Chapter 35 #2
Father sat behind a broad mahogany desk, glasses perched low on his nose as he studied a fan of papers.
The curtains were half-drawn, muting the afternoon light, and the air was thick with the residue of tobacco woven into the old leather bindings that lined the walls, the scent heavier still in the crevices of the ancient carved bookcases with their worn crests and scrolled emblems.
An ashtray sat on the sideboard—polished and unused. A half-empty teacup rested near his hand. The only sound was the quiet, relentless tick of an antique clock.
He looked older than I remembered. It had only been two years since I’d last seen him in person, but it might as well have been ten.
His face had thinned, the skin drawn tight across sharp cheekbones.
Still immaculately dressed, of course, but the fingers that rested beside the cup looked leaner, the joints more pronounced.
Knots beneath a polished surface. He didn’t look diminished, exactly.
Just…smaller. Still iron, but iron left exposed to the weather.
He looked up. “Callum.”
“Father.”
Formality hung between us like dust motes in the still air. I waited until he gestured, then took the seat across from him.
His gaze flickered over me, assessing. “I suppose I should ask how you’ve been. But I expect you’d tell me very little.”
“Come now. We’ve never been ones for small talk.”
He folded his glasses and laid them on the desk. “I do care, you know. Contrary to whatever poison you’ve fed yourself.”
I let the words sit, unsorted.
Poison? No. Just memory.
But there was no use in saying so. Not here.
Instead, I leaned back, arms loosely crossed. “Funny, I always thought silence was the family tonic.”
He didn’t flinch, but his jaw ticked. “This woman you’ve brought.”
“Gabrielle? What of her?”
“Is it serious, or just a passing dalliance?”
“I wouldn’t have brought her if it weren’t serious.”
He fingered the handle of his teacup but didn’t lift it. “She’s American.”
“You’ve noticed.”
“So does that mean you’ve cast off for good now? No chance of ever returning home?”
I let out a breath—not quite a sigh. “I cast off a long time ago. Long before Gabrielle. You know that.”
He didn’t argue. Just watched me with those razor-edged eyes, still calculating the damage.
“Why the sudden concern?” I asked, quieter this time. “It’s not like I have a place here—not truly. James is the heir and your company man through and through. He was born and built for it. And I’m more than happy in academia. He’s where he belongs. I’m where I belong. End of story.”
“Yes, I gave up on getting you interested in business years ago. But why not come home? You’ve made your point. I could get you a post at Cambridge.”
“Then clearly I haven’t made my point. I don’t need you to get me anything. I’m perfectly capable of building a career on my own.”
“By sleeping with one of your students?”
I didn’t blink. “That’s beneath you.”
“Other way around, I should think.”
I stood. “I’m not here to ask permission, Father. Gabrielle is my choice. And if you’re expecting an apology for how or where we met, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Oh, do sit down, Callum,” he said, biting and dry.
I paused, the tension between us stretched taut.
He coughed—a hack that rattled like a loose shutter in the wind.
I sat hesitantly, studying his face. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t fuss. It’s the spring air.” He waved a hand, dismissive. “Gets me every year.”
I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Just pinched the bridge of his nose and drummed his bony fingers on the desk.
“What’s this really about, Father?”
He looked up, eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “Your intentions for the girl. What are they?”
The question landed like a blade. I held his gaze, unwilling to let him see how deep it cut.
“Will you marry her?”
I let the silence draw out. “If she’ll have me,” I said at last, my voice steady. “Then yes.”
He picked up his cup, studied the contents, and set it down again. The soft clink of porcelain rang louder than his voice when it finally came. “In that case, I insist on a prenuptial agreement.” He slid a business card across the desk. “That’s my solicitor. He can sort everything for you.”
I tapped the card once, then eased it back toward him. “What exactly do you think she’s after?” I asked, voice sharp as cut glass. “My vast fortune as a physics professor?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?” I leaned back, arms crossed. “The trust you set up when I turned eighteen? The one I haven’t touched? The company shares I let sit idle? She doesn’t even know those exist.”
“All the more reason to protect them.”
“From what, exactly?”
“Callum,” he said with a sigh, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “It’s the proper thing to do. You know that.”
Proper. That word. Always that word.
“I know she doesn’t care about the money. Or the name.”
His expression didn’t change. “And you’re sure of that?”
The air suddenly turned thin, brittle. “Yes,” I said slowly. “I am.”
“Then it shouldn’t matter to her.”
He held my gaze, the old challenge still there. But something behind it shifted. He didn’t argue. Didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he reached for his cup and took a long, measured sip of tea that had surely gone cold.