Chapter Fifteen Imani
I haven’t seen my father this happy in months.
He’s humming what sounds suspiciously like the tune to Bob Marley’s ‘Three Little Birds’ as he opens the door to his office and gestures for me to follow him in. He’s even got a little spring to his step. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was about to break out into a dance number.
For a short while, it feels like things are normal between us again. Like maybe all this Vouvalis madness has just been one long fever dream, and my father hasn’t hurt and betrayed me in the worst way possible with this scheme of his.
‘Sit, sit,’ he says, beaming like he’s just discovered our biggest airline rival has filed for bankruptcy. His good mood is unsettling to say the least.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask cautiously as I settle into the chair across from his desk. His smile only widens.
‘More than okay.’ He lowers himself into his large leather chair and then leans forward with his elbows braced on the desk. ‘Imani, my darling.’
I wince internally at the term of endearment.
Given everything that’s happened between us these last few months, it doesn’t feel right.
It hits me then that my relationship with my father might never recover from this.
Because how do you go back to normal once you realise how little you truly mean to your parents?
The urge to take off and disappear to some new destination has never felt so strong.
I desperately need my flight privileges back.
‘I know this has been a difficult few months for you.’
A moderately hysterical chuckle slips past my lips. It’s only years and years of social conditioning that stops me from full-blown cackling in my father’s face.
Instead, I do my best to compose myself and say steadily, ‘That would be an understatement.’
He gives me an apologetic wince. ‘And I need you to understand that I’m grateful for your sacrifice and all your hard work here.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Let me tell you,’ he says, cutting across me like I hadn’t tried to say something.
‘I was this close,’ he pinches his thumb and forefinger together until they’re nearly touching, ‘this close to calling everything off. I could see how badly it was affecting you and the Davies name.’ He bristles slightly, like he’s remembering every single bit of bad press I’ve brought our family and business over the last few months.
‘Truth be told, I thought you’d never come around to the Vouvalis boy. ’
I blink, dumbfounded. Have I misheard? ‘You’re calling it off?’
My heart soars—
‘I was,’ he says.
—And then crashes back down into the very depths of my stomach.
‘As a matter of fact, I was just drafting an email to Georgios this morning, but then…’ He reaches for a folder on desk, flips it open, and then slides a sheet of paper towards me.
I feel truly sorry for whichever fresh graduate, with bright dreams of entering the aviation world and learning the tricks of the trade, whose job it is to give my father what I assume is a daily debrief on the social media chatter surrounding me and Asher.
Because there’s absolutely no way that my father searched for @TrustFundTea this morning to print this out himself.
At least, I have to hope he didn’t. The idea of my father scrolling through the gossip page and reading those comments about me is enough to make me want to dig a hole, bury myself, and never resurface.
The page he slides across is a screenshot from @TrustFundTea’s latest post. I’d already seen it this morning but seeing it again in the bright light of my father’s office sends a whole new wave of emotions crashing through me.
It’s a photo of me and Asher at the film premiere last night.
Or, more accurately, it’s a photo of us leaving the premiere.
Asher’s hand is resting protectively at the small of my back.
His brows are knit together in obvious worry and his face a mask of concern.
My own expression is pale and drawn. I look like a deer in the headlights.
Just the sight of his hand on me is enough to send my stomach into free fall. I tell myself to stay focused, to keep the memories at bay, but they slip through anyway.
Suddenly, I’m not in my father’s office anymore.
I’m back in my kitchen, the counter pressing into my spine, Asher’s hands firm on my waist, his mouth moving over mine with devastating certainty.
His tongue brushes against mine, slow and deliberate, and the memory alone is enough to make my toes curl.
I blink hard and try to drag myself back into the present before my father notices the flush creeping up my neck.
He’s still talking, words rolling past me in a wave I can’t quite catch because my senses are currently going haywire.
All I can hear and feel right now is the phantom echo of my own gasp, the rough scrape of Asher’s stubble against my skin, and the muscle memory of the way his body fitted against mine like it was made for it.
I cross my legs, uncross them, then cross them again, my fingers tightening around the armrest of my chair. It feels borderline criminal to be having thoughts like this with my father sitting across from me completely oblivious.
And yet I can’t stop.
The memory slams back into the forefront of my mind in fragments.
Asher’s hand sliding higher up my body. The low growl that built up in his chest and vibrated against mine as my lips parted.
The molten hot pull between us that made me forget that I’m supposed to be pretending to actively loathe Asher Vouvalis and not be seriously considering jumping his bones.
‘Imani?’ My father’s voice cuts through the haze.
I jerk upright like I’ve just been electrocuted. ‘Yes?’
‘I was just saying how proud I am of you,’ he says, looking genuinely delighted. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down and you’d find a way to get along with him.’
Get along.
Well. That’s one way to put it, I suppose.
I clear my throat and try to inject as much flatness into my tone as possible. ‘I mean, I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is. He was just being polite. Nothing more to it. We still haven’t addressed our, erm, issues.’
My father chuckles like I’ve just said the funniest thing he’s heard all day. ‘You can say that all you want, but this photo tells another story.’ He taps the printout with a finger, obviously satisfied.
I glance down at it again and immediately regret it.
My body remembers the warmth of Asher’s hand at my back and the exact pressure of his palm against me.
And worse, my mouth remembers everything else.
The soft insistence of his lips, the slow way he deepened the kiss, even the little noise I made against his mouth.
I’m remembering it all now with perfect, excruciating clarity.
I force a laugh and shake the image of Asher’s hand slowly drifting upwards to the curve of my breast from my mind. ‘You’re reading too much into it. Like I said, he was just making sure I got home safely.’
It hits me then that my father hasn’t actually asked why I looked like I was about five seconds away from fainting, or why Asher even had to guide me out of the venue and take me home in the first place. He hasn’t even asked whether I’m okay now.
His eyes are fixed on the photo like it’s a quarterly report showing profits soaring into the green. As if the only thing worth noting isn’t that I was unravelling in public but that my very public unravelling would ultimately be good for business.
My chest aches suddenly. Has he always been like this?
I’ve always known he’s had an unhealthy obsession with optics and reputation, but I’d never realised how unconcerned he truly was about me.
Did I just never notice because I was too dazzled by the glittering edges of our life – by the penthouses and the constant flights and the limitless bank account?
Or is this new? Is it only now, when he has something big at stake, that he’s stopped seeing me as his daughter and started seeing me as a pawn?
I can’t decide what’s worse. That he’s always seen me as nothing more than a commodity? Or that something recently has changed to make him forget that he once loved me the way a father should love his daughter?
Asher’s question from last night slams into the front of my mind.
‘Travelling? What kickstarted the love?’
At the time, I didn’t know why the question made me pause.
It’s one I’ve been asked plenty of times before, and my stock answer of just loving, exploring and experiencing everything the world has to offer has never failed me.
But last night it did. Because when I opened my mouth to say just that, the words wouldn’t come out.
Instead, a new answer started to form. One that revolves around the fact that I think I’ve being lying to myself for most of my life.
Because suddenly I’m wondering if my love for travel wasn’t in fact sparked by Peregrine looming over me my whole life and stoked by an innate love for exploration, but maybe I’ve been using it as an escape.
From what?
From this.
From my parents, from my legacy, from all the madness of being Imani Davies. And I hadn’t even realised it. I’d been operating on a subconscious level, my brain desperately trying to protect me from my father’s machinations, that I hadn’t even realised how bad things had got until it was too late.
I stare down at the page between us and, once again, take in Asher’s hand on my back and his expression etched with real, unmistakable concern. For me.
It’s clear that my father only sees this moment as proof of potential for a profitable alliance between Peregrine Airways and Vouvalis Resorts. But when I look at it, all I see is the one person who noticed and cared when I couldn’t breathe.
I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat won’t budge.
‘Imani,’ my father says, still smiling, ‘I’ve got a board meeting next week, and I’m going to float the idea of partnering with Georgios Vouvalis.
It’s a little earlier than we’d anticipated, yes, but the timing is perfect.
’ He taps the photo again and I don’t know whether I want to tear it into little pieces or snatch it from him and keep it pressed close to my chest. ‘And when I inevitably get pushback due to Georgios’, er, well, due to his reputation, I’ll casually mention that you and Asher are dating and that, as they can see from this photo, things are getting serious.
To them, we’ll be two families soon to be united through marriage, so why not make it official in business too?
The board won’t be able to resist,’ he finishes, clearly pleased with himself.
I, on the other hand, choke on my own breath. The room is spinning. I thought we had more time. I didn’t think one slip-up would result in him pushing his plans forward like this. ‘You can’t,’ I croak out weakly.
‘Remember, Imani,’ he says, waving my protests away like they’re nothing more than a light breeze, ‘this is good for everyone. For the companies. For us. For our family. For our legacy.’
My mind races as I try to come up with a plan to get him to slow down.
‘You can’t announce it to the board just yet,’ I blurt out, forcing my voice to sound calm, even though my heart is hammering like a drum.
My father lifts an obviously unimpressed brow. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because… because…’ I fumble around for an excuse that won’t immediately be brushed aside. ‘Because Asher and I haven’t exactly been the picture-perfect example of a stable and happy relationship these last few months.’
He leans back in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly, and taps his fingers against the polished wood of his desk. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have.’
‘If you tell the board about us now, they’ll just say the relationship is too volatile. They won’t trust that it’s stable enough to justify a merger with Vouvalis Resorts.’
His brows furrow slightly and I know I’ve piqued his interest. I just need to finish the job and reel him in.
‘We need to show them that we’re in a stable and loving relationship,’ I say.
‘We can’t risk the board thinking we’re rushing into this.
If they see us as unstable or too volatile, they’ll never agree to it.
The timing has to be right. You have to wait until Asher and I look unshakable in public.
Once we’ve proven we can be in a room together without things going to hell, then you can float the idea of a merger with the board. ’
His frown deepens. ‘You’re suggesting we wait?’
‘Yes,’ I say, trying to keep my tone flat and businesslike even though my stomach is churning with anxiety.
Emotions won’t help me here; I need to make it seem like I’m coming at this from a business perspective.
I’ve realised that that’s where I went wrong the first time.
I tried to get him to see reason as my father, when really I should’ve been appealing to him as Malcolm Davies the businessman.
‘Not forever. Just enough time for us to make this look real.’
He presses his lips together and hums thoughtfully.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leans forward again.
‘I suppose,’ he says slowly, leaning back in his chair, ‘that there’s some merit to that line of thinking.
With the merger already likely to cause trepidation among our shareholders, we don’t want to rush and give them cause for concern.
Fine. We’ll wait.’ He nods to himself like this whole thing was his idea in the first place.
Relief floods through me. I’ve managed to buy myself some time. My father was close to pulling the plug on this plan once – I’m sure we can get him to do it again.
‘Great,’ I say brightly. ‘Thank you for—’
He suddenly snaps his fingers, looking like Christmas has come early.
‘I believe Georgios is opening a new location in France next week. What better opportunity to showcase your stable relationship and put on a show of unity than that?’ He nods again, and I know there’s no point in interrupting.
‘You’ll attend the launch and be seen with Asher romantically.
No arguments. No drama. A united front. It should be easy.
Just build on what you started last night. ’
Heat erupts inside me again as my thoughts drift towards last night.
‘Got it,’ I say through gritted teeth, praying to all that is holy that my neck isn’t as red as it feels.
Just build on what you started last night.
He has no idea what he’s asking for.