Chapter Two Asher
My future wife steps into the room looking like she wants to set the whole building ablaze.
I can’t say that I blame her. I watch as she pointedly leaves two seats between her and her father and rigidly angles her body away from him when they sit down. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s just received exactly the same news I have.
You’re going to marry the Davies girl. Get us into the aviation industry. Do something right for once.
I wonder if her father was as blunt as mine. If he gave her any room to argue back, or if he simply uttered his command and expected her to agree.
I shoot her what I hope is a sympathetic smile from across the table. I’m not used to having anyone to commiserate with when it comes to my father’s schemes and, as ridiculous as this one is, I’m glad I’m not alone.
She doesn’t return the smile. She doesn’t even look at me. Her jaw is set, her chin lifted, and there’s a steely determination flashing in her eyes. Imani Davies looks like she’s preparing to go to war.
My father clears his throat suddenly and my attention snaps right back to him. Everyone’s does.
‘It’s so good to see you again, Malcolm,’ my father says with a wide grin. I think he’s trying to seem friendly and approachable but, just like always, it feels off. Forced. ‘And you, Ms Imani. I’ve heard so much about you.’
Imani offers my father a stiff… Well, I wouldn’t call it a smile. More like a grimace. Her jaw is still tightly clenched as she bares her teeth at the two of us. ‘I’m sure you have.’
My father blinks at the obvious hostility radiating off her.
Malcolm shifts beside her. ‘Yes, it’s a pleasure, Georgios.’ He inclines his head in my direction. ‘Asher.’
‘It’s a—’ I start.
‘Shall we get down to business?’ My father cuts my greeting off without so much as a cursory glance in my direction. ‘I’ve got a call in twenty with our publicist and I’d really like to go to her with some good news.’
If Malcolm is thrown off by my father’s abruptness, he doesn’t let it show. His face is a mask of neutrality as he leans back into his seat and steeples his fingers together. ‘Then let’s begin.’
‘Yes,’ Imani says icily, speaking up before my father can launch into whatever spiel he has planned. ‘Let’s begin. I’m sure you’ve noticed the tension in the room?’
I blink. The tension in the room is palpable, yes, but I’d assumed it was between Imani and her father. But she’s currently staring daggers at me, like I’m her worst enemy and just being in the same room with me is enough to tip her over the edge.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and quickly flit through my memories, trying to remember if I’ve ever had an interaction with Imani Davies to warrant this kind of ire.
I know we studied at university at the same time, but we weren’t even remotely close.
Not for lack of trying on my behalf. The Vouvalis’ have had money all our lives, but it’s only in the last decade or so that we’ve been propelled into the upper echelon of society, and I was still definitely on the outer rim back at university. Still am, if I’m being honest.
It’s been nearly a decade since I last thought of her, but suddenly a vague memory of Imani grinning at me over the rim of a wine glass slams into the forefront of my mind.
It was during our first year at university and, up until that moment, I’d never interacted with her.
I don’t remember what brought me to that party that night – I have to assume Teddy had dragged me out with him, because I’d never been much for the social scene even back then – but I went.
And she was there. Our first interaction of the night was entirely uneventful.
She wordlessly passed me a bottle of wine not long after I arrived, probably not even registering who she was passing it to.
But I can fully recollect our second interaction.
The party was winding down and there were just a handful of us left.
I was wondering if Teddy – who had disappeared into some dark corner with the host – would even notice if I left without him.
Almost certainly not. Just as I’d made the decision to leave, a burst of laughter cut across the room.
The kind of beautiful sound that makes you turn your head without thinking.
Imani was perched on the kitchen island, surrounded by a small handful of friends, swinging her legs and idly twirling the stem of an empty wine glass.
She reflexively glanced up as I slipped past her and I was treated to a soft smile.
‘Heading out?’ she asked and I had to fight the urge to point at my chest to check she was actually talking to me.
I cleared my throat. ‘Yeah. Got an early start tomorrow.’
She nodded once, then reached for a bottle of water poking out of an already open twenty-four-pack beside her. ‘Since our gracious host is currently AWOL…’
I felt my cheeks heat on Teddy’s behalf.
‘… I guess this is up to me. Here. Take this. You’ll feel less awful tomorrow.’
Our fingers brushed as I reach for the bottle. It was only the briefest of touches, but it was enough to send a strange flutter shooting through my stomach.
‘Thanks,’ I murmured.
‘Night. Get home safely,’ she said with a small smile.
It was absolutely the kind of smile a person might give to a stranger in the street, but somehow it felt like it was just for me.
She turned back to her friends immediately and the moment – if you can even call it that – was over as quickly as it had begun.
I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit that I may have harboured a tiny crush on Imani after that. Maybe.
We never spoke again but on the odd occasion we passed each other on campus, we’d share a polite smile. I’d like to say that she remembered me from the party and there was a hint of recognition in her eyes, but that would be wishful thinking.
It’s strange, remembering her like that – the soft, small smile whenever we accidentally crossed paths – when the version of her sitting in front of me right now might as well be a different person entirely.
I haven’t thought about or seen her since we graduated, so I have no idea why she’s currently staring at me like she’d very much like to sink a knife into my chest right now.
Beside her, Malcolm grits his teeth and shoots his daughter a sideways glance. ‘Imani—’
‘If we’re going to be talking about marriage,’ Imani continues frostily, ‘I think it’s only right we get this all out in the open. Clear the air, so to speak.’
Now it’s my father’s turn to shoot me a sideways glance. His dark eyes narrow and I don’t miss the way his fist clenches slightly under the table. The unspoken message is clear. What the fuck have you messed up now?
Funnily enough, this time I’m not even sure.
Imani shifts in her seat so she’s facing me head on. ‘Do you want to tell them, or should I?’
‘I…’ I glance over at my father. His eyes have narrowed into thin slits and a dangerous vein is bulging on the side of his neck. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’
I don’t intend for it to come out as a weak question, but it does anyway.
Imani rolls her eyes. ‘Typical.’
Typical?
I lean forward and press a hand down onto the table. ‘I’m sorry. Did I—’
‘Your son and I dated during our university days,’ Imani says, sending the entire room into a stunned silence. Well, me and my father at least. Malcolm just looks pissed. ‘Needless to say, things didn’t end well.’
I should be focusing on the absurdity of her claim – that I’ve apparently dated and broken the heart of a woman without even realising it – but something else catches my attention.
She’s talking to my father, but she’s not looking at him.
Her gaze is fixed firmly on me.
And she doesn’t look like she’s five seconds away from throttling me anymore. Her chestnut eyes are wide and imploring and I get the distinct sense that she’s trying to tell me something.
I steal a quick glance at my father, whose expression has morphed into a potent mix of disbelief and simmering anger.
‘I’m not surprised you didn’t mention it,’ Imani continues, still staring at me with wide, desperate eyes.
I feel like I’m missing something important here, that would click everything into place.
‘The last time we spoke, I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with you ever again.
But,’ she pauses and spreads her arms with dramatic flair, ‘it seems things are out of our hands now.’
‘We’ve already discussed this,’ Malcolm says through gritted teeth. He shoots my father an apologetic grimace. ‘The two of them dated some ten years ago now.’
From across the table, Imani winces.
‘Ten years ago?’ my father splutters, staring at me in disbelief. He’s quiet for a few moments, but then he shakes his head and lets out a rough chuckle. ‘They were practically children back then.’
Imani narrows her eyes and seems to brace herself for what comes next.
‘Ten years is a long time,’ my father continues. ‘Whatever childish or idiotic thing my son said or did back then, I’m sure you two can move past it as two, mature adults.’
Malcolm sighs in relief. ‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘He broke my heart,’ Imani says swiftly. ‘Crushed it into tiny pieces. That’s just not something you get over.’
Everyone turns to look at me. My father looks like he’s about to explode and even Malcolm looks displeased, an inkling of fatherly rage simmering below the surface.
Either Imani Davies is a seriously unwell young woman or she’s doing this for a reason.
I’m praying it’s the latter. She’s got a game plan and I get the sense that she’s not going to let up anytime soon.
Not without a fight. She’s staring at me with that desperate look again.
I have no idea what game she’s playing but, for now anyway, I can’t deny that I’m not curious to see where this is heading.
I clear my throat and fix my features into a sheepish expression. ‘It was a mutual heartbreak.’