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Shane adjusted himself on his seat, drinking his wine in one go. I could tell he didn’t feel comfortable having his father around me.
“I told you already. I’m a law student at Stanford, an only child. There’s nothing much more to tell, Mr. Vergoossen,” I replied, reaching for the glass of wine, but I didn’t drink. I wrapped my fingers around the stem to keep my hand busy. It was my way of coping with my nerves.
“Karl,” he corrected me.
“Karl,” I repeated, nodding. I couldn’t get used to calling him by his first name. For some reason, it didn’t sit right with me. Unlike Elena, with whom I had no issue chatting as if we’d known each other for ages. “Besides, I’m sure you know more about me than I do myself, Karl,” I added with pure sarcasm oozing off me, and I could swear I saw a tiny trace of a smile forming in the corners of the emotionless man’s mouth.Did I impress him?
“Now I see what my son sees in you, Miss Atwood,” Karl retorted.
“Melanie,” I corrected him, a satisfied smirk curled up my lips.
“Melanie,” he reiterated, the smile broadened on his face. He took a long sip of the wine. “So, Melanie, I’ve heard your middle name isRose, is that correct?” He looked at me as if he was waiting to beat me in the game of chess we were playing.
“Yes, that’s right,” I stated, suddenly feeling oddly uneasy.
“Did you know that Shane’s mother’s name was Rose too?” His eyes screamed checkmate, but I wasn’t quite sure why.
“No, I didn’t know,” I said softly, realizing Shane had never told me anything about his mother, and I didn’t pressure him to because I thought it was just something too intimate and painful for him. I didn’t want to pry, and I didn’t want him to relive the tragedy of losing his mother as a little boy once again.
I started linking the dots in my head. All I knew was that my father insisted on naming me Rose despite knowing that, for some reason, my mother despised that name. I thought it was just a whim of my father’s to play on my mother’s nerves, but now I wasn’t sure. Was it possible my father had something to do with Shane’s mother, and that was why they became enemies?
“We should get going.” Shane’s cold tone snapped me out of my thoughts. His sudden change of heart only added to my conviction that something was off. “It’s getting late. It’s been a long day. I’m sure Melanie is exhausted after the flight.”
“Of course.” Karl sent his son a mischievous smirk before raising the glass of wine as if to toast before he took yet another long sip of it, his eyes fixed on Shane’s. Suddenly, the atmosphere became so tense you could cut it with a knife, and there was something eerie in the air, something that sent chills down my spine.
“Thank you for the lovely evening,” I said, breaking in on the building, invisible tension between the two dangerous men.
“The pleasure is all ours.” Elena eased the dark looming tenseness with her charm. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the charity.”
“Of course.” I smiled. “Good night.”
I WATCHED SHANE driving his car with overwhelming darkness in his eyes. He’d never been the type to show much affection, but he’d never been so cold and distant either. I recalled the past events to a moment when his behavior had changed. It was precisely when Karl touched upon the topic of Shane’s mother and the name we share. I observed his face, inch by inch, as if looking for a clue. A clue that would help me figure out if it was because it brought up the painful memories of his mother’s death or because my name had actually had more meaning to the story. I had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter, especially that Karl mentioned that, and knowing the man he was, he did everything for a reason.
“What is it, Melanie?” Shane asked, his gaze still focused on the road. I was amazed he knew I was watching him without even looking in my direction to check.
“Why?” I asked, still scanning his face. That man was like an unraveled mystery to me.
“You keep watching me.” His lips curled into a soft smile. “You can ask me.”
“Ask you what?” I frowned. I was slightly annoyed that he could read me like an open book while I couldn’t figure him out.
“Whatever it is that you want to ask.”
“How do you know I want to ask you something?”
“You do that whenever you have a question, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s okay to ask.”
“Do what?” I leaned back, taking a better look at the man who analyzed me so intuitively without looking at me.
“You watch me.” He glanced at me with a faint smile. “As if looking for a clue.”
I raised my brows, amazed and annoyed because he was right.
I cleared my throat, hesitant. “I’m wondering what happened to your mother. You never told me how she died.”
Shane took a heavy breath, his eyes on the road, but I could see the pain on his face.
“She committed suicide,” he said dryly, and I instantly regretted asking.
