Chapter 8
ZACH
“How’re you feeling, Dad?” I ask, stepping into his office one evening after work.
“Great.”
He doesn’t look great. He looks stern. He’s not exactly cuddly and approachable. My father is a hard man. He’s had to be. It comes with the territory, who he is and what he’s built.
He’s the exact opposite of Cecil. The guy didn’t create Stella, he was meant to come in and turn things around, but I don’t think he’s doing a great job. I have a feeling he doesn’t, either.
I sit down in the chair opposite my father.
He looks a little worn out and has aged slightly in recent months.
He’s not quite the invincible master of the universe that I’m used to seeing.
He thinks he’s invincible, even though he’s getting older, and is now ill.
He also has the worries of the company on his shoulders, but my brothers seem to think he’s a miserable old man and a bastard.
He’s done a lot of wrong, I don’t deny it, but he’s also suffered greatly. The man is hurting. He wronged my mom, and the Italian Knights, as well as their mom, and while Jett and Dex can’t forgive him, I’m not one to hold a grudge, even if what he did ruined all of our lives to some extent.
I sometimes stop and think how different my life would be if Mom were still here.
My memory of her has faded away like an old photograph.
I try desperately to hold on to it, try to remember wisps of her words, her touch, and the kisses she’d give me at night when she tucked me in—but it’s all becoming increasingly blurry, all soft edges and no detail.
Seeing Maya has brought everything into sharp focus again; the house where we lived, and how things used to be when Mom was alive. Maya wasn’t around then, and she never met my Mom.
Maya and her mom arrived at the Knight Estate many years later, but her being there just brightened everything for me. She added color and clarity to what had been, until then, a dark and dreary existence. I’d retreated into myself, but on meeting her, I slowly started to feel whole again.
Seeing her again makes me happy, and more curious than ever. But I feel like something’s happened, something she’s not telling me about. Something I hope to get to the bottom of.
My father coughs and clasps his hands together before leaning back in his chair.
“Are you sure you need to be here, Dad?” He doesn’t even need to work, he could let us all handle the business, but he’d never do that. He loves having control.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You don’t need to worry about me.”
I force a laugh. “Someone’s got to.”
A silence falls between us. He knows all too well that none of the others really gives a toss about him. Though we did all turn up at the hospital the night he collapsed, the night found out the prognosis.
My brothers have taken it to host dinners without him. I don’t like that. It’s bad enough that they exclude him but they don’t even visit to see how he’s doing.
He starts to shuffle some papers around on his desk.
I know that cue. He’s wondering why I’m here.
He doesn’t do social visits, and me popping into his office to see how he’d doing falls into that category.
With my father it’s always about the business.
So I start to tell him about the VIP event at Stella last week.
“I don’t think they’re doing too well,” I say, with some gravity.
He inhales a measured sigh. “Fashion is fickle. You’re only as good as the last season people remember—and most of them don’t remember for long.”
I clear my throat, feeling a little anxious. “I’m considering offering my expertise.”
He tilts his head, processing my words. Then, “Don’t offer expertise without securing something in return. Never forget that influence comes from ownership, not goodwill.”
I’ve been thinking of the best way to approach this, without letting my heart or my emotions cloud my thinking.
Problem is, Maya clouds my thinking.
It’s there, on the tip of my tongue, the news I want to share with him. I want to tell him that I saw the housekeeper’s daughter, because I’m curious to know what he’ll make of it. I open my mouth, but his phone rings, and he takes the call, nodding at me to wait.
I pull out my cell phone and check for messages.
Nothing.
I’m always hopeful that Maya might text, but she never does.
I grin, anticipating our dinner date tomorrow evening.
I’m determined to find out what’s going on.
Why she’s so aloof and icy. I expect that she’ll keep up the icy exterior but it’s not too difficult to remember the girl underneath.
The one I noticed back then, without meaning to.
The one I kept finding excuses to look for.
She always seemed serene and self-contained, sitting quietly with a book she’d borrowed from the library—only after I told her she could go in there and take whatever she wanted.
She loved reading the classics, world literature and stories that seemed far bigger than the life she was living—at least, that’s what she said when I once asked her why she read those books.
She said she liked being transported to another world, another time.
She liked feeling things through fictional characters, feelings she wouldn’t otherwise experience herself.
The calmness in her drew me towards her, and thinking about her now sends a ripple of emotions bubbling inside me. I’ve never been nervous about a date before.
Or dinner.
It’s just dinner, I remind myself, knowing that Maya insisted that distinction.
The thought that I will have her to myself, across a table, and get to discover what’s been going on in her life, fills me with a restless anticipation.
I can’t sit still, and while my father is still on the phone, I check her social media account, something I’ve been doing multiple times daily, just to get a connection to her, to find out whatever I can about her.
She doesn’t post much. A few times a month. Right now I’m staring at a silly, drunken photo of her from a friend’s birthday night out, her smile wide and carefree, like the smile she used to give me.
“Trying to find another little plaything on the app, are we?”
I look up to find a slow curl of contempt on my father’s lip. “Don’t strain yourself, son. A Knight shouldn’t need an app to find a woman. Just say the word and I’ll arrange for you to be with someone who is worth your time.”
I clench my jaw in disgust. I used to be able to dismiss his sordid comments easily before, but increasingly I’m finding him too much to bear.
It could be that he’s even more misogynistic than usual, more condescending and more obsessed with control and status.
It could be that he’s always been like this, always this bad, but I’ve let it go.
It’s what the others have seen, but I’ve chosen to turn a blind eye, and now I’m finding it harder than ever to do that.
“That’s a very condescending word, plaything.” I stare him down. He doesn’t flinch.
His eyes fill with amusement. “Fitting though, no?”
My collar suddenly feels tight and I almost reach to loosen it, but catch myself.
I mustn’t flinch.
Or show unease.
“Girlfriends are not playthings.” What the hell? I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with him. I had half a mind to tell him about Maya, because he would remember her, and her mother, but something in his expression and tone warns me to keep it quiet.
My father caught us in the library once, not long after I’d told Maya she could go in there. She and I were just talking. Maybe standing too close. Fingers brushing lightly. He walked in, and stopped, his gaze dropping immediately to where our fingers brushed together.
Maya pulled away first, like she’d been electric-shocked.
She fled without a word, rushing past my father who stood rooted in the same spot, his eyes fixed on me.
His disapproval was immediate and unmistakable.
I sensed he didn’t like Maya and I knew I had to keep the growing attraction between us a secret.
“People like that do not cross into our lives. Ever.”
I’ll never forget his words, and I didn’t miss the threat wrapped up in his words. After that I was forced to be careful and I tried to protect Maya by keeping my distance, but it wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to keep away from her.
Who am I kidding? He won’t be pleased that I’m going to have dinner with the housekeeper’s daughter.
I’ve always tried to keep peace in our family, but now I’m questioning myself. Was that the right thing to do? I’ve dismissed his bitterness and casual misogyny for years, smoothed it over and told myself it’s easier not to challenge him. But drawing a line now is going to be hard.
“Where were we?” he asks.
“We were talking about Stella.”
“Ah. Get the numbers. All of them. Don’t rely on what they choose to show you.” His mouth curves, as he nods, contemplating. “Observe first. Let them reveal their weaknesses. Then decide how you infiltrate.”
Infiltrate? I hadn’t planned on being stealthy. I don’t like doing sneaky things. “I’m still thinking about it,” I say, vaguely.
He looks out the window. He knows me and my brothers are all still sore about what he did with Daniela’s father’s company, AO Eletronica. It was wrong, and it pissed Dex off. Jett was already mad at Dad, before any of that, but that stunt he pulled really did him no favors.
Then he tried to get even with Rio and Raquel.
I hang my head. I’ve never dissected these things in too much detail before.
Never put them under the microscope, because I didn’t want to examine them closely, but just running through them now, with Rio’s issues so fresh in my mind, I’m starting to realize that my father isn’t ever going to change.
He needs that killer instinct to stay on top.
That’s why he’s been so successful, I tell myself, but I’m making excuses again. Maybe I’m blind. That’s why the others laugh at me. They say I’m too gullible. Too doting.
They could be right, but I’m not ready to let go of the one parent I have. The one who, now he’s ill, feels harder than ever to push away.
What’s the worst he could do that I wouldn’t forgive him for?