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I’m guessing that someone is Finn Hughes. The carefree playboy act is just that… an act. He’s the one handling everything, managing an international corporation and an apparently sick father without anyone even knowing.
Chapter Ten
Finn
“Phineas,” Dad says, stopping in the hallway.
An oriental rug follows the long hallway, down many doors.
“What is it?” I ask, still bemused by the conversation that took place in the foyer. No, you haven’t had your heart broken. You’ve had it shattered. Is it true? She hadn’t denied it.
“Which one is mine?”
The question snaps me back to reality. A reality where my father can’t remember which room is his bedroom, the same place he’s slept for the past forty years. “At the end,” I say gently, leading him by the elbow toward the apartment that’s his.
“You really should marry that girl,” my father says.
“I know, Dad.” It’s easier not to argue. Not about the time of day. Not about whether he sends emails at the office. Not even about whether I’ll marry Eva Morelli. That will never happen. Not only because she’s had her heart shattered.
“It’s time to do your duty. We need a Hughes child to man the ship.”
That’s the reason I won’t ever marry. Because no one deserves to be shackled with knowledge of their own doom. I won’t have children ever. The Hughes curse, as my mother calls it, ends with me. “I know, Dad.”
I help him back into bed, and the nurse gives me a grateful smile as she sits back down in the corner. He needs constant supervision due to his tendency to wander. I nod back my gratitude, for handling my father’s nightmare until I could get home.
My father grasps my wrist, hard, capturing my attention. “I’m serious. There’s not much time. Look at you. You’ll start forgetting things soon. It takes you quickly after that. Better do it while you can.”
I don’t blame my parents for their choices, but they aren’t mine. “Don’t worry, Dad. Everything will be fine. You just get some sleep. You want to be fresh tomorrow.”
“I have a meeting, bright and early. Board meeting.”
“Okay,” I say, though there’s no board meeting. Only a breakfast of oatmeal with special vitamins added, since he usually doesn’t eat enough. Bland food, the doctors insist. Spicy food interferes with his digestion. It gives him a stomachache, but when he’s hurting, he doesn’t know why. There’s no cause and effect in his mind. The meal is long forgotten. So I have to make these decisions for him. The doctors explained that to me in calm terms, as if they were discussing the diet of my horses rather than my father.
One of these days I’m going to bring home an entire feast of curry.
Outside his room I stop and take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Count to twenty.
Christ. What a mess.
I return back to the foyer, but it’s empty. Heading deeper into the house, I pass open doors leading to the drawing room, the formal living room. And finally find her in my father’s office, sitting behind the desk.
Apparently we’re going to talk about it.
Which means I need a drink.
I head over to my father’s sideboard and pour a drink—because I’m a gentleman, one for the lady and one for myself. Three fingers. Then I cross the room and slide hers over. “Scotch neat,” I tell her, before throwing mine back in a long, hard swallow.
She takes a sip and then coughs. “It’s strong.”
“It’s forty years old. And brewed by distant relatives of the Hughes, I’m told. They have a distillery in the Outer Hebrides. Fifty percent of their sales come from Crown Hotels,” I say, referring to a large chain of luxury hotels that spans the globe.
I’m not sure why I point that out.
Except I do know why.
So that she’ll understand the importance of keeping this secret.
She draws her finger around the slender ring of the glass. It draws my gaze, because I’m a man. I want that finger stroking down my chest. I want it touching my cock. Her eyes are dark and fathomless. Everyone wants love. It’s the one human constant.
