Chapter 35 Rafael #2
‘Benedict uses the lavatory,’ Gabe chimes in. ‘And I’ve trained him to flush. He has better aim than any of you.’
Dove snorts out a laugh and Aurora’s shoulders relax as she flicks her gaze to meet mine, biting back a giggle.
‘Welcome to the family,’ I grit with a tight smile.
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at the dinner table, listening to my father talk about some old business colleague of his who died of a suspected heart attack while jet-skiing.
‘Got to take chances. Hugh went doing what he loved. No point living like a coward and being afraid to do anything,’ my father says.
‘Pretty sure ignoring your doctor’s advice when you’re awaiting surgery is just being reckless, but . . .’ I tilt my head, knocking back a large mouthful of wine.
‘Of course you’d see it like that,’ my father mutters.
‘Rafe’s right,’ Dove chimes in. ‘Hugh took a risk against medical advice, and now he’s dead.’
‘Straight to the point, sis.’ Angelo chuckles, draining his glass for the third time since we sat down.
‘Ten to fifteen per cent of sudden cardiac deaths in men over fifty is the result of vigorous activity,’ Gabe contributes calmly, Benedict sitting in his lap. ‘Most occur during running, heavy gardening, or sex. Jet-skiing is an interesting one.’ He strokes Benedict’s ear, his expression unchanged.
‘Was Hugh having sex whilst jet-skiing?’ Angelo asks.
‘Angelo,’ my mother scolds.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ my father chides.
Angelo shrugs, refilling his glass with what’s left in the wine bottle. ‘Thought it was a relevant question following Gabe’s statistics.’
I throw him a look to tell him to ease up on the wine, but he shakes his head, lifting the glass to his lips.
He drinks to get through dinner with our father.
It’s his coping mechanism, but more often than not, things get messy if he goes too far.
My father’s never been one to back down from confrontation with anyone, his own flesh and blood or not.
Aurora shifts uncomfortably in her seat beside me. We’re not even done with the main course and the temperature in the room is already approaching arctic conditions.
Sliding my hand on to her thigh, I give it a squeeze, massaging my thumb over her skin reassuringly.
‘This is delicious,’ she says to my mother, taking another bite of the roast chicken.
‘Thank you.’ My mother smiles proudly. ‘It’s Stan’s favourite.’
My father nods his agreement as Mum looks at Gabe across the table. ‘I’ve made a plate up for Benedict. He can have it when we’re finished.’
‘He’s a bloody flea-ridden cat,’ my father interjects. ‘Don’t waste perfectly good chicken on him.’
‘I assure you Benedict does not have any kind of parasite.’ Gabe’s expression remains impassive, but his eyes flick down to something in his lap.
My father’s phone blares at full volume in his pocket, making him jump.
‘Jesus Christ. Blasted thing’s doing it again,’ he grumbles, pulling the device from his pocket.
The chorus of the song ‘Baby Got Back’ plays at full volume.
I narrow my eyes at my brother, but Gabe takes a sip of his wine, looking back at me blankly.
Our father jabs at the phone and the song stops abruptly.
‘Bloody technology,’ he hisses.
‘What happened to your hand?’ my mother asks, spotting the fading bruises on Angelo’s knuckles.
‘I knocked Vance Falcon out,’ he announces proudly, slurring a little and sloshing wine out of his glass.
Dove drops her cutlery, and it clatters against her plate.
I stiffen, wanting to fly out of my seat and clamp my hand over my youngest brother’s mouth.
‘Vance Falcon. I thought he was in Singapore?’ My mother’s face pales, and she glances at Dove, who’s pretending to be enthralled with blotting splattered sauce off the white linen tablecloth with her napkin.
‘Maybe he’ll go back there, now he knows how hard my right hook is.’ Angelo grins, chuckling to himself.
‘That man was far too old for you,’ my father booms in Dove’s direction. ‘Silly crush you had on him. I don’t know what you thought would happen. He must be fifty now, for God’s sake.’
Dove pales, blinking rapidly. My sister’s a force, but one mention of Vance’s name and she looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.
‘Leave it, Stan,’ my mother pleads, her worried eyes on Dove.
My father ignores her and waggles his finger in Dove’s direction. ‘Now, I think you should—’
‘Enough!’ I clip.
My father’s eyes round on me, thinning into slits. ‘Pardon?’
‘I said that’s enough. Now’s not the time for fatherly advice.’
My father’s a bully. I can take him throwing his weight with me. But not with my brothers. And especially not with Dove.
He balks, staring at me with amusement and a flicker of pride that I’m standing up to him. But I know him. It’ll only make whatever comeback he’s about to deliver all the more brutal.
‘No.’ He tilts his head, drawing the word out slowly. ‘The time for fatherly advice would have been before you screwed up signing the Wyndham account.’
‘Stan!’ Mum gasps, even though she’s used to this type of behaviour from our father by now.
‘It happened, didn’t it?’ he replies in mock innocence. ‘Just stating facts. Sorry if my son neglected to tell you about that little piece of history,’ he directs to Aurora.
My chest expands as I draw in a deep breath, ready to tell him to leave her the hell out of it.
‘Rafe told me about that day,’ Aurora says, lifting her chin with confidence.
My father chuckles. ‘Did he? Even the part about screwing Wyndham’s wife on his desk?’
‘Stan, really?’ my mother warns.
My father shrugs and I tighten my grip on Aurora’s thigh as rage bubbles in my veins. Aurora places her hand over mine, bringing an instant layer of calm to my stampeding pulse.
‘That part too,’ she replies, a picture of composure as she faces my father.
If I didn’t love her already, then seeing her hold her own so eloquently would do it.
‘We tell each other everything,’ she adds, giving my hand on her thigh a squeeze.
My gulp’s so thick I’m surprised it doesn’t shake every glass on the table.
Everything.
Once we make it through this dinner and I have a much-needed conversation with her, then it will be everything. But right now, that one last secret is sitting low in my gut, weighing it down like a boulder.
‘Lovebirds. Isn’t it sweet?’ Angelo grins, his cheeks rosy from all the wine.
My father leans back in his chair and regards Aurora with a new-found interest. ‘So you know my son well, then? You know all his secrets?’
My spine straightens as Aurora flicks a worried gaze my way. There’s no way my father knows about my anxiety episode that led to the events that lost the contract. I’ve never told a soul, except Aurora and . . . Dominic.
‘Son of a bitch,’ I hiss under my breath.
‘He told me, and I understand,’ Aurora says. ‘In fact, I think he’s amazing.’ She glances at me again, her eyes glowing with love.
My father leans his forearms on the table, his eyes pinned on Aurora. ‘He is . . . was. He was top of his field. It’s why he always got called on. But I didn’t expect it to happen now he’s no longer specialising any more.’
Aurora frowns, confusion knitting her brow. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. I was talking about . . .’ She trails off, understanding we’re no longer talking about that secret.
Every cell in my body wishes we were. Because there’s only one other secret. And that one has the power to destroy everything. Especially if Aurora hears it from someone else first.
Ice threads its way through my veins. How the hell did my father find out?
Placing my napkin on my plate, I look at my mother. ‘My apologies, Mum. Aurora and I need to leave.’
‘But you haven’t had dessert,’ Mum says, flustered.
‘Escape the clutches of the dysfunctional Fairfaxes while you can, Aurora.’ Angelo sniggers into his glass.
‘Shut up,’ Dove hisses at him.
Gabriel catches my eye with a questioning look. I subtly shake my head. I’m fine. Or at least, I will be as soon as I get Aurora out of here and have this conversation with her in private.
But my father seems determined to continue, his brow furrowed as he studies Aurora.
‘Your father’s trial,’ he says, gauging her reaction. ‘Rafael was always the first expert witness they called on those financial fraud cases. I didn’t think you did them any more, son?’
Aurora’s hand stills on top of mine, her gentle, soothing strokes ending abruptly. ‘What?’ She lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. ‘What does he mean?’ she asks, widened eyes rounding on me.
I stare into her aquamarine irises. ‘Beauty,’ I whisper. ‘Let’s go home. We can talk there.’
Her gaze bounces between me and my father, a line deepening between her brows. ‘Did you . . . Were you at my father’s trial? You can’t have been. I never saw you there.’
My throat tightens, preventing me from speaking. All I can manage is a curt shake of my head. Aurora’s shoulders soften, but confusion is still painted over her face.
‘I wasn’t there,’ I manage to get out, but my voice sounds strained and not like mine at all.
‘The solicitors read these things out sometimes if it’s more of a formality,’ my father continues, seemingly unaware of the magnitude of his choice of conversation topic. ‘Like I said, Rafael was the best. Cases like your father’s weren’t anything special. All in a day’s work, eh, son?’
Aurora stares at me, a gut-wrenching, horrified understanding uncoiling behind her eyes like a cancer spreading through the bloodstream, infecting all in its path.
‘You gave evidence against my father?’ she whispers.
‘Not evidence. I just . . .’ I glance around the table at the silent, grave faces of my family. ‘Please, let’s go home and talk about this.’
‘Just what?’ she scoffs. ‘Just what?!’
‘I was going to tell you.’
‘Tell me now!’
‘Aur—’
‘Now, Rafael!’ she cries.
I clear my throat and reach up to tug at my collar, which is cutting off my air supply. ‘I still get asked to provide my . . .’ I wince at the words. ‘. . . expertise on occasion.’
‘What does that mean?’