Page 71 of Best Served Cold

I’d have to tell my father it was fake. I’d say Sophie was doing me a favor, and as soon as that favor was completed, I’d come clean to Jonah. Didn’t mean I’d be doing him any more favors anytime soon, or attending a “family” dinner ever again, but at least it would guarantee my father the peace he always claimed he wanted.

“The Napoleon Bonaparte,” he said, sliding one of the cups across the table to me.

“Win some, lose some,” I told him with a shrug as I accepted the drink. I didn’t really care what it was called as long as it had caffeine.

“Clever,” he said with a nod.

“I have my moments.”

“Was one of those moments last night?” he asked, angling his head and gesturing to the flesh around his nose. As if I could somehow have missed that my skin was still tinged blue, especially around my nose.

I took a sip of the drink, which was oversweet and tasted like a stale car air freshener.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said after shoving the offensive drink a couple of inches away. “I suppose you heard that I’m dating Jonah’s ex?”

“I understand, son,” he said, surprising the hell out of me. My father had never really understood me. Not back when I’d used my trust fund to help my mom instead of going to college.Not when Jonah had blown up my life. And not now, when I was “wasting” my life playing at dead-end gigs in bars and babysitting kids.

“Oh?”

He sipped his own drink, and frowned, probably quite rightly. “Sometimes the heart wants what it shouldn’t. I can tell you’re a wreck over it. You don’t look good. I understand that too. It’s hard to disappoint people’s expectations.”

He reached out and patted my hand, his expression so fucking fatherly I wanted to punchhimin the face. He was equating me standing up for Jonah’s ex-fiancée with what he’d done to my mother.

Cheating on her.

Leaving her before I was even a year old for his pregnant mistress.

Getting married the day the divorce went through.

He was using me to shed the last of his guilt—if he’d ever felt any in the first place.

“I didn’tstealher from Jonah, Dad. He lost her because he was unfaithful. If he’s upset about it, he only has himself to blame.”

“I get it,” he said again. I’d never been so infuriated over someone trying to agree with me.

“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “Jonah was cheating on her.”

He shrugged. “That’s not the story he’s telling. But what’s done is done. It’s how we move forward that’s important.” He sighed and looked up, probably trying to find inspiration from the line drawings of dictators on the walls. “Look, Rob. You’ve had your fun, and you’ve gotten back at Jonah. Cut the girl loose. She’s nothing special. God knows Patricia and I tried to tell him as much when he first brought her home.”

“Is that how you felt about my mother?” I fumed, getting to my feet. Really wanting to unload the Napoleon Bonaparte all over his expensive white shirt.

He looked alarmed. I can only assume he finally realized we were having a different conversation than he’d set out to have. I felt eyes on me, but I didn’t care.

“Your mother’s fine.”

“She isnow,” I said, withholding theno thanks to you. “But you’ll forgive me,sir, if I choose not to take relationship advice from you.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “You’d do better if you’d take all of my advice.”

“Maybe so, but I wouldn’t be very fucking happy. And just so you know, Sophie is worth ten of Jonah. He should have gotten down on his knees and thanked a higher power that she’d agreed to marry him.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “And how many ofyouis she worth? Thirty?”

“At least five. This is goodbye for now, Dad. I won’t be coming to any more family dinners.”

“You won’t be invited,” he sniped.

And then I left, having told him exactly the opposite of what I’d meant to.

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