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My father’s negative reaction toward me instantly made me regret it, but after a couple of days, he apologized and explained he was just shocked. I could understand that, so I let it go. After all, I was shocked too. I was angry. Embarrassed. But now? Even though it’s only been a few months, I feel better. And I’ll admit Saturday helped with that. Knowing there is so much more out there than what Zach has to offer is a relief.
I pull a white sundress from the pink cloth hanger. It’s patterned with violet flowers, stylish but tasteful. Even the thought of something tight between my legs has me wincing. I learned the hard way yesterday when I put on jean shorts and cried out in pain. I slip on my sandals, double check my hair is still good in the mirror, and head out.
“Good morning, Miss Jordan,” Jeanette, our head house staff, greets once I reach the bottom of the grand staircase. She’s been with me since the day I was born and is a mix between a nanny and grandmother. Looks like a mix of both too.
“Morning. Is Father ready?”
“He’ll meet you there. Had an early morning meeting beforehand. The driver is already out front.” She walks with me to the door, opening it for me.
“See you later,” I call out to her as I head down the wide steps and onto the circular driveway. The driver, an older man named Fernando who has been employed by my father since I was a little girl, smiles as he waits by the open back door for me.
“Good morning,” Fernando greets with a smile.
“Morning, Fernando.”
Once I’m in the back of the limo, he closes the door and I mess with the radio, settling on the newest Miley Cyrus song. The drive to the restaurant takes about twenty minutes, and when we get there, Fernando helps me out.
“Your father is already inside, Miss. Waiting at your usual table.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be here for you when you’re done.”
I smile and head up the few stone steps, passing the cream-colored columns that are covered in bright green vines and white flowers. Harriet’s is our favorite place for breakfast, and it’s like stepping into a Greek Mythology history book. Columns, waterfalls, statues of the gods and goddesses. No matter how many times I’ve been here, which is a lot over my lifetime, the beauty of the place never ceases to awe me.
“Good morning, Miss Delise,” the hostess says as I pass her. She’s new. A few years older than me, if I had to guess. Blond with bright blue eyes. Very pretty. I smile as I pass her to head toward the back where my table is. Father has a standing reservation for every Tuesday morning at eight am sharp.
It’s rare I get to spend time with my father, and part of me thinks I moved out too quickly to begin with. Not just the apartment thing because of Zach, but my willingness to leave the nest altogether. I’m still young. What’s the rush?
The restaurant is spacious, and I pass tables with small groups of people dressed in casual attire, enjoying breakfast and chatting. Of all the times I’ve been here, I don’t think I’ve seen a table empty for longer than five minutes. I move up a few marble steps and move around the wide column our table is hidden behind, only to stop dead in my tracks.
My father isn’t alone.
We always have breakfast alone on Tuesdays. It’s our day. Our father-daughter time.
But today, he has someone with him.
Someone I thought I’d never see again.
Chapter Eleven
Vincenzo
“Are you sure this is the only way?” Matteo asks for the hundredth time.
“We’ve gone over this, Matteo. There are no other options.” He huffs out an annoyed sound and I lean closer, tapping the table with my finger and holding his gaze. “Do remember, I’m not the one who did this. This is your fault.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he hisses.
“You should be thanking me rather than giving me lip over being backed into a corner. I’m the one saving your ass.”
Of course there is one other option—I let them die. I’m fine with him dying, but ever since I spent the night with his daughter, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. This whole situation might cause me issues, but I’m not giving this up.
“What if they don’t accept it? You know how they are,” he grumbles.
The fact this man is speaking to me as if we are still friends, as if he didn’t screw me over, has me wondering if he’s truly lost his mind. The man owes me millions. Was lying straight to my face for years. Making me look like a fool. And he thinks I’ve just shown back up, willing to help him out of the goodness of my heart? I didn’t think the man could be so dense, but apparently, he is. That, or he’s delusional.
“I’m prepared to handle it.”
