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CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Angelo
On my way to the airport, I stop at a lookout point, get out, and watch the sea. It’s a clear but windy morning. Angry waves break on the shore. Seagulls dive low over the water, their cries piercing the crushing noise of the surf.
The scenery is growing on me. I can get used to this, but I prefer the rugged coastline of Cape Town. It’s closer to home, except for the Atlantic current that makes the water cold, even in summer. It’s much more pleasant to swim here in the warmer Indian Ocean.
As I have a few moments to spare before my flight, I let my thoughts wander. It’s not a luxury I often have. I’ve been taking on more responsibilities at home and in the business as my father has been weakening. It meant cutting my studies short, but I don’t mind. Life is the best school. I learned more from being involved in the business than what any book can teach me.
The family is my priority. My uncles and my mother’s family, although we’ve never met them, are dependent on our business. The money we make feeds many mouths, including the families of the four hundred and something employees we have on contract. I can’t let them down. Soon, Sabella will be one of those people depending on me. I’ll be a husband, my duty not only to protect and care for my wife but also to ensure the bloodline continues. To produce an heir.
I take my phone from my pocket and video call my father. A moment later, my sister’s face comes onto the screen. In the sunlight falling over the dining room table, her hair has a red glow. Except for that difference and being more feminine in bone structure and build, we’re an exact replica of each other.
“Hey, Ang,” she says, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “Wow. Nice view. Where are you?”
“Close to the airport. Why aren’t you having a proper dinner?”
Adeline rolls her eyes. “This is a proper dinner.”
“You know there are hardly any nutrients in that junk you’re eating. You’re just stuffing your face with sugar and fiber.”
She points the spoon at me. “Just because you were born three seconds before me doesn’t make you older and wiser.”
“Obviously wiser where nutrition is concerned. What kind of a wife will you make for your husband?” I say that last part only half-playfully.
She scoffs. “I’ll marry a man who knows how to cook.”
“You’ll marry a man who’ll be a good provider.”
The phone dips, the camera pointing at her legs as she swings them over the chair before her face comes on again. “Unlike you, I’m in no rush to get married.” Her hair bounces on her shoulders as she walks. “I’ll finish my degree and see the world first.”
My twin is neither romantic nor maternal. “How’s school?”
She enters a room—the kitchen, judging by the big windows overlooking the garden—and makes a face. “You asked me that before you left.” She taps a finger on her lips. “Let me see. Yesterday?”
“Cut out the sarcasm. You had an economics test. You didn’t think I’d forget?”
She’s all bubbly and sparkly, her grin showing off her white teeth. “How sweet of you to remember.”
I can’t resist a smile. “Sarcasm, Adeline.”
“Of course it went well. What did you expect?”
“Nothing less.” I turn serious. “How’s Papa?”
She sobers. “As well as he can be. Maman is feeding him soup. He was waiting for your call. He asked me to answer his phone while he was napping.”
“Can you put him on? I have news. Good news. It’ll cheer him up.”
“Sure. Let me put my bowl in the dishwasher, and I’ll take the phone to him.” She moves down the hallway and up the stairs. “Want me to pick you up at the airport tomorrow?”
“Absolutely not.” My tone is stern. “You’re not driving the boat to Marseille.”
She bats her eyelashes. “You do.”
“It’s different.”
“You’re such a macho guy, you know that? Sexism went out of fashion like five decades ago.”
“The answer is no. In any event, you have school.”
“Fine.” She blows out a dramatic sigh. “Just don’t overdo your practice run as head of the family.” The moment the words are out, she bites her lip. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I wince. “I know.”
“Here’s Papa.” She blows me a kiss. “Bon voyage.”
There’s shuffling, the camera zooming in on blankets before my father’s face fills the screen. His eyes are red and sunken with bags underneath. The ashen color of his skin shocks me like it does every time I look at him. My mother is next to him, pressing a cloth on his forehead.
“I’m good,” he croaks, pushing her hand away.
“Hello, Angelo.” My mother leans closer to my father, her smile warm albeit a little strained. Her dark hair is knotted in a bun, wisps falling around her oval-shaped face. At thirty-eight, she hardly has a wrinkle. Her skin is smooth, and her features are youthful, yet a permanent tiredness makes her seem older. “Are you well?”
