Chapter Three #2
“And I don’t need your pity or charity.”
“I know that. That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it? Throwing money at me to ‘bail me out’? Do you know how patronizing that sounds?”
Irritation flares inside me. “I was trying to help.”
“By insulting me?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, it just happens by accident, doesn’t it? You haven’t changed, Kingi. You’ve always gone through life the same way you go through the bush—hacking your way through and expecting everyone else to get out of the way, and if they get caught by your scythe, well, it’s their own fault.”
That hurts, because it’s true. I’ve been told repeatedly through the years by family and friends that I speak without thinking.
“I know I can put my foot in it,” I say as carefully as I can. “But I do mean well. You don’t have the financial experience and training that I do, and I can help.”
“No,” she says, “I’m just stupid old Chessie, who hasn’t even been to university.”
I bristle. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I know what your family thinks of mine.”
“What?” I stare at her, startled.
“‘Really? You can do better than that, boy…’” She adds air quotes to it and gives me a mocking look.
Oh holy shit. The day I kissed her, she must have lingered and overheard what my father said.
That’s why she’s so angry now. She’s aware that the gulf between us is social, as well as financial, and that my father considered her family inferior to his own.
Horror fills me at the thought that she’s known that all these years. “Fuck. Chessie. I’m so sorry.”
She lifts her chin. “You think I’m clueless, and there’s no way I could possibly sort this out myself.”
That’s not what I meant at all, and it makes me bristle. “You said yourself you were in a mess.”
“I just meant it’s taking time to sort it all out.
I don’t need your help. And don’t think you can go and speak to your friends at the bank or something and magically pay everything off because I’ll know it was you.
I’ll work it out, even if I have to work every minute of every single day for the next year.
I was sounding off, letting off steam. I wasn’t asking for your help, and I don’t need it.
” Her green eyes blaze. Wow. She’s magnificent, and for a moment I’m speechless.
She puts her cup on the table and gets to her feet. “I think it’s time I went.”
“Chessie…” I rise quickly as she walks away, catch my big feet in the legs of the chair, and trip over. “Wait…”
But she’s striding away. She collects her bag as she passes and heads for the door.
“Chessie!” I jog across the room so I can reach her before she leaves.
She yanks the door open, but I put an arm across the doorway, stopping her from going. “Please,” I say, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She’s breathing fast. “I don’t need a white knight dashing in on his charger,” she says icily. “Before you think about rescuing someone else, I suggest you sort out your own situation, because that looks primed for disaster.”
She bends and picks up her boots, ducks under my arm, and runs down the corridor to the stairs.
I watch her go, because I know no words will be able to convince her to stay, and I can’t physically restrain her.
I go back into the room and slam the door with as much force as I can muster, but it’s fitted with a hydraulic mechanism and closes really slowly, so it provides none of the satisfaction I desire.
Fuck it. Me and my big mouth.
I stand in the middle of the room, hands on my hips.
Dammit. I could really do with getting down the gym now and wearing off some of my frustration, but the clock on the wall reveals it’s later than I thought.
I told Orson I’d meet him at midday to go over some figures, and there’s no time for a workout.
Gritting my teeth, I pocket my phone, then head out of the room and take the elevator down.
I stride through the lobby and out through the gardens toward the main building, walking fast, telling myself it’s because I’m cross with her, but with some surprise I realize it’s not anger I’m feeling but guilt and regret.
I insulted her, and I feel bad about that.
I’m as bad as my father. She’s trying hard to get back on her feet, and she thought she was offloading to a friend.
She wasn’t asking for money, and even though I was trying to be kind, I should have offered in a much subtler way.
“Kingi!”
I glance over and to my frustration see it’s my father, making his way from the car park toward the building. I stop and wait for him. He’s also walking fast—a family trait—and he’s also glowering.
“Kia ora.” After Chessie’s revelation, I’m not really in the mood to talk to him, and my words come out clipped. “Everything okay?”
He blows out a breath. “Not really.”
As we climb the steps, I ask, “Why, what’s the matter?” I’m pretty sure I know. It’s Saturday morning and so he’ll have come straight from home, so it’s bound to be something to do with Mum.
Sure enough, as we walk into the building he says, “That woman drives me insane. I had to get out of the house.”
It’s tough to know what to say during times like this.
Publicly, my parents are devoted to one another.
They always appear together socially, and there’s never been any hint of scandal.
Privately, it’s a different story, and they have a very volatile relationship.
They’ve always tried to keep their arguments from me and Marama, but of course it’s impossible not to notice when plates are being thrown or raised voices can be heard on the other side of the house.
It happened so often when I was young that I thought Dad had become immune to feeling bad about it.
So I’m surprised now when he runs his hand through his short graying hair and lets out a heartfelt sigh.
His gaze finds mine, and he gives me a long-suffering look.
“Never get married, son,” he says gruffly. “It’s the road to hell, for sure.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I mean it. Women are all demons sent here to torture us.”
“You’re not wrong there,” I say gloomily, thinking of Sabrina. My lips twist, but he doesn’t return the smile. He stops outside his office and looks away, his chest rising and falling fast. Shit, he’s genuinely upset.
“You okay?” I ask, concerned. “Was it a bad argument?”
He huffs. Then he says, “Yeah, pretty bad.”
“What was it about?”
He shakes his head. Studies his feet for a bit. Then he says, “She wants a divorce.” He looks up again and meets my eyes.
My heart skips a beat. “Seriously?”
He nods.
“Why?” I’m absolutely stunned. “Have you… cheated?”
He glares at me. “Of course not. We’ve just grown apart. We want different things out of life now. And you know what it’s like… it’s become so hard to be civil in each other’s company. We’re just incompatible.”
“Have you agreed to it?”
“No. I want us to stay together for appearance’s sake. She’s thinking about it. But today she’s moving into one of the spare bedrooms.”
I’m so shocked, I can’t think what to say. “I’m sorry,” I manage eventually.
He shrugs. “He rā anō ki tua.” It means ‘there is another day beyond.’ Or ‘don’t worry, tomorrow will come. Things will work out.’
Privately, I’m not so sure. When one partner starts thinking about divorce, I would imagine it’s impossible to stop that train reaching the station.
My parents are going to get divorced. I’m surprisingly shocked and upset about that. Maybe because, deep down, even though I know they argue, the fact that they’ve stayed together has given me hope that marriage works if you put effort into it.
Well, shit.
“You seeing Orson?” Dad asks. When I nod, he says, “All right. Catch you later.” He goes into his office and closes the door behind him.
I purse my lips, then walk slowly down to Orson’s office.
His door is open, and when I go in, I find him sitting in one of the soft armchairs in front of the window, looking at some reports as he sips his coffee.
His terrier pup, Bearcub, is lying in a shaft of sunlight in the middle of the office, snoring.
“Kia ora,” I say, going in.
He looks up. “Kia ora.” He gestures at Bearcub. “Mind Foghorn Doghorn over there. Where the hell does all the volume come from?”
I give a wry smile, step over the dog, and flop down onto the sofa.
He watches me, amused. “What’s up? Who pissed in your cornflakes?”
I blow out a breath. “I just saw Dad.”
“Oh? What’s he doing here on a Saturday?”
“Apparently Mum’s asked for a divorce.”
His eyebrows rise, and he puts down the report. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah. I’m stunned.” I shake my head. “I never thought they’d get this far. I mean, I know they argue a lot, but I just thought that was the way they showed affection.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I huff a sigh. “I didn’t really need that after this morning’s meeting.”
“Oh, yes, how did it go?”
“I got a dressing down and a lecture about respectability.”
He frowns. “I hope you told them you weren’t drunk when you jumped off that waterfall, and that Sabrina was being a bitch.”
“I did. But the truth doesn’t matter, does it? Only what it looks like.”
His frown deepens. “I guess.”
“Koa told me they need someone the youngsters can look up to, not a playboy who’s seen with a different woman every week.”
He winces. “Ouch.”
“Wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t true.”
“Well…” He gives me a pitying look.
“They said it would be good if I looked like a man who values commitment, and if I had someone steady by my side. After seeing how miserable my father is, I can safely say that’s never gonna happen.”
“Not all marriages are miserable.” He scratches his cheek.
I lift a brow. “Have you proposed yet?”
“No. But I’m going to.”
“Look at you, being a model citizen. You’ll start wearing cardigans next.” The sarcasm in my voice holds a hint of bitterness.
He chuckles. “You’re just jealous.
I glower, because he’s right. I’ve never met anyone I’ve even come close to settling down with.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks curiously.
I snort. “Love is something invented by Valentine’s Day card manufacturers.”
“I used to think that, but it’s not.”
“Look, with all due respect, you two do seem happy, but it’s not going to last once the cold, clear air of reality cuts through the fog of lust.”
“Wow. That’s some cynicism you got there, my friend.” His eyes glint—he’s only a little amused.
Fuck, how many people can I piss off today?
“Sorry,” I say grudgingly. “It’s been a tricky morning. I don’t know what to do about the Foundation. I’m not going to propose to someone just so I can look respectable.”
Orson grins. “Maybe you should get yourself a trophy wife.”
I snort.
But he says, “I mean it. A fake fiancée. Someone to act the role and stave off the headlines. I’ve seen you play Lysander in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You’re not a bad actor. I’m sure you can find a girl who’s willing to play the role for a few months until the scandal dies down.”
“I don’t know a single girl I’d be interested in living with for even five minutes.”
“Dude, you don’t actually have to be a couple. Can’t you think of a friend who might want to help you out? Someone you like? Not all girls are evil. Some are actually quite nice.” He’s teasing me now.
I open my mouth to reply, then close it again as the vision of someone with bright red hair, pale skin, and flashing green eyes appears in my mind.
Oh God, can you imagine it? Asking Chessie Ross to play the role? She’d bite my fucking head off.
Although… if I were to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse… Make her see it as a business deal…
Orson’s grin widens. “I can see you like that evil plan.”
“Mwahaha. It might actually work.”
“Want to share who you have in mind?”
“Not yet. I’ll need to think about it first.”
He laughs. “Okay, let’s get these reports done, then. I’ve got a gorgeous soft woman waiting at home for me, and I’d much rather spend the day with her than with you.”