CHAPTER 31 Rowan
CHAPTER 31
Rowan
W ith trembling legs and cold hands, I walk up to the entrance of a fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills to have lunch with my father. Words I never figured would apply to me.
I almost didn’t come. Nerves started to get to me, and Charlie was at work. But I called him, and he walked me through my feelings, encouraging me to go to lunch but reminding me I could leave at any point if I wanted to.
I don’t quite understand why it’s so scary to get what I’ve wanted all these years. Maybe because now I’m worried it’s not going to live up to what I imagined it would be? Regardless, I wish my brain would just let me enjoy something for once rather than make it difficult.
Although I do have a secret weapon: Daddy . Not Remi, but my boyfriend. Charlie reminded me that I’m the bravest motherfucker who ever lived, given that I attacked him . He made me laugh. Somehow, he always knows what I need to hear.
So I got in the car early enough to make it here on time.
My breath caught for a moment when the valet took the keys to my brand-new BMW. Things being done for me … still weird. My old car showed up this morning, washed, gassed up, and parked on the street with the keys in an envelope on the front porch.
Also, did you know that valet parking is free in Beverly Hills? What the hell? How come the rich don’t have to pay for things? At least I have a few dollars on me for a tip. Charlie insisted that I take some cash with me, and now I’m glad I did.
I step into the restaurant and almost back straight out. Except, no. I have a right to be here. I’m sure I’m not the first pink-haired person to dine here, and I won’t be the last. I’m wearing my favorite black T-shirt and my cleanest skinny jeans. I’m wrapped in Charlie’s brown suede jacket that he put on my shoulders when we met—and that I’m never returning. I needed to bring him with me, even if I wanted to do this on my own.
The place is decorated for the holidays in a restrained style, with fresh greenery and silver balls hanging from the ceiling in artful clusters. Classical holiday music plays in the background. The place announces that you must have money to enjoy its offerings. But that doesn’t surprise me. In fact, I feared it’d be worse—that I’d be turned away at the door for having too many tattoos or not passing a credit check. Instead of showing me the exit or giving me a snooty attitude because I’m underdressed, the greeter addresses me in a professional manner. “I’m here to meet Remi St. Thomas,” I say.
She smiles. “We’re expecting you. Right this way.”
I follow her through the maze of tables covered in white tablecloths, and she shows me to a discreet table located behind a wall of plants, where my father waits. He’s seated, checking his phone, and wearing a sport coat over an oxford shirt, jeans, and shiny loafers, all of which fit his small frame perfectly. When he sees me, his eyes light up, and I get all these wiggly feelings inside me that I don’t know what to do with.
He stands and shakes my hand. Which feels weird, but less weird than hugging a stranger who donated half of my DNA and had me kidnapped yesterday. His grip is strong, like he learned to shake hands heartily when he was three. His hand is the same size as mine—which is something else I’m not used to. I sit, and the host puts the napkin in my lap and hands me a menu, then leaves me alone with Remi.
“This is awkward,” I say. “I’ve never been in a place like this.”
An expression like regret washes over my father’s face.
“Movies always talk about not knowing which fork to use, but it’s not even that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here or order or say,” I admit.
Remi gives me an understanding nod. “It’s my fault you don’t feel comfortable, so maybe we let you pick the next restaurant.” He pauses. “From a list of mutually acceptable places.”
Despite myself, I smile. He’s scared I’m going to make him go to Taco Bell. “I figured you’d be all into … manners,” I say. “I’m not sure mine are up to snuff.”
“Nothing you could do here would make me upset. You could swear at me or dance on the table. Yell at me in anger or rage at the world. Turn this place upside down and have them ask us to leave. I don’t care. I’m just glad to have found you.”
Does he mean that? He cares where we go but not how I act?
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
I suppose he could just buy the restaurant if he wanted to let me run rampant like a toddler. It’s an entirely alien way of looking at the world. One where he’s in control of life, not the other way around.
He must read the disbelief on my face. His voice lowers. “Rowan, I promise I’m not going to nitpick about your behavior or anything else. I prefer a certain quality of food if I’m going out, but there are much more important things going on.”
“Oh, like what?”
The server comes by, and Remi orders a gin and tonic for himself. I get a Coke. I need a clear head. I don’t care if it makes me look unsophisticated. I am unsophisticated .
Once the server leaves, he sighs. “Now that you’re going to be a St. Thomas, you have a lot to learn about the family. And me.”
“Isn’t that a little presumptuous? I mean, I already have a last name.” I scrunch my nose. “What was Bianca’s last name?”
“Ackerman. Of course you can keep the name you’re used to, if you prefer. Or change it to Ackerman or St. Thomas—or anything else, I suppose. But regardless of the name you use, you’ll be part of the St. Thomas family. That’s what I meant.”
I blink, needing to process. But Jones never felt like a real last name to me. I always figured that the cops just put that down so they could finish filling out the form.
“You don’t need to decide now,” he says, “but if you wish, the lawyers can prepare a name change petition.” He coughs, and it sounds … not good. Is he okay? “I believe it takes a few months to publish and get a court date.”
“Have them do it. Rowan St. Thomas.”
Or should I use Rowan Cooper? No, that’s a little presumptuous, even for me.
“I met with my lawyers this morning,” Remi says. “You are now in line to become the sole beneficiary of the St. Thomas family intergenerational trust, which was created by Grandfather almost a hundred years ago. That’s in addition to being the beneficiary of my own trust from my business ventures.”
Holy shit. “Um …” I blink. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”
“That’s quite all right. I’m sure you’re going to need some time to process this.”
“Speaking of your grandfather, do I have grandparents who are alive?”
“I don’t think so. On my side, you have Nana, who is my aunt, so she’s your great-aunt. She’s… a character. I think you’ll like her. Certainly more than some of the rest of the family. I told her we found you, and she invited you over, but I said you might need some time.”
I shake my head. “No, I want to meet her. ”
“Then you shall.”
“Where does she live?”
“Here, in Los Angeles. Her house used to be Harry Houdini’s estate. It’s quite interesting—there are secret rooms and underground passageways and even some of his memorabilia. It’s a house that befits his legacy.”
He’s trying to distract me, and I’m okay with that. “She’s not old enough to have known him, right?”
Remi chuckles. “No. I believe he died in the mid-1920s, and she may be elderly, but she’s not that old.”
“Don’t tell her I asked that, then.”
It’s hard to imagine her. Is she an eccentric old lady? Or one who wears sweater sets and drinks tea? Maybe I’ve seen too many movies, but I’m picturing some grand dame with a cigarette in a long holder, wearing a caftan. Or a grandma wearing a rose leisure suit, wielding an axe.
For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to my future. When I met my father yesterday, there was no anticipation—just shock. But meeting my great-aunt … yeah, this is cool.
“We will renew the efforts to look for Bianca, though.”
I gulp. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Then consider it done.” He texts someone. Then his face gets very serious, his mouth downturned. “There’s something else I need to tell you, and this isn’t good news.”
That makes me scowl at him. I uncross and recross my legs under the table, the white tablecloth getting in the way of my movements. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I waited long enough to know who my parents are.”
Remi scrubs a hand over his face and squeezes his eyes shut. Then he rubs his chest and looks at me, sighing heavily. “There’s no easy way to say it: I have pancreatic cancer.”
I want to ask him if he’s joking, but that’s not something you joke about. And I could tell he had health issues when we first met.
But this … Things just keep coming at me, one after an other.
I feel like I’m sinking through the floor. Then anger surges. I want to throw my Coke at him. I want to be that toddler raging around. I close my eyes, trying not to hyperventilate.
Where’s Charlie when I need him? I told him he didn’t have to come today. That was a bad choice. Not that I can’t handle this on my own, but I don’t want to. And I don’t have to. I can rely on Charlie. I trust him. He’s seen me at my most desperate, and then even worse, and all he did was hold me. Hence why I love him.
Still, though, finding out you’re a long-lost billionaire heir messes with your head. I hoped I’d be getting a family, too, which is what I’ve always wanted.
But the universe is saying nope .
Fuck, everything has been too emotional lately. I swallow hard, gather myself, and say as calmly as I can, “Cancer?”
Remi gives me a solemn nod. “Yes. It’s not public yet.”
I stare down at my empty palms. “And what’s the prognosis?”
“Not good. Maybe six months. Maybe less.”
“Dammit, I’m sorry,” I say, bringing a shaky hand to my forehead.
He gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry for both of us. I want more time with you.”
I chew on my lip, not knowing what to say. Not sure I could talk, anyway. My throat is constricted, and my chest is tight.
Thankfully, at that moment our salads are placed in front of us. I take a small bite of the most delicate vegetables I’ve ever eaten. It’s like they’re perfectly fresh right now, but they were too small yesterday, and tomorrow they’d have been past their prime. I’m astonished. But on another level, they taste like cardboard.
After a few bites, I put down my fork, my voice quaking. “It feels like the universe is cheating me, I gotta say. I know it’s selfish, but I’m going to say it anyway, because it’s how I feel. Why the hell did I go so long not having a father, only to get one ripped away so fast?”
And I don’t even know how I feel about this particular father I manifested. Him not knowing where I was, I can logically forgive, but my emotions still have the same raw edge they had last night. Remi having me kidnapped was overkill, but on some level, I understand it. Showering me with wealth … I’ll accept, because I’m not going to say no. But add this diagnosis to it, and I again want to leave.
At the same time, I want to know everything about him. Will it tell me more about myself? I take a slow, steady breath.
Remi nods sorrowfully. “I agree. It’s not fair. To either of us.”
I notice that he’s not eating much.
“You really don’t think you’re going to live that long?” I ask.
“I don’t know. No one does. But I trust my doctors, and it’s not looking good right now.” He sighs. “It sucks, to put it bluntly. But I’ve had time to come to terms with it, to some extent. I’ve had a full life, and I’ve done a lot. I’ve built our business up even beyond what it was when I took over. And now, at last, I found you.”
But you didn’t find me sooner, I want to say. I clench my fists and keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to be a brat. Or a bigger brat than I usually am.
Remi keeps talking. “I have so much to tell you about your family.”
“Who are they?” I ask, putting on a smile. Hopefully this is a safer topic than his health.
“My grandfather and your great-grandfather, René St. Thomas, married Ada, and they had three children: Raleigh—my father and your grandfather—Reese, and Rhonda, who is Nana. Neither Reese nor Nana had children of their own, although Reese had stepdaughters and Nana’s partner has a son. I was an only child, so you’re the only true St. Thomas of your generation.” Remi dissolves into a coughing fit. I nudge his water closer to him, and he sips it, then takes a deep breath. “Reese was kidnapped before I was born. Although the family paid the ransom, he had already been killed. ”
Chills run down my arms. “That’s awful!”
Remi nods. “That’s why we have many layers of security now. Please work with them. It might take some getting used to having them around, but it’s for the best.”
I grumble an acceptance.
“I wish I had more time with you. Absent that, I don’t know what I can give you, other than the family’s money.”
I lean forward, looking at him intently. “You can give me a history. Roots. Ancestors.”
He tilts his head. “You’ve always had those, even if you didn’t know it.”
Something inside me cracks. A wish for things I’ve never had. Longing for things that will never be. Nothing about my life is ever going to be what is depicted on TV.
Maybe that’s its strength: that my life is my own. Maybe I need to lean into its uniqueness.
It still sucks to have a dream die so quickly. I’m getting a tension headache, and my jaw aches.
Servers come and take our salad plates, even though they’re barely touched, and refill my Coke. Then we wait for our entrées. My ears are ringing, and I have tunnel vision. Remi doesn’t seem much better.
I feel very small, but I have to ask again, “Are you really going to die?”
“We all are. But yes, I’ve already lived longer than my doctors predicted. Soon, I likely won’t feel well enough to go out like this. I’m glad we’ve met before it was too late.”
Part of me is glad the mystery is solved. But part of me wants to tell the universe to fuck off for finally giving me a family only when my dad is apparently not long for this world. “I wish it could be different,” I finally say. “Can I see you a lot until …” I fall silent, not knowing a good way to finish that sentence. Once again, while I’m with him, I want to be alone.
“Yes, absolutely. Are you going to keep living with your boyfriend? As I said yesterday, if you want a place of your own, we can get you one, and you may stay at the Montecito house until you find something you like.”
A place of my own? What would that be like?
I’ve never had a place that was mine . I’ve never had a home .
A fierce longing develops inside my chest. To have a home, one I create with Charlie. And to have a connection with my family.
“Where’s the Montecito house?”
“On the beach just down from the Four Seasons. It’s my weekend retreat. There’s staff there now, but that’s it.” Staff .
I love Charlie and want to live with him. But I also feel like I was bringing nothing to our relationship. It was so unbalanced.
It also might be good to give him a little breathing room. I can be a bit much. I’ll ask him.
“I’ll be sure to visit you,” my father continues.
“Okay,” I whisper, and I wrap my arms around my middle. “May I talk about it with Charlie first?”
“Of course. While you’re at it, see if you both want to go to the family Christmas party Bree is throwing next week. I’ll get you the details. Bree is one of my uncle’s stepdaughters. The other one is Anastasia.”
“I think my boyfriend met Bree at a party last night.”
Remi gets an irritated look. “She’s often at those.” He pauses to cough. “I’ll have the staff ready the house, just in case.”
I get the address, and he texts the staff to tell them I may be coming up. We finish lunch, and I thank him and head back to Charlie’s house, still feeling all over the place.
The universe took my family away from me for far too long, but it’s giving me a lot right now. Too much, in fact. I think I have to take the bad—finally meeting my father, only to find out he’s in poor health—with the good: I have a family.
At least, I hope it’s good that I have a family. Who knows? Maybe they’re all psychopaths.