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“No. I’m done being an idiot.”
I laugh at that. Then I grow serious. “My dad knows about us,” I say. “Mum kindly informed him last night.”
Mason snorts. “So am I about to be sacked?”
“No. Grandfather would make that decision,” I tease.
“Well, that’s comforting.”
“I’m winding you up. But Dad does want to talk to me about this development. Both he and Mum are in Monaco this week, so I’ll see them when I go back to the penthouse tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mason asks, and now the playful spark is back in his eyes. “Not tonight?”
“Mmm-hmm. I was thinking I’d stay here. We could order a pizza, watch some TV, and go to bed if you’re tired.”
“I’m tired, but I’m never that tired,” he says, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.
He leans in to kiss me, and as I lose myself in his arms, I decide this is the only thing I want to think about. I’ll deal with Dad tomorrow when I go home. But right now?
I just want to be with Mason.
Chapter Twenty-One
I enter my parents’ penthouse on Monday morning, bracing myself for the “life choices” conversation that is headed my way. I wander into the kitchen and Charles, our chef, is working.
“Bonjour, Catherine,” he calls out.
“Bonjour,” I say, spying my parents on their luxurious balcony. I pause for a moment, taking in the view. They are sitting at the table, eating breakfast whilst looking at the cliffs and the sun-drenched Mediterranean Sea.
Of course, I had a different view as I enjoyed breakfast on Mason’s balcony this morning. Which was infinitely better because I got to stare at Mason sitting across from me.
“Would you like me to make you an Earl Grey latte?” Charles asks. “Or a coffee?”
“Yes, please. Nothing for breakfast, I’ve already eaten,” I tell him.
He nods and I make my way out to the balcony. Both of my parents look up when I open the door, and Dad instantly rises from his chair. “Catherine,” he says, moving to embrace me. “So good to see you.”
I hug my dad and take a step back to look at him, trying to gauge his mood by his facial expression. He’s got a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, and his blue eyes regard me with a mixture of love and curiosity.
“Have a seat. We apparently have a lot to talk about,” he says warmly.
Okay. Dad isn’t pissed off, I can tell that much.
“I have a couple of things to update you on,” I say. I eye the basket of pastries in the centre of the table and wish I had a plate. Charles is a wizard with pastry, and it’s been a while since I’ve had one of his creations.
Just then, Charles opens the door, discreetly slips a plate and cutlery in front of me, and returns to the house. I love that man.
“I told Charles you’d be here this week,” Mum says. “Those are Earl Grey scones.”
“Ooh yes, please,” I say, plucking one from the breadbasket and putting it on my plate.
“So … Mason Clark,” Dad says.
I nearly laugh as I reach for the clotted cream. That’s Dad. Get right to the point of interest.
“I’ve started dating Mason, if that’s what you’d like to talk about,” I say, slicing open my scone and slathering it with the clotted cream. I spy orange marmalade on the table and reach for that next.
Dad picks up his coffee, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. “And you think that is a good idea?”
