“Wow, so your family really is a big deal.”
“I guess you could say that. But you know how it is, what you see on the outside isn't always what you get on the inside. They play nice with the people that have power. Fake smiles, exaggerated laughter, quirky little jokes and stories that don't really have a purpose, all in the name of status and money.” Looking down at her phone, her eyes get wide. “Come on, we need to get back.”
Heading back to her place, the doorman gives me the same cautionary glare, but she brushes him off.
“He's not going to bite anyone, Jim, I promise.” She giggles, grabbing me around the arm and pulling me along. “Don't mind him, he's always looked out for me ever since I was a kid. It isn't personal.”
“Easy for you to say. You fit in here, I don't.”
Sia stops me, taking both my shoulders in her hands. “It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. I want you here, that's all that matters.”
I lean to kiss her, but she takes a quick step back, her eyes darting to Jim. “Not yet. We still need to keep our secret for now.”
It's hard to hear that. It feels like she punched me in the gut. She wants me here, but she also wants to hide me. It stings. Inhaling a deep breath, I push the feelings away. “Right, our secret.”
Her eyes drift around my face. I'm sure she can see and sense the discomfort I feel. I get that I'm not some rich asshole who has money to throw around, but if it doesn't bother her, why does she care what anyone else thinks?
It's her family. This is her life and you just strolled in like a dark cloud.
I get it. I understand that her family thinks one way and she thinks another. I can also understand that she doesn't want to cause a rift with them. Family is family, and that's important, no matter how difficult they might be.
Opening the door, she looks around. “They're probably in the dining room. Why don't you go put the suit in your room and I'll wait here. Then I'll take you to meet my dad.”
“Is he as kind and welcoming as your mom?”
Her smile widens sarcastically. “Even more welcoming.”
“Great,” I say with a chuckle.
Hanging the suit on the back of the bathroom door, I take a second to fix my hair and clothes. The knot in my gut hardens to stone. Swallowing hard, I clear my throat and ready myself for another awkward silent battle of playing a role.
“Okay, I'm ready to meet your dad,” I say.
“It'll be fine.” Squeezing my hand gently, she hops up on the tips of her toes and kisses my cheek, then takes a quick step back.
I follow her through the living room and kitchen, still in awe at the size of this place. I can hear voices in the hall as we approach a wide open doorway with a soft light breaking in the dark hall.
She steps in first, and I linger behind her, still partially hidden by the wall. “Hey, Dad,” she says with a sweetness in her voice. “Hey, Mom.”
Her mother doesn't greet her back, she only orders, “Tell him to come in.”
Sia looks over at me behind her shoulder, reaching out her arm and grabbing me by the wrist. Pulling me in front of her, she smiles. “Dad, this is Mark. Mark, this is my father, George Andrews.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Andrews.” Holding out my hand, I lean forward.
George hesitates for a second, his eyes looking me up and down as he thumbs the stem of his wine glass. He doesn't say a word, weakly taking my hand and giving it a light shake.
He barely holds my fingers as if he isn't sure he wants to touch me. Grunting softly, he rests back in his chair, glaring up at me under slit lids.
“Did you guys eat dinner already?” Sia asks. She's trying to lighten the tension in the air. “I'm starving.”
Both her parents are just staring at me. Openly gawking like I'm some type of sideshow attraction. Her mother lifts a glass of wine to her mouth and takes a sip.
“We did. I told you six, it's almost seven. You can heat up some leftovers if you're hungry.” She's talking to Sia, but she's looking at me. “Otherwise, you can both head to your respective rooms for the night.”
“Okay,” Sia answers, drawing out the word. “You know, it wouldn't kill either of you to be a little more hospitable to Mark. He is a guest, you know.”
“He's your guest,” her father snaps, pointing at his daughter. “Not ours, yours.”
“Fine.” Her tone drops flat as she spins on her heels. “Let's go, Mark.” Pulling on my sleeve, I follow her back to the kitchen. Stopping at the island, she turns around. “I'm sorry about my parents. I wish they weren't so cold.”