Page 112 of Tall, Royal Hater
Wow…just wow.
Everything inside me went quiet and numb. I felt nothing because of or for the man opposite me. I didn’t even care for an explanation anymore. I just wanted to be done with him and leave.
“Why now?” I said, wrapping my hand around the car keys atop the table. “Why are you suddenly interested in me after all this time of radio silence?”
He opened his mouth…then closed it. And opened it. And closed it again.
I wanted to throw my head back and laugh mirthlessly. He didn’t even know why he reached out.
Andrew Platmon must’ve seen the insane look of iciness on my face because he straightened even further in his seat. “Because I made mistakes in the past, and I want to fix them.”
Generic answer. Meant nothing. Not in his eyes, not in his tone.
“No.” I leaned forward. “Why. Now.”
His mouth fumbled to form words again. “I do not understand what you’re asking.”
Bullshit.
The chair legs scraped across the floor as I pushed myself back from the table. I stood up, keys in hand, and pinched my coat from the back of my chair.
“Where are you going?” my father asked quickly as I slipped my arms into my coat.
Ignoring him, I headed to the counter where the boy and father duo suddenly dropped their gazes and pretended to look busy, eyeing displays of pastries and the cash register.
It was a small café, I couldn’t blame them for having listened to what was being said, but I hated that I’d been turned into a spectacle again. But I knew, on top of my soon-to-be relation with the Touman royal family, when the world found out who the man behind me was and how I was related to him, I’d become an even greater source of interest. And I dreaded that very moment.
“Can I have two tuna melt paninis, please?” I said to the young boy behind the register, unable to muster a smile.
“Shehryar.”That was the first time he used my name.
“Sure,” the boy stuttered and tapped on the screen. “Would you like that to take away?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A chair scraped the floor behind me, and the boy’s eyes darted past my shoulder before he dropped them to the screen again. “That’ll be, uh, seven-ten. Card again?”
I nodded and pulled out my wallet from my coat pocket just as Andrew Platmon appeared by my side. “You cannot leave like this.” Again, there was too much entitlement in his tone for my liking.
The boy’s wide-eyed stare was locked on my father as he blindly held out the card machine. I tapped my card and slipped it back into my wallet.
“Shehryar.” There was the faintest waver of panic or anger in my sire’s voice. “Do not ignore me.”
“I’ll just, uh, warm those,” the boy said, but faltered when he turned around and realised his father was already doing it, destroying his escape route. “Never mind.” He chuckled awkwardly.
A silent minute passed by as I waited for my food.
Andrew Platmon shifted restlessly by my side, but eventually, he said, “Shehryar. Son, let—”
Fury roared through me, sending me flying around. “Don’t fucking call me that,” I growled, murder dripping off each word. “I am notyourson.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, my father shrunk back into himself, suddenly looking tired and old. Guilty. Ashamed. Regretful.
Andrew Platmon visibly swallowed. “I…”
“Maybe start off by apologising for being late.” Both my father and I glanced towards the counter where the older man now stood in his son’s place. Judgement and disapproval weighed heavily on his rugged face as he frowned. “He was waiting for you for over forty minutes.”
I felt my father bristle next to me, but I offered the man an appreciative smile as he held out two folded brown paper bags. “Thank you,” I said while taking them from him.
