Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
"You haven't said why you've brought your ex-boyfriend to visit me," Dad says. "I may be a sick, old man, but I'm not a fool. I can't imagine he's here just because." He turns to me, searching my expression for an explanation. "It's been a long time."
"Yes," I say.
"But he has been in New York awhile now," Dad says.
I do nothing to hide my surprise.
"Sweetie, like I said, I'm not a fool. I read the news," Dad says. "And Nick still visits sometimes."
Shep's smile disappears. He's still angry with his brother. For the whole go to rehab or you're out of the company thing? Or because he believes I fucked Nick?
I should explain no, I didn't, I'd never. I should erase those fears. But there's something inside me that refuses. Something that wants his jealousy.
I spent the last year hearing rumors about him tying up models. He can spend a few weeks wondering if his brother fucked me senseless.
Though… From what I hear, Nick has a similar taste for domination. He tried to keep things quiet when he was sleeping with an intern at Odyssey. But he never was as discrete as he thought.
Nick and Lizzy are together now. They're happy. Engaged even. We talk every so often. Sometimes, the three of us have dinner. I love them like family. But it's hard to see them. To see him, at least. He reminds me of Shep. He reminds me of everything I've lost.
Now… "I didn't know Nick visited. That's sweet of him." I fold my right hand over my left. Dad still hasn't noticed my ring. Or maybe he just hasn't said anything. He's usually aware of these things. "When did you last see him?"
"He didn't mention anything about Shepard." Dad raises a brow. "Because he didn't know?"
"We've been keeping this to ourselves," Shepard says. He sells it with a big smile. He's the picture of a happy boyfriend. "I hate to admit it, but I'm greedy. I've been taking advantage of your daughter's time."
"He is greedy." I can agree there.
Shep shoots me a knowing look. His smile shifts to something real. Teasing even. "I hate to do this so awkwardly, but I'd like to make a request."
"The tea?" Dad raises a brow. "I can teach you, but there are some things you learn here." He presses his hand to his heart. "You learn how to feel it. You learn through repetition. Like playing an instrument. It's more than following the scales. It's letting them sink into your bones."
Shep just smiles. "I see where Jasmine gets it."
"Come here." Dad sits up straight. He motions to the electric kettle in the corner. Smuggled in. Not at all regulation. Only allowed because he fixes Mariah green tea on her breaks.
Shit, maybe he does have a chance. Maybe Mariah and her husband are a modern couple with some kind of open arrangement. Or maybe they're like me and Shep. Married for some other purpose.
Well, what we'll be like. And, oh my God, I'm not thinking about my father sleeping with a married woman in an open relationship. Yes, I want him to be happy. I want him to move on. But I don't want to hear about it.
Besides, he deserves better than other man status.
I mean—
Ahem.
I try to tune into the room as Dad walks Shepard through the steps to fixing oolong.
Shep listens closely. He nods along, even as Dad steers into asides about the mountains in China or Mom sipping a cup before dinner, every single day. He studies the way Dad scoops the tea, holds the kettle, pours.
They finish the first steeping. Pass a cup to me.
I hold it up. "Cheers." My glass taps Shep's. Then my father's.
Dad's eyes stay on me. He knows something is happening. Knows something is different.
But maybe he'll believe this story. It's easier to convince someone of something they want to believe. And he wants me to be happy. He wants to know someone is there to take care of me.
He wants to walk me down the aisle and meet his grandchildren. He wants to believe that's possible.
I swallow a sip of my tea. "Good." It is good. Perfectly steeped. Strong but not astringent. Shep is a fast learner. And Dad is happy teaching.
"Tell me about multiple steepings," Shep says. "Your daughter was quite poetic about it."
"I get that from him." I take another sip. Let it warm my chest. Let myself believe this ruse.
"Yes, she does." Dad smiles. "Most teas can take multiple steepings. Some are meant for it. The typical way of preparing tea, here"—he points to the gaiwan, a small cup with a lid. Then he takes off the lid—"we use more tea and less water. So we can go through more steepings. Because each time we add water to the tea, the leaves open a little more." He motions to the unfurling leaves.