Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The calm after the storm settles over me, although my nerves still bristle with adrenaline. My grandmother and parents have that effect on me—fight or flight.
“That was interesting,” Max says finally, then takes another swallow of her Americano.
“But you didn’t have to make tea for my grandmother.” I try to find something positive, although it isn’t easy. My attempt to spare her the scene failed badly. Or perhaps I just wanted to spare myself the shame of having her witness it.
“I wouldn’t have anyway. I don’t work for her, and she doesn’t have an appointment. Want me to lay out your day?”
Before I can respond, the door opens with a bang and Mom and Dad return, plopping back down onto the chaise longue. I grit my teeth. What’s wrong with these two? No wonder the Greeks thought of a three-headed hound to guard a door.
“What are you doing back here? Again?” I don’t bother to hide my irritation. Grandmother requires delicate handling, but not these idiots.
“Don’t worry. We made sure your grandma left before coming back up,” Dad says, all confident reassurance, then turns to Max. A megawatt smile appears on his handsome face. “Could we have some coffee, love?” He winks, all suave charm, the kind he probably employed to seduce countless women.
My fingers flex around the cup. I have an overwhelming urge to throw the unfinished java in his face.
Max gives Dad a cold look. “The name is Max, and no.” She makes a show of checking her watch. “Rhys has a meeting in three minutes. Less, actually.”
“Fine, we’ll make this quick.” Mom turns to me. “The Vescovis are poor. Try someone else on the list.”
“Get a prenup drafted and signed.” Dad’s advice is ironic, since he didn’t bother before marrying Mom.
But maybe he felt secure, since she’s from a skincare and dermatological empire.
“Her money is her money, your money is your money. Just get her pregnant and take custody of the baby. Once your grandmother has a chubby little newborn to bounce on her knee… Actually, just the news of the pregnancy will get her distracted.”
“I’m not a baby-making machine,” I grind out.
He shrugs. “It’s the best way to get her off your back.”
“You mean get her off your backs.”
“Let’s just say it’ll be a win for everyone.”
Max shoots me a concerned look. She knows my reaction isn’t a good sign, even though my parents seem oblivious.
It’s embarrassing as hell, too, to have her witness their lack of propriety and decency.
I figured I’d become immune after three years of her seeing their behavior, but the humiliation never seems to weaken.
The only reason she hasn’t left me over their obnoxious behavior—like Selena—is that I pay her.
“Why don’t you let the other party know I’ll be a little late?” I ask Max, desperate to get her away from this farce.
“Of course.” She nods stiffly, then leaves.
As soon as the door closes behind her, Mom turns to me then huffs. If she were a couple decades younger, she’d be tossing her hair over a shoulder with a snort like a homecoming queen in a pique. “Much better. I hate it when she hovers like she has every right.”
“She does have every right—certainly more than you,” I say.
Dad frowns. “Don’t be rude to your mother.”
“Oh, I’m used to it.” Mom sighs and dabs at a nonexistent tear. She should’ve gone into acting. “Rhys, seeing you with a decent wife and a baby will ease your grandmother’s heart. You’re the oldest. She’s worried about you.”
I’m actually speechless. She’s just started worrying now? After letting my parents run wild for decades? What nice woman would want to settle down and marry me? Even if she did, would she stay after seeing my messed-up, ridiculous parents?
“You don’t have to stay married. Just long enough to make it look respectable. Then divorce the woman and keep the baby,” Dad says. “You have no idea how much your birth kept your grandmother occupied. It was fantastic.”
“It was terrible when the effect wore off. But, of course, one can always have another child. That was the main reason we decided to keep Liam.”
Dad nods sympathetically and pats Mom’s hand.
What have I done to deserve this torment? “So what makes you think she’ll suddenly care about an eighth baby?”
“Because it’ll be her first great-grandchild. Something new.” Dad’s tone says I must not be very bright to not realize that.
“So, marry someone, get her pregnant, then divorce her and keep the baby, which in turn will keep Grandma occupied and off everyone’s backs. That about it?”
Dad and Mom both nod, pleased that we’re finally all on the same page.
“No. I’m not going to be heartless toward some innocent woman,” I say, not bothering to hide my disgust. “Especially not in response to a scandal I’m about to rip into pieces.”
“What scandal?” Dad looks genuinely confused.
“The ‘high school senior’? Except she’s really twenty-six? And supposedly pregnant with my child?”
“Oh, that,” Mom says with a light laugh. “She’s a stripper, too. Totally not in high school. I don’t know why they reported it like that. Very unfair to you.”
Dread starts burning in my gut. “How do you know all that?”
Dad leans forward. “Okay, you can’t tell your grandmother…but it was really me.” A hint of bone-deep satisfaction glints in his eyes, like a teenage boy admitting to finally kissing a girl he has a major crush on.
“What the fuck? Did you pay her to lie?”
“Didn’t have to. I just told her my name was Rhys.”
Oh my freakin’ God. “Why?”
“Because she invited me to a threesome. So, I was a little drunk at this nice strip club,” Dad says, warming to his story.
“I’ll take you later if you want. Anyway, by the time I realized what was going on, it turned out that the threesome was with only one girl, which I’ve never done before.
Because, you know, I’ve always been with two girls, but this time there was this other guy—”
TM-fucking-I. “You should’ve walked away!”
“Oh, I never give up a chance to try something new. Anyway, she asked me for my name, and I was about to tell her. But then your grandmother’s disapproving face popped into my head and…well, your name just sort of slipped out.”
“It just…slipped out. Like a fish from a net.”
“Like a spent cock from a condom,” he agrees. “You aren’t going to be all uptight about this, right? It was for a good cause. Some variety keeps things interesting—and me young.”
I resist the urge to tear my hair out. “Didn’t it bother you when she called you by my name?”
Dad looks puzzled. “No. Why would it?”
“Your father would never let such a minor detail get in the way,” Mom says proudly. “Besides, it probably isn’t even his kid.”
“Exactly. The other guy was young and kind of clumsy. Didn’t look like he knew how to wear a condom properly, but you know, it isn’t my job to conduct sex ed in the middle of some action.”
Mom nods with a look that says, Totally not.
As I study the two in horrified stupefaction, I can sort of see why they’re drawn to each other.
The public perception is that they don’t really care for each other due to their “open marriage” and numerous affairs.
But they’re so in tune with each other’s needs—and couldn’t care less about convention or what anybody says.
They want to do what they want, whenever they want.
And a partner who can cover for them, not judge them, must seem like a godsend.
Grandmother, of course, is the Big Bad they’re united against because she disapproves of their behavior.
Although the Kingswoods aren’t European nobility, she wants us to be.
Two parts resentment and one part admiration beat in my chest that my parents were able to find each other and create a lifestyle that suits them in spite of all the societal and familial pressure.
Meanwhile, I can’t even make a straightforward committed relationship work.
Why me, God? Why? Why did I end up with parents like this?
I’m beginning to sympathize with Max’s screaming into her pillow in Tokyo. A need to do the same shoots all the way to my skull. It’s that or flip the desk over and strangle my parents.
“We aren’t asking for the moon, Rhys. We’ll even help. Just take one for the family, okay?”
The determination glinting in Mom’s eyes sends chills down my spine. Nothing good comes from her efforts. She excels at looking pretty, spending money and banging men half her age. But other matters? “Leave. Now.”
“But—”
“Don’t push me. Remember, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”
My parents stare blankly. “There is?” Dad finally says.