CHAPTER 9
This is the first time I’d been nervous the entire evening.
When Vanessa had been there, I’d worn my armor and chipped away at her hard edges, putting her at ease with all the tools I’d gained living with Lamia. But now, sitting alone with Fiona’s father, my heart clenches as I consider what I’m about to ask him.
She’s already said yes. I know that she can’t be dissuaded. But after reading about human customs, I’m desperate for her father’s blessing. Now that the moment’s here, I feel like I’m not even remotely prepared.
I’m twice this man’s age, but I feel like a child.
“Let’s go sit by the fire,” he says. “I have a bottle of whiskey I’ve been saving for an occasion like this one.”
I’m not entirely sure what ‘whiskey’ is, but I follow him without questioning it, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. He motions toward two armchairs in front of a roaring hearth, and I take an uneasy seat in one of them, playing with my collar to ensure that my gills remain invisible. David Ward opens a wooden chest beside the fire and pulls forth a bottle of amber liquid and two crystal glasses, then pours the liquid into one before turning to me.
“Rocks or neat?” he asks.
I feel a flash of panic before choosing randomly. “Neat.”
“Me too,” he grins, then passes me the glass. He sits opposite me and swirls the liquid in his own cup before taking a sip, wincing a little at the flavor. I sniff mine experimentally, finding that it is assuredly some kind of liquor, but that it isn’t nearly as strong as the kelp wine we drink on Homeworld. I take a big sip that makes David’s eyes go wide, and he cocks his head.
“Slow down, bud,” he chuckles. “Nervous?”
I gulp. “Why would I be nervous?”
He smiles knowingly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. But he doesn’t respond to my question; instead, he looks into the fire, growing suddenly pensive. “Did Fi ever tell you how I met her mother?”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t often speak of her mother, but I know that she loved her a great deal.”
David’s eyes flicker warmly in the firelight, a smile quirking at his lips. “Evelyn…” he starts. “She was a firebrand. Refused to do things any way but her own. Fiona takes after her.”
“And your meeting?” I ask, wanting to know what this is all about.
“She was a waitress,” he says, “at a high-end bar in Atlanta where I used to go in college. She was all wrong for me, my parents disapproved...so I ran off with her. Didn’t speak to my parents for nearly two years before coming home married with a baby on the way.” He chuckles. “I guess I got what I deserved.”
“Fiona isn’t pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking,” I cut in, and he snorts.
“No, I didn’t think she was,” David says. “But I know that she’s in love. And I know what you’re here to ask.” His eyes meet mine, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes giving him a flush of kindness that doesn’t always come across. “And you have my permission.”
I stop short, my fingers clutching the glass in my hand. I take another sip of my drink in pure shock, stunned at how easy this was. “You mean…?”
“I haven’t been a good father, and I know that Fi hasn’t felt she had a family in a long time,” he says. “And if she’s found that with you...well, there’s no way I would take that away from her. I know from personal experience that the more control I try to exert, the further she’ll pull away.”
I’m overjoyed at the news, but something sits wrong with me in the way he phrases it--as if Fiona isn’t his problem anymore. I know that I should take his blessing and go, but I suddenly feel a surge of protectiveness for my future queen, and I set the drink down and clasp my trembling hands in front of me.
“You’re wrong,” I murmur.
His head snaps toward me, his brow furrowing, that trace of kindness gone. “What?”
“You weren’t too controlling,” I tell him. “In fact, you didn’t hold on to her tightly enough.”
He leans back in his chair with a bitter laugh, the comradery between us rapidly fading. “You’re giving me parenting advice?” he asks. “What are you--twenty-five at the oldest?”
I laugh out loud, a bold move for a diplomat with everything to lose, and I wonder if this human liquor is starting to affect me. “I have more experience than you might realize,” I say, “and I know that Fiona truly felt that you wouldn’t care at all that she was gone. It wasn’t even her idea to come back; it was mine.” I narrow my eyes, leaning forward. “Until today, I didn’t even know your name.”
He stiffens, his fingers clenching around his glass until he sets it down with a loud clink on the side table. I think he might strike me for a moment, his whole body tensing and shifting forward.
Then he puts his face in his hands and starts to weep.
I’m left at a loss for words, and all I can do is watch him cry in the firelight. He’s a big, broad-shouldered man, and seeing him reduced to tears is an experience that I’m deeply unfamiliar with. In all my years, I’ve rarely seen non-Merati men cry like this, agony wrenching itself from his throat.
It’s at that moment that the door to the foyer swings open, and Vanessa strides through it with Fiona and Kye in her wake. I can smell sex on the two of them right away, and my jaw drops as I realize that something bad has happened. David swipes at his eyes, tilting his face so that Vanessa can’t see him and clearing his throat.
“What is it, Vanessa?” he asks, barely disguising his despair.
Vanessa doesn’t seem to notice, putting her hands on her hips. “Guess who I just caught fucking on the roof?” she says victoriously, her lips curved in a sneer.
Oh.
This isn’t good at all.