Dragon Heartstring(23)

I should tell my father and get it over with. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep her to myself a while longer. But to make her a real part of my life, I had to tell those closest to me. And while my father wasn’t the doting sort to say the least, he was a huge part of my life and still influenced me daily when it came to business. In that world, he was the smartest man I knew. In personal dealings, he was severely handicapped. And while I knew he missed Jessen, he had no idea how to come to terms with his deep-seated hatred for the Morgons and bring her back into the family.

With a deep breath, I stepped into the front parlor where my father was gazing out the window at the summer garden. My mother was tending the pink roses she doted on. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the hedges and lawn.

“Father?”

He swiveled, tumbler of Brevette in hand. “Demetrius. Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I knew that voice. Anger and disappointment rolled in his timbre. I dropped my gym bag and sidled up next to him near the window. Mother said something to the gardener, then she started pulling up weeds around her large potted plants.

He knocked the rest of his drink down, then set his glass on the bar. “I’ve been told you had quite a few words to say at the last Chamber of Commerce meeting.”

Clenching my jaw and bracing myself, I replied, “I did.”

His face reddened, while his voice dropped lower. “You took a definitive stance on behalf of Cade Enterprises on an issue that required my input.”

“And what is your stance on the issue of Volt guns, Father?”

“We have no personal interest in the product, you know that, but our colleagues have investments—”

“Yes!” I snapped. “We do have a personal interest in the product. My sister, your daughter, was nearly killed by a Volt gun. Is that not personal enough?”

“I’m talking about business.”

“And I’m talking about family. About what really matters,” I scoffed. “I can’t believe you’d actually defend those bastards, the Graysons. They abandoned you when the wedding was called off between Aron and Jessen. You swore you’d despise them forever, and here you are defending them.”

His eyes narrowed, then he stormed over to his desk. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here, son?”

“What are you talking about?”

He picked up the paper and threw it at my feet. I glanced down to see the front society page, and my heart sank. Beneath the headline, Prince of Gladium Woos Morgon Girl from the West End of Town, were photographs of Shakara and I at the bistro, at the coffee shop where we’d had lunch yesterday, and kissing on the rooftop of Spire Maiden.

So much for breaking this to my father gently.

“Son,” he said more softly than before, “you cannot openly have a fling with a Morgon woman.”

“It isn’t a fling, Father. I care for Shakara.”

Yes, even after this short period of time, I cared for her. Truly and deeply. And there was no ignoring the fact.

“No, you don’t. Hear me now. I know what it is to be bewitched by a Morgon woman. You can’t trust them.”

“You do? And how would you know that?”

He walked back to the bar, poured himself another drink, and took a swig. He turned away from the window where my mother busied herself in the garden and sat in his wingback chair next to the fireplace where a small fire hissed and popped in the grate. I took the seat opposite him. This wasn’t the reaction I expected. I was sure I’d receive an earful of nasty epithets, then I’d leave in a rage. But he seemed to be reminiscing about something from his past.

“No one knows what I’m about to tell you. And you are forbidden from telling a soul.”

He waited for me to assent. I nodded.

“I dated a Morgon woman once. No. More than that.” He paused, his eyes glazing over as he stared into the flames and remembered. “I loved her. And she loved me. But there came a time for her to make a choice, and she chose someone else. Another Morgon man. It was inevitable. I was young and foolish, but I learned quickly that Morgons are loyal only to Morgons.”

I could hardly believe what he was telling me. “Who was she?”

He seemed to be lost again in his memories. I thought he wouldn’t respond, never expecting his answer when he finally did.

“Lucius Nightwing’s mother.”

Stunned still, the curtains drew back on my childhood, showing me the truth that I never could see—why my father harped on about the Morgons, specifically the Nightwings, being backhanded and untrustworthy in the business world and why his hatred for this respected family seemed unending. His tirades about the Morgons always circled back to the Nightwings. And now I knew the reason. Bitterness and a broken heart had guided my father too long. But it wouldn’t guide me.

“I am sorry for your past, Father. Truly, I am. But I won’t throw away my own chance for a future because of it.”

“Listen to me, son. Whatever you think you might feel for this woman, it will come to no good. Morgons are meant for their own kind. It is in their nature. In the end, she will break your heart. And if she doesn’t, the world will shun you and reject the union you have formed. I tell you this to save you from the misery.”

“Jessen and Lucius are happy. And their son, Julian. He is happy. They are not shunned from society.”