Chapter 17
DEX
We travel in the family jet. Another first for us.
It’s the first time we have traveled with the others—Rio, Matteo and Enzo. We’ve seen one another over the years, at meetings, the Knight family dinners, and at high-society galas and events. We run into one another in the offices, in the elevator, in the lobby. Like we would do with normal work acquaintances. No one would ever think we were family. But we are. Bound together by our father’s infidelity.
But in recent years, Rio and I have become friends. It’s not common knowledge. Still, it’s been interesting watching the others trying to avoid one another.
Traveling together, just us, in a confined space, where no one can leave, has been eye-opening to say the least.
The old man announces that we’re expected to go straight to the Oliveira’s family estate once we land. Daniela’s father has arranged a fleet of SUVs to come and get us from the private airstrip. They’ve also kindly put us up in one of their private estates, not too far from her family home. But before we can go there, we’re to have dinner with the family. The Italian Knights groan, but I already knew this, because Daniela told me.
“Is this really necessary?” Matteo whines.
Rio looks visibly annoyed at the bickering. “They invited you for dinner, just go, eat and be nice.”
“Do we all need to go?” Zach asks.
“No, just you, Zach,” Rio snaps.
“We all need to go,” I bite out, finishing my second glass of Scotch. It’s a long flight and we’re only halfway through. Things are getting real, and I’m feeling something unfamiliar, out of my depth, uncomfortable.
I’m going to Brazil to marry a woman I barely know. A woman who intrigues me in a way that scares me. I like my walls to be up. My boundaries. I like to fuck without emotional ties. I’ve only kissed Daniela, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m worried that this marriage of convenience is going to turn out to be a fucking big inconvenience to me. Because Daniela excites me, and living with her is going to be my worst nightmare.
Zach looks cross. “I barely know them.”
“And her parents barely know us. They’re giving their only child away, to someone they don’t know, and they want to get to know Dexter, and all of his family. You can’t blame them,” Cari replies.
“I could never do that,” Jett says, looking pensive as he watches Brooke stick flower tattoos all over his forearms.
Zach seems especially whiny today. “I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
“My daughter is handling this better than you!” Jett hisses, cutting eyes at Zach. This guy is beginning to seriously piss me off.
What Cari says is true. I’m also curious about meeting Daniela’s family. I want to get to know the people who raised her, the parents she speaks so highly of. I want to see what it’s like to be part of a normal, loving family. But I also feel bad for them because they seem to have accepted the old man’s demands without a fight.
Knowing this, the least my brothers can do is to shut the fuck up and eat dinner. I give Zach a pointed look. “Don’t be so fucking whiny and disrespectful. It’s kind of them to offer.”
We sit in our two groups, for most of the plane ride, though Rio and I change seats a lot, moving around the plane. He senses my unease and tries to reassure me. He’s also sniffing around. Trying to gauge how I’m feeling, but we don’t risk talking too much about that. The old man has great hearing, and I’d rather he not get any intel into my private thoughs.
***
We drive up to the house. It’s creamy stucco, framed by ivy and low-hanging trees.
Nothing like the sleek, glass and metallic structures I’m used to. This is a home. Warm and inviting. I can see Daniela growing up here. Spending her whole life here and not wanting to leave.
The front bursts with color. Flowers, pink, purple, red, yellow. There’s a soft green trim around the windows, and something about it sticks in my head. Daniela said she liked the color green because it reminded her of home. I wonder if it’s this shade of green.
The front door opens before the cars have even fully stopped, and Daniela and her parents come out.
My gaze fixes on my wife to be. We haven’t spoken, or texted ever since she left. I thought she might reach out, and maybe she thought I might, but neither of us did, and now it feels strange to see her again. She’s wearing a cream sundress, with tiny green florals that echo the garden outside. Flat sandals that make her look casual and graceful at the same time. My brain short-circuits because I forgot just how pretty she is when she’s not trying. Not dressed for a deal, not posturing, just being her. Her hair is up in a loose twist, with some locks falling over one shoulder.
“Get out, lover boy.” Rio pokes me in the side.
If I was in denial all through the flight, it now hits me low and hard as I’m about to face her. The pull to this woman. She’s not safe, not from someone like me. If she were my hookup, I’d never let her go.
But she’s not.
She can never be.
She’s not that type of woman.
Daniela wants something real and lasting, and I’m just a temporary band aid, a tool to help her father. This woman is real and warm. Beautiful inside and out. We haven’t even had sex, but already she has a hold on me.
Her eyes land on mine as soon as I get out. There’s a brightness about them, not just the color of her irises, but they sparkle. Then the light dims, just slightly and she looks wary, as if she’s not sure which version of me she’s about to get.
Her mother, wearing a printed yellow dress, clutches a dish towel in one hand like she dropped everything just to come say hello. Her father smiles, his face wrinkling in a matrix of lines. He’s wearing an open-collar shirt and slacks. Soft eyes, and a wide, genuine smile.
“Dexter,” he beams, ignoring the old man completely for the moment. “Welcome. It is so good to finally meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you, sir.” We shake hands, and then he draws me in for a hug. It’s unexpected. Yet warm. Grounding. I’ve never hugged my father, and this stranger, my father-in-law to be, does it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Dexter.” Daniela’s mother looks as if she’s trying so hard to hold back, but she can’t. She hugs me tightly. Short and slightly portly, I have to lean down to hug her back. She doesn’t let go quickly. She seems like she’s trying to absorb me in that warm, loving hug, murmuring something about how I’m family already and how handsome I am, and how Daniela told her I was charming. Still hugging me, it’s like she’s trying to extract out my essence, trying to get a feel for who I am, this stranger who’ll be marrying her daughter.
When she finally pulls back, she puts her hands to her chest, still holding the dish towel, and beams at me. “I am so happy to meet you, Dexter.”
“The honor is mine, truly, ma’am.”
I’ve felt the heat of Daniela’s gaze on me throughout this entire exchange, and I turn to her, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Dexter,” she says softly, stepping toward me with a practiced smile. “I’m so glad you made it.” I notice the shift in her tone, how bright and breezy she sounds, just enough for her parents’ benefit. If she’s putting on a show. I can play along.
Reaching for her hand, I lean in and ghost a kiss against her cheek, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I murmur, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
We exchange a look. It’s guarded, yet curious. As if we’re both trying to read the other. And damn it if she doesn’t make my chest feel tight again, just by her presence. This. This is what scares me. And this moment, even if we’re playing along, makes me wonder how long I can keep up this pretense.
Because I’m not pretending to be excited at seeing her. Quite the opposite. I’m tamping down my excitement.
The old man watches with what I imagine must be mild distaste; families hugging, people who are genuinely happy to have met. These are things he’s not used to. He plays civil, shaking hands with Daniela’s parents and exchanging just enough pleasantries to keep up appearances. The rest of my brothers trail behind, shaking hands, making jokes, letting the charm drip smooth as honey.
They’re used to winning people over. We all are.
We step inside the house and I look around. It’s the kind of house you instinctively lower your voice in, like it’s a special place, like a library or a place of worship, sacrosanct and deserving reverence. A cushion from the real world. A place where people go to rest and recharge.
We pass by a ceramic vase on the table in the hall. The floors are old wood and plants are dotted everywhere. I glance at the family photos along the hallway, and get a feeling of how lived in this place is.
Like, actually lived in.
Enjoyed and used well.
A home where memories and history are made, and imprinted on the walls. I see the green that Daniela talked about, a vibrant olive green that’s everywhere. Catching a glimpse of one of the rooms with it’s double doors wide open, I see big, soft, comfortable-looking sofas, with trim and cushions neatly arranged.
These things are clearly her mother’s touches, but Daniela grew up with this warmth and coziness. Surrounded by love and laughter. Affection and understanding. The things we Knights didn’t have, but desperately wanted.
I try to get my bearings, try to figure out why this house smells like cinnamon and something floral. Why my chest aches a little walking through.
It hits me, as soon as we’re shown into what looks like the dining room. Slow-cooked garlic and onions, fresh herbs, something rich and savory simmering on the stove.
Daniela’s father asks if we’d like to freshen up and tells us where the bathrooms are. Pre-dinner drinks are offered.
I take the opportunity and rush to splash cold water on my face, then take a few deep breaths to ground myself. For some reason, I feel anxious, but I quickly push this thought aside and join everyone again.
Daniela’s parents are warm, and friendly and urge us to make ourselves at home. We follow them into a large room that is light and airy, with soft terracotta walls and high ceilings. We take our place around a huge, long, rustic wooden table set with hand-painted dishes and fresh tropical flowers, radiating warmth, tradition, and quiet wealth.
A housekeeper hovers in the background, looking at Daniela’s mother, waiting for her next instruction.
Dinner goes unexpectedly well. The room is loud, warm and jovial, the air filled with chatter and a reassuring hum that floats around the table.
People are talking. The Italian Knights and my brothers, they’re talking, to one another. And having fun, it looks like. Maybe it’s the long flight, or the soft and easy vibe, or even the warm night in an unfamiliar yet beautiful setting.
It’s nothing like the Knight family dinners.
Only our father sits stiffly, jabbing his fork into the food, like it annoys him. We don’t bother with him, though I catch him and Daniela’s father talking now and then.
There’s enough food to feed fifty. A fish stew in a broth of coconut milk, a chicken dish, infused in garlic and onions and what Daniela’s mother tells us is okra. There’s warm, chewy cheesy bread, fresh out of the oven, placed in baskets around the table. Cheesy rice, fresh salad, some kind of sweet corn dish that her father insists I must try.
Daniela’s mother fusses over us like we’re her brood and she thinks we’re starving. The housekeeper is in and out of the kitchen, replenishing the food and drink, letting nothing stay empty.
I’m halfway through my second helping of food before I realize I’ve barely said a word. It’s not because I’m being cold, it’s because I can’t stop eating. Everything on the table tastes like it’s been made a hundred times before, with love and care, from recipes passed down from someone’s grandmother. I’ve never had food like this. Not at some five-star restaurant, not growing up, not ever.
This is a home that feeds more than just hunger. It fills a deeper need. Something that makes me feel like I belong.
Noticing my empty plate Daniela’s mother beams. “Would you like more, Dexter? I can bring you another bowl.”
I open my mouth to politely decline. Knight men don’t usually go back for thirds, let alone seconds, not unless it’s catered and plated by a Michelin chef. But instead, I hear myself say, “Yes, please. This is... incredible. Honestly, it’s the best meal I’ve had in years.”
Her hand goes to her chest, eyes shining with something that could be pride, but looks like ... affection.
“You serious, dude?” Rio doesn’t hold back.
“I’m hungry!”
“You still need to fit into your wedding suit.” My father’s voice is like water over a fire. The air chills and silence falls, but it only lasts for a few seconds, before everyone starts talking again, ignoring the old man and his comment. Daniela glances at me, startled, then looks away quickly, like she doesn’t want me to see her smile.
For dessert, there’s a banana upside down cake and chocolate truffles, which Daniela’s mother insists we all have at least two of. After dessert, I excuse myself, and head to the washroom, but it’s not just that. I need a damn second to breathe. It’s become a little overwhelming. The house is warm. Too warm. Too many voices, too much laughter, too much contrast of how family life could be, and what ours isn’t.
After the washroom, I slip outside, tugging my collar open as the night air hits my face. It’s cool and quieter out here. The rise and fall clicking sound of cicadas fills the night air, and it reminds me of the summer nights in Bermuda, when we visited Aurora, our family home there.
The garden smells like earth and flowers and a hint of citrus. I think of Daniela growing up here, playing, and spending her childhood. Having met her parents, having had the privilege of spending an evening here, a dull ache sticks inside my chest. If our mother had been alive, if she hadn’t driven off that bridge. If I hadn’t said what I did, she might still be alive.
I bury my thoughts at the sound of footsteps behind me.
“Beautiful night,” says a voice. It’s Daniela’s father. He’s holding two brandy bowls and hands me one.
“Thank you.” I take the glass, even though it’s not my drink of choice.
He chuckles. “You’re being welcomed into the family.”
I nod, then swirl the liquid around in the big glass, before taking a small sip. The brandy hits my tongue with a slow, smoky sweetness, smoother than I expected, but still too soft, too polite compared to the sharp, unapologetic burn of my usual scotch.
Daniela’s father stands beside me, as if we’ve done this many times, and this is just me and Daniela casually visiting them for dinner. I brace myself for small talk, polite conversation or awkward small talk, but he quietly gazes out at the garden.
“She always loved this spot,” he says after a while. “She would sit out here for hours, reading, daydreaming, playing with her friends.”
“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Oliveira.”
He pats me on the shoulder gently. “No Mr. Oliveira, please. We will be family soon, filho.”
“Fil-ho?” I peer at him.
“Son,” he says simply.
And, just like that, something cracks wide open inside me. It’s one word; small, soft, and trivial, yet, a word which carries so much weight to someone like me.
A word I have never been called.
It lands like a thunderclap, hard hitting and loud. My own father has never called me that. Not even by accident. Not even when pretending at playing happy families. And now this man who owes me nothing, gives it to me freely.
I’m feeling too emotional to say a word, so I nod, hoping I don’t turn into a mess. This is so unlike me. Falling apart, trying hard not to.
It’s the flight, it’s being here, being fed, and ... the thought of tomorrow and all that will bring.
He lets out a quiet laugh. Then his tone shifts to something gentle, but grounded. “Dexter, there is something I need you to know. This marriage is a financial solution, an alliance, a merger of two families, but my daughter is the most precious thing in the world to us. She is the best part of this family.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to take care of her. Protect her. Be good to her.”
Be good to her.
The words hit me like a wrecking ball. I’m not here to be good. I’m here because I made a deal with a devil. I’m here because this arrangement gives me leverage. And a million dollars a month, of money I don’t really need, but hey, if I can have it, why not.
I’m here because I want to piss off the man who never cherished my mother, or protected her or was good to her. He said he loved her, but I doubt he loved her the way she should have been loved. He cheated on her, after all.
I’m not here because of Daniela. Or love.
And yet.
Being here in her garden, her father’s words linger in the quiet, and something shifts inside me.
Guilt, maybe. Or regret. Or the slow, creeping realization that this family is the kind I never had, and now that I’ve stepped into their warmth and love, it’s something my heart seems to want.
“I’ll do my best,” I say finally, struggling to steady my voice. It’s a truth encased in the silky glove of a lie. Now that I’m here, I’m starting to see how big a deal this is to Daniela. Going to a new country where she knows hardly anyone. It can’t be easy for her. Moving to New York, leaving her country, her friends, her family. Moving in with me, a stranger.
Living together, putting on a facade, for a whole year.
Except it won’t be a whole year.
Daniela has a lot to give up. A lot to lose, even if she’s doing this for altruistic reasons, her life will be interrupted. Her life, as she knows it, will be put on hold. Mine will be disrupted, but to a much lesser extent.
“Daniela is stubborn, fiercely loyal and she has a heart that is too big for her own good,” her father adds.
“I’ve noticed,” I say quietly.
He nods, then sips his drink. “Just take care of her, Dexter. This year won’t be easy for her, and we want her to be happy. Having met you, my wife and I feel she’s in good hands. You are a good man, Dexter.” He touches his chest. “I can tell.”
Then he pats my shoulder again, firm and approving, before heading back inside, leaving me alone beneath the stars, staring at a garden that smells like home and feels like a promise I never meant to make.