Page 82 of A Fool's Game

The shift is subtle, but powerful. He just led Taylor down the exact path he wanted, to the subject he wanted to land on.

I don’t know why I was concerned for this man’s safety. He can take care of himself.

Ainsley, no doubt an expert on his father’s masterfulinterrogation skills, sits forward. “I haven’t eaten here in at least a couple of years. I think the last time was Sam and Naomi’s engagement party. Is that right?”

Ben’s gaze rests on Taylor for another long moment before relinquishing the fight and shifting to his son. “I think so. And that wasn’t even the full tasting menu. You’re all in for a treat.” He glances magnanimously from Ainsley to Taylor to me, and then over to Victoria, who he pulls a bit closer with his arm around her waist. “The menu this season is incredible.”

The first course arrives, and we all fall gratefully on the tiny, artfully arranged salad like the life raft it is. Between bites and sips of wine, there’s small talk about the weather, the beach, Ben’s house on Merit Island, which I know from my research is only a short boat ride away from the island we’re currently on.

It’s not until the third course has been cleared and a fourth or fifth wine poured—I’m already losing count—that Ben turns his sights on me.

“Publishing, is it?” he asks, sitting forward with his hands clasped in front of him, giving me his full attention.

I can feel all eyes on me as I clear my throat to answer. “That’s right. I did my undergrad in creative writing and marketing, so publishing seemed a natural fit for a graduate program.”

I hear the misstep as it leaves my lips, but it’s too late to take it back.

“So, not a passion degree then? A career move?”

I meet his eye as he tosses the words out casually enough. I will not let this man intimidate me. “I’m a writer. I was focused mostly on my poetry when I started undergrad. Now I’m focused on getting a job.”

Ben’s eyebrows raise just slightly as I please him with my response.

Then he goes back in for the attack. “Am I correct in remembering you lived with the Whitmores?”

I’m stunned silent, my intake of breath too audible. I never thought he’d take the conversation in this direction. I had every intention of leaving this all in the past. Taylor sits forward, ready to defend me, but I place a hand on his arm. “Marta and Paul, yes. And their family. They took me in, or kept me, I guess, after my mom…died.”

He narrows his eyes slightly as if wondering how much more of this questioning he can get away with. He seems to decide he’s already on thin ice. “I don’t see them around much anymore,” he concedes.

“Me neither,” I say softly.

The waiter lays out another course, and we all politely listen to the description of ingredients and which local farm or cove they were harvested from. When they leave us to explore our food with yet another generous pour of wine, I notice that everyone has lifted their fork except Ben.

I look up, and he’s watching me with an intensity so reminiscent of Ainsley, it sucks the breath right out of me.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened to your mother.” He lays the words out before me in a neat, straight line. An offering so surprising that for a moment I can only gape at him, the shock of him mentioning her so great, it derails my brain.

“Dad,” Ainsley jumps in, admonishing him, clearly just as surprised as I am about his father’s willingness to bring it up.

Ben just shrugs it off, though, lifting his fork. “It’s true. I am very sorry. I know it’s a tough subject, but it needs to be said.”

Mother fucker.

“It’s your fault, you know,” I blurt out, feeling the air around me shift as the whole table tenses at once. “If you hadn’t fired her, it never would have happened.”

I suck in a breath and blink rapidly at my own mournfuladmission. I never imagined I’d get a chance to say it to this man, the words I’d rehearsed over and over during my teen years, praying I’d run into him at one of the parties the Whitmore’s threw, or on the street in the city.

It doesn’t bring the relief or the vindication I imagined it would, however. I just feel silly. And wrong. And furiously apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that,” I add quickly, looking down at my plate, feeling all eyes at the table on me.

“No, that’s alright,” Ben starts, but I still don’t look at him. “It’s true enough, I suppose. And I apologize for that.”

The way he graciously accepts my accusation. The calm, matter of fact way he offers me the words I thought I wanted to hear. It shakes something loose inside me. Something I thought was locked away forever.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” I mumble without looking up, tucking my napkin onto my chair as I get up.

“I’ll join you,” I hear Victoria say as I push my chair back, looking around wildly for some kind of sign to point me in the right direction.

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