Chapter 31 #2
As if summoned, Leon Griffin appeared in the archway in a dark polo and jeans. Father and son had that same ability to dress casually while still exuding power. The confidence of men who’d spent decades turning dirt and steel into an empire of skylines and landmarks.
“Sorry I’m late to greet our guest.” His voice rumbled, a glimpse of what Rafael’s would sound like in thirty years. “Welcome, Bea.”
Her fingers vanished in his grip.
Bea offered a small cooler bag. “I didn’t know what to bring…so I made radish kimchi. And almond polvorones.”
They peered inside like she’d brought treasure instead of Tupperware.
“Thank you, kopela mou. I already know we’ll love the kimchi. The polvorones we’ll have with our tea after dinner. They smell heavenly.”
“Darling, should we eat alfresco?” Leon said, touching Selene’s elbow. “Let’s not waste the light.”
“Perfect. I’ll tell Adra,” Selene said.
Leon turned back to them. “Why don’t you give her a quick tour, and we’ll meet you on the patio in twenty minutes?”
Rafael nodded. “Sure.”
They split off, Selene and Leon through one arch, Rafael steering her through another.
The hall smelled of lemon verbena. Domestic, but upscale domestic.
Leon’s study was all desk, Selene’s salon pure sunlight. The theatre was a leather cave, the kitchen garden a riot of herbs and citrus. She noted the lemon trees she’d already benefited from, unusually prolific for peak summer. Must be an all-year variety.
“So is this place actually a hundred years old?” Bea asked as they strolled hand in hand.
Rafael shook his head. “My father built it for my mother when I was in middle school.”
Beyond the glass she glimpsed a pool, a wide lawn and gardens, and the top of a staircase that must lead down to the beach.
“He added this a couple of years ago. It wasn’t around when I lived here,” Rafael said as he showed her the glass-walled conservatory. She could picture it as anything—book club, soirée space, reception venue.
Considering the size of the grounds, the house itself was surprisingly modest. Not suburban Toronto modest, obviously. It had a conservatory. But it felt like every room was lived in and enjoyed by a real family.
Finally, he led her to the wing of bedrooms. “My parents’ room is on the opposite side. There are four here.”
Even years after he’d vacated it, Rafael’s room carried the marks of a boy who’d spent his youth in motion.
Scuffed boards beneath a pull-up bar, a basketball and leather jump rope in one corner, free weights stacked in another.
Sketchpads were stacked neatly on the desk, the top one left open with lines of cranes and half-finished structures.
The shelves were crowded with trophies and medals, most of them sports related. Basketball, track and field, sailing, assorted martial arts. Tucked between them were the surprises: a silver medal for debate, a regional public speaking award, and a shiny plaque for mathematics.
It was a lineup that refused to be neat, a boy too physical to sit still, but too keen to be dismissed as muscle.
On the wall above the bed hung a sun-faded poster of Michael Jordan midair, red jersey stark against white. The words Limits, like fears, are often just an illusion blazed across the bottom.
Bea tilted her head. “Jordan? Arguably the best, but also a little retro. Did you want to be a basketball star?”
Rafael’s mouth curved. “No. I wanted to be unstoppable.”
The patio was open to the sky, framed on three sides by golden stone, with a single olive tree rising from its center. Lanterns were wound through its branches.
At the far end, beneath a canopy of string lights, Selene and Leon were already standing.
A woman in her fifties stood with them, dressed in slim navy pants and a crisp linen blouse, a plate in her hand and a dish towel flung over one shoulder.
She was saying something in Haventaal, her hands moving animatedly.
Selene laughed as Leon replied in the same language. They looked like family—so relaxed, so easy together—that she assumed the woman must be an aunt. Or maybe a family friend.
Rafael, his arm draped across her shoulders, guided her to them and leaned in to brush a kiss to the woman’s cheek. She smiled and gave his cheek a light tap in return, fond.
“This is Theia Adra. She’s responsible for keeping this house running and all of us alive,” he said. “My girlfriend, Bea.”
Adra captured both Bea’s hands. “Welcome, Bea.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Bea said warmly, then smiled. “Especially if you’re the reason for everyone’s survival.”
Adra laughed. “I can tell you’ll do just fine here.” She turned to Rafael’s mother. “At last he brings a girl home, Mrs. Selene, eh? We’ve heard your name many times, Miss Bea, but names are nothing until someone sits at the table.”
“I heard this table has a very strict admissions process,” Bea quipped.
She slid Rafael a sly smile. “He’s been impossible to please—until now.”
Rafael shrugged. “That’s why I haven’t brought anyone else, Theia.”
Leon gestured to the place settings. “Come. We don’t stand around while the food gets cold.”
Adra waved her dish towel in mock offense. “Cold? I will have you know everything is precisely timed to land at its peak.”
Two women stepped out from the kitchen carrying platters, and the family greeted them by name, easy and familiar.
The table filled quickly—grilled beef souvlaki, fresh pita, chicken thighs, a bowl of salad with thick-sliced vegetables, and a slab of feta big enough to be a doorstop.
The air turned rich with garlic and charcoal, citrus and thyme.
It smelled like a feast, and it felt like a home.
As everyone settled, Adra gave Rafael’s shoulder a parting squeeze and excused herself before slipping back inside.
Selene passed a bowl of lemon potatoes toward Bea. “Tell me what you think. Theios insists they’re too tart.”
“They are too tart,” Leon said, plucking one from the bowl and popping it in his mouth. “But that’s the point.”
Rafael forked three onto his plate, bit into one like a man starved, and spoke around the steam. “Test of strength.”
Bea nibbled cautiously, and blinked. “Okay, wow. That lemon has a grudge.”
Leon was triumphant. “Which makes the potato bold. Memorable. A potato that stands for something.”
Selene passed Bea a platter stacked with grilled halloumi. “Cleanse the palate. It’s from Cyprus. A friend brings it when she visits.”
Leon forked a piece onto his plate. “It squeaks. That’s how you know it’s the good stuff.”
Bea popped in a bite, a giggle bursting through. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “It sounds like I’m chewing on a pool toy.”
Rafael had already speared a second. “Try another piece. Trust me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but under the warm, laser-focused attention of both parents, relented. “Okay…still rubber-duck adjacent, but why is it suddenly addictive?”
Leon pointed with his fork. “That, right there, is the halloumi effect.”
“It’s the cheese equivalent of a man who grows on you.” Selene grinned.
Her gaze flicked to Rafael. “Speaking of. I saw the medals in his room. Athletics, sure. Debate and public speaking, fine. But math? Bit of a plot twist.”
Leon’s mouth tugged like he knew a story. “That one came courtesy of Duret.”
“Laurent?”
“Northgate wasn’t to his taste. Neither was Rafael, at first. Said he was nothing but brawn.”
“So that year he topped mathematics,” Selene said with a laugh. “He keeps that one polished.”
“Because it proved he was smart?”
“Because it shut Duret up for a week,” Rafael said, mouth curving like he still savored the win over a decade later.
Bea choked on a laugh. “Do you even like math?”
He rolled a shoulder, unbothered. “I like what happens when I put my mind to something.”
“Like the Westhelm permits,” Bea said, marveling. “M and S waits six weeks just to get a reply from the ministry. You got a stamped approval in five. How?”
Three forks froze midair like she’d just sworn in church.
“Oh, kopela mou,” Selene sighed.
Leon shook his head gravely.
The pause pressed down like a lid. She wasn’t even sure what she’d done, and glanced at Rafael for subtitles.
He finished chewing through half a skewer before replying. “You brought up work before dessert’s finished. That’s a violation of the dinner treaty of two thousand and nine.”
Her brows lifted. “The what?”
“We don’t corrupt the lamb with capitalism,” Rafael explained, tone deceptively mild. “Break the rule, pay the penalty.”
“Why does dinner have a bylaw?”
“Back when we were Griffin Constructions, dinner was the only hour we had. I wasn’t letting the children eat contracts with their rice,” Selene explained.
“I guess that makes sense,” Bea said, reluctantly. It made sense, but also—seriously? “What’s the penalty?”
“You have to sing the national anthem.”
Her jaw dropped. “Get out.”
“It’s true,” confirmed Leon solemnly.
“Why the anthem?”
“It reminds us of the men who built the walls, the women who made it home.” Selene smiled. “Might as well teach something in a penalty, no?”
“That’s deep.” Bea nodded like she was in class. “But in my defense, I didn’t know about the ordinance.”
“Always the same,” Leon said, smiling behind a sip of Visinada. “First-timers never make it through a meal without breaking the treaty.”
Bea blinked. “Wait. How many people have you made sing at this table?”
Rafael ripped a piece of pita in half. “All of them. And you only get dessert if you hit the high notes.”
This was hazing disguised as patriotism.
“Do you know, ‘Through Discipline, Dominion’?” Selene asked.
“I do,” Bea said warily. She’d practiced it on YouTube in the same way she practiced winged eyeliner—badly at first, then with unhealthy commitment. The song gave her goosebumps.
Rafael, for once, didn’t reach for another bite. He leaned back instead, gaze fixed on her, steady as a hand at her spine. “Then we’re waiting, baby.”
Bea huffed out a laugh. Pushed her seat back and stood. If she was going to be penalized, she’d do it properly. Hand to heart, chin lifted like she was taking the oath of office. And then she started to sing.
“From northern lands our fathers sailed,
Through storm and wind they came,
To forge a world with iron hands,
And crown it with our name.
Westhaven, bold, eternal,
Bound in unity
Through discipline, dominion,
Our vow, our victory.”
Selene watched with shining eyes, Leon with a grin spreading across his face. Rafael’s expression was ardent.
Chairs scraped back, until all three Griffins were standing with her, their voices wrapping around hers rather than overtaking it.
All at once the anthem wasn’t a penalty at all, but a swell of harmony that filled the air until the stone walls seemed to vibrate.
“The courage of our steadfast men
The strength our women bring,
Together shape a sovereign land
And make the future sing.
Our oath: to serve, protect, endure,
One people, one decree.
Through discipline, dominion,
Our home, our destiny.”