I’m really no runner myself, but I might have to take it up now as a hobby.” He pats his belly. “I ate two steak pies earlier. Both were well deserved. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.”

My father doesn’t know how to feel guilty, period.

I drink my coffee, paying no attention to the screen.

“A lean machine like you doesn’t need to lose weight.”

“Ah, you’re too kind,” laughs my father, grinning at the two journalists the practiced way he always does.

“How do you fit it all in, between raising a family and attending charity fundraisers?” asks one of the journalists.

“Well,” says my father, sighing dramatically. “My two girls are all grown up.”

“Aww,” coos the audience.

“I know,” nods my father. “Both of them have left the nest.”

I shift uncomfortably on the couch, focusing on sipping coffee and being normal about it. Felix is good at reading body language, and I don’t want him to pick up on anything.

There’s a reason I use a fake surname and keep my cards very close to my chest. I severed ties, and I need it to stay that way. The moment people know I’m Vesper’s daughter, I become involved in his life again.

There’s a reason Fleur and I never wear makeup. We escape the media by blending in. Our father hired makeup artists for us both. He needed us to look expensive. The makeup was full glam, and by the time the girl was finished painting my face, I hardly recognized myself. My eyes were wider, my face a totally different color. I wore false eyelash extensions so much that my eyes became irritated.

“You raised them well,” praises the journalists. “For those who don’t know, Vesper lost his wife a long time ago. She fell ill.”

“Yes,” says Vesper. “I think about her most days. I never got the chance to marry her.”

“Oh, pardon me,” says the journalist. “I assumed you were married, apologies.”

“I’m glad you assumed that,” says my father, smiling to himself.

The atmosphere turns somber as my father dwells on the past.

“I’m sure she would be very proud of you, sir,” says the second journalist, chipping in. “For raising two beautiful daughters, and for raising a whopping 3.4 million dollars for disadvantaged families. Let’s give Vesper a huge round of applause everyone.”

Whistles fill the air, everyone cheering for the man of the moment.

I glance at Felix in my peripheral vision, seeing what he makes of this. As usual, he looks unbothered.

My father holds his hands up, taking his praise humbly.