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“Sure thing, Jonah.”
“How old are you? If you don’t mind, Victor?”
“Thirty-four.”
Whitson’s eyes instantly turn upward and avert. Perhaps he’s calculating the difference of age between myself and his only daughter.
“Twenty-five—the estimated age of brain maturity. A person’s capable of moral decisions. Thinking with this,” Whitson points to his afro-covered cranium, “and not this.” He points to his heart. “This muscle is protected by a chest cavity and all kinds of sinew, ligaments, and other organs. Yet, it’s influenced by unruly tendencies. It’s the reason some of us need anger management, and others of us choose the wrong mate.”
I nod my head in understanding, gathering where we’re headed.
“Good thing you’rethirty-four,” Whitson says. “Yes, that’s a good thing. It means you know exactly what you want, exactly when to double down, make a life-changing decision.”
“Truth.” I decide to nurse this new drink.
“Now, please don’t assume I’m being premature. You’ve known my daughter all oftwoweeks.”
“Over three, actually.”
A riled glare darts over my nonchalant façade. He pulls out the lighter, letting the flicker of the flame calm his rage. “Lemme tell you a story. A little over a year ago, my lovely Gina was murdered. Luxury was the one to find her mother.”
My exhale’s ragged to lay on the surprise. I doubt the bloke could contain himself if he were aware Luxury already disclosed the tragedy
“Right before that, escrow was already rolling on a nice home in the burbs. I mean,realnice. Probably not as nice as what you’re used to.” Whitson looks me up and down again, eyes trained on my Patek Philippe watch.
Jonah Whitson smiles, scoring a fond memory. “Gina was finally getting the greenhouse she wanted. The house had an oversized kitchen—a fucking gem. I’d have an area of the home sectioned off for my laboratory, so I didn’t have to step into Greco Tech every day. We’d been searching for the house while Lux was off at college. My Gina and I were ‘moving on up.’ But Lux . . . came home early, to the apartment.” With every word stringed together, it becomes even more difficult for him to say, “My baby girl found Gina’s body. So much blood, so much gore.”
“Bollocks, that’s awful,” I reply, having a tight rein on the fury brewing through my soul. Dr. Charles Everhart will pay. I look Whitson in the eye, prepared to confide in him once he’s made his point.
“After that, Lux wanted to stay in this stagnant position. Sort of almost lost in time. Brooklyn, with its diversity, beckoned her. I followed. In a matter of days, we’re buying the loft. She’s changing her major to floral design. Next day, she fucking applies for an extended leave from NYU.”
“Hmmm.”
“But instead of focusing on her mental health, Lux purchases this crumbly building a few blocks over. A fucking flower shop. You know what?” He pauses. “Lux first went to NYU as an art major. Gina told me how many times she changed course and sought a new major,” Whitson shakes his head. “I guess when Luxury was younger, Gina encouraged her drawing skills. The first time Lux handed me this piece of paper with crayon squiggles, I bought her a scientific calculator.” Whitson stops to take another chip.
“Anyway, back to the story. Lux, my sweet child, she’s stuck in a stagnate world since my beautiful Gina’s death. She opened up the flower shop Gina dreamed of but would not, will not, utter a single word about her mother. Not one. She won’t take money, not one of my pennies I’ve gotten from my inventions. I’ve offered to buy her a nursery in Martha’s Vineyard.” He shakes his head as if grasping the location out of a list of many he attempted to coax her with. “Lux is bent on paying back her own school loans. Bent on sufferingalone. Comes to bring me flowers. It’s the only form of therapy she’s willing to receive after seeing Gina’s body. There’s nothing I want more in this world than my daughter’s happiness.” Whitson sighs with that last statement. “Lux is twenty-three, so she’s got time to get out of this place in her mind. But as young as she is, I won’t have Luxury’s time wasted on you.”
The simple words slam into my chest. They came from Whitson’s mouth. Jonah Whitson means the world to his daughter. All I can do is respect him.
“All right, Dr. Whitson.” I pat his back, rising on cumbersome legs. This conversation is over. It’s a monologue of sorts but as critical as oneGrandmummymight give. My smile twitches as Whitson turns in his bar stool to watch my retreat.
“Call me, Jonah. I’ve bared my soul to you, Victor.” Whitson looks me in the eyes. His brown eyes acquire a certain understanding. I will stay the hell away from his daughter.
As I step out of the building, I dial Monica.
“Hello, Vi—”
“Find the best private security New York has to offer.”
“Okay, Tudor.” Monica quickly adds, “But you’ve got an important engagement scheduled in six da—” I end the call.
Later this evening, I’m determined to see Luxury one last time before I bow to Her Royal Highness’ latest effort. Mum can cease her rants about myneglectedduchy. She’s truly undertaken my father’s role, although the wanker fancies himself fit for a king. He’ll never live out his tyrannical desires.
Nevertheless, we don’t hold ourselves at offense for shortcomings.
Wedo nothave shortcomings. But the look in Luxury’s eyes at times has the potential to weaken me.
She arrived at our first date wearing inappropriate attire. Talked back. I know she believes I have faults. Dukes do not have limitations, but Lux makes me want to be a better man.
