11. Neve
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Neve
M y father is pacing up and down his living room. My brother and him have been going at it, arguing about everything, for about an hour. I’m exhausted. I haven’t said a word and I don’t think they even realize I’m still here.
“Franco, you need to think about the numbers. They are lower than they’ve ever been. Before it’s too late, we need to do something drastic to recover them.”
Luke always calls my father by his first name. The only time he calls him dad is when he’s doing some family interview and wants to appear sensitive .
“I said no.” My father snaps angrily. “I can fix this.”
“How?” Luke asks with desperation flooding from his lips.
If I was allowed to have any opinion in this matter, I would side with Luke. My father’s campaign has tanked. It’s below rock bottom and even if Luke takes over now, it might not be salvageable. Our family is out of money, the bank accounts are bled dry, most of the campaign members have walked out - things are bad. Like properly bad.
I don’t even read the news anymore because it’s too embarrassing to know those things about my father and to hear other people share their very unwanted opinions on the matter.
“I’ve asked the campaign manager to mortgage the house.” My father mutters, talking to himself, not us. “When that money comes through we can restart the campaign - come in from a fresh angle?—”
Luke packs up laughing. “You’ve bonded the house? Is that a joke?” He snarls.
My father shoots him a glare filled with heated anger.
“Franco, there is no money in the house. You used it all up - probably not even on the campaign but on hookers and cocaine.” He throws his hands in the air.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, boy?” My father snarls and my brother takes a step back. He nods and sighs, pushing his hand through his slick black hair.
“Sorry.” He mutters. “I’m stressed.”
“We are all stressed.”
If my father won’t let Luke take over I don’t see a way out of this. Our family is - for lack of a better word - fucked. We will lose the house, the cars, the status we have in the community. I don’t even know if I care about all of that anymore. What was the point of it? It got us to this point. A son who calls his father by his first name. A father who views his kids as media props - a little perfect family of cut out dolls to put on display as needed. We are hardly a family at all.
I miss my mother .
I miss her more than anything right now.
In fact, if I think back, my dad only become this way after the cancer stole her from us fifteen years ago. He was never this cold before that.
The thought breaks my heart. My dad became this way to numb himself. To distract himself from losing the woman he loved dearly.
I stand up and walk over to him.
“Dad?” I say gently.
He turns to look at me with surprise in his eyes. “Neve?” He replies.
“Dad, I think you need to take a few breaths and calm down for a while. The doctor already warned you that your blood pressure was through the roof. You need to sit - for a bit.” I gently touch his arm and try to lure him towards the sofa. “I can make you some tea.”
“I don’t fucking want any tea, girl. I want to sort out this fucking mess.”
I cringe away from him. My brother shakes his head .
“Neve’s right. You’re going to give yourself a stroke.” He snaps at my father and storms from the room.
Knowing my father became this way after losing my mother doesn’t make it any easier to deal with emotionally when he treats me like shit.
I am so desperate for a hug, an embrace, a kind word. Some kind of softness from him that lets me know the man who raised me is still in there somewhere and not only this hard-shelled political robot.
Everything is falling apart around me, my entire life crumbling, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m still grieving the murder of my finance - yes. Murder. I don’t care what the news said. I think he was killed.
And I think Celso had something to do with those photos of my father being leaked.
And no one will listen to me about it.
But what good would it do, anyway?
It wouldn’t bring Damion back.
It wouldn’t undo the leaked images .
Things would still be a total shit show.
Maybe everything should fall apart. Maybe we need to lose everything.
Along with the house and the constant media attention - I would also lose the overbearing rules that have been drowning me for the last fifteen years. I could live my life instead of living my father’s life. His version of who I should be and what I should do.
I can’t sit here anymore. I’m driving myself crazy and there is no point in all of us going crazy.
“I need air.” I mutter, walking out of the living room.
As though she read my mind - Dalila phones.
“Hi.” I say tightly.
“Oh wow, is it that bad?” She asks.
“It’s worse. I don’t know how to handle this, and he won’t listen to anyone he’s so freaking stubborn.”
“I know all about stubborn. Meet me at Da’Vinci.”
“Now?” I look around myself as though I have to ask for permission from someone.
“Yip. Fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be there.” The best thing for me to do right now is to get out of here and clear my head. I can’t help with any of this because they won’t let me, and it’s driving me insane.
I don’t bother telling anyone - I head out to my car and start making my way into town. If they need me, they can call me - but I know they won’t.
Da’Vinci is a quaint restaurant near the docks. It overlooks the water and serves the most amazing pasta dishes. The real deal. And the best, rich strong coffee. They roast their own beans and the moment I walk through the doors into the restaurant that is what I can smell.
Fresh coffee.
I arrive before Dalila and find a seat near the widows.
Opening my phone I flick through social media for a second, regret it because everything is horrible, and set my phone face down on the table .
I think better, and I put my phone in my bag. I don’t even want to look at it. It’s a portal to mayhem and chaos.
Dalila slides into the seat opposite mine and grins at me.
“You look terrible.” She smirks.
“Well - gee - thanks.” I shake my head, but the moment she arrives I’m smiling. She has that way about her. Some friends are like medicine, you can spend five minutes with them, and you feel better - Dalila is that friend.
A server comes over and stares down at us with an expectant smile.
I pick up the menu. “Ah—” I stammer, not in the mood to make choices.
Dalila eyes me, raises one brow and looks at the server.
“We’ll have a bottle of the house white, semi-sweet. One mushroom risotto and one tagliatelle butternut and pistachios.”
“Would you like a cream sauce on the side? ”
“Yes. Thanks. And please hurry with the wine. You can even put a second bottle on ice for us.”
The server nods and takes our menus from us.
“Thank goodness for you. It would have taken me an hour to figure out what I wanted to eat.”
“I know, I can see that look in your eye.”
“What look?” I laugh.
“The one that says - if someone makes me think my head might explode. ”
I sigh and press my fingers into my temple. “My head might explode.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Hey, it’s going to be ok. No matter what happens - it’ll be ok in the end. Your father’s actions are his own, Neve.”
“He’s such a difficult man, but he’s still my father.”
“Don’t worry - I know exactly how that is.” She smirks, rolling her eyes.
The wine arrives and after the server has poured us each a glass Dalila lifts hers and touches it against the edge of mine .
“To the best friend in the world.”
I nod. “To you.” I smile.
“How lucky am I?” His smooth, rich voice brushes over my skin and runs down my spine like a heat wave. Turning I find Celso standing next to our table looking as divine as ever.
He pulls the chair out and sits himself down.
Dalila rolls her eyes. “I didn’t invite you to sit. What are you doing here anyway - you hate this place? You said it wasn’t Italian enough.” She snickers.
Celso ignores his sister’s taunts and reaches out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You look as beautiful as ever.”
My cheeks flush bright pink and I turn my face away from him, knowing I can’t hide it, but trying to. I lift my wine glass and sip it because I desperately need something to do.
My heart is racing at his touch, my eyes wanting to roam over his shapely lips and stare into those perfect blue eyes .
“What the hell?” Dalila mutters, her brows knotted.
Celso sits back, his legs spread wide as he relaxes in the chair. “What did you guys order? The Risotto is the best thing on the menu.”
“You’re not invited Celso.”
“Don’t be mean, Dalila.” He chuckles.
“But seriously, what are you doing here?” she demands.
I stare at him, watching the dimples form on his cheeks when he smiles, and the sculpted shape of his jaw. He looks calm and confident as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up over his taunt, muscular forearms. My eyes trace across his broad shoulders and now all I’m thinking about is that kiss -
“Neve?” Dalila says in frustration. “Are you on planet earth?”
“Sorry, I’m exhausted - I spaced out for a second.”
“Yeah, you were staring at my brother like he was a chunk of birthday cake.” She huffs.
I chuckle. I could eat him up .
What the hell, Neve. He’s a dangerous, possibly murderous arrogant asshole. No one is eating anyone up. Get a grip.
“ I was telling my brother that it’s a girls lunch.”
I bite my lip. I want him to stay - but that is the exact reason he needs to leave.
“Yip, sorry, no boys allowed.” I say, sassy and full of attitude. Someone needs to bring him down a notch or two, anyway.
Celso chuckles. But I can see the rejection in his face. It bothers me I made him feel that way - which is crazy - but he stands up and nods towards the food the server is busy setting down in front of us.
“I’m sure you ladies will enjoy it.”
He leans over and kisses Dalila on the cheek and she pulls a face.
He leans over and kisses me on the cheek, and I freeze, my face flushing red again as the dark delicious scent of his cologne washes over me. “Neve.” He whispers .
Then he leaves and Dalila is staring at me like I have a lobster on my head.
“What the hell was that?” She snaps.
“What?” I mutter.
“Is there something going on between you and my brother?” she demands.
“No. Eew. Celso is too - creepy.” I say, trying to sound like I mean it. “I know the rules, Dalila. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t risk our friendship like that.”
She nods, satisfied with my answer.
I wouldn’t do it. I tell myself.