Chapter 8

The press conference is held at the main square, with a politically strategic backdrop of the Town Hall behind us. The camera crew is all prepped for the live taping that will air on the news tonight. The tribune podium is set up in the center, and my father stands behind it proudly. His shoulders are squared with boundless buoyancy and he speaks with an assurance you can't help but want to believe in. That's his gifting, his mastery—he has the charm of a politician and the philosophy of a preacher. You want to believe him because he makes you feel that he believes in you.

Then I remember what he has done and what he is doing that puts it all to question.

I can't just let it go or sweep it under the rug either. A maelstrom of emotions seizes my mind, wrenching it apart slowly, yanking out fears I didn't even know existed. My qualms ambush me in an instant, resisting against being restrained. Once he concludes his statement, he introduces me to the stand. I take his stead, lighting up an award-winning smile as easy as flipping a switch. Everything I endure, I hide behind a hard-wearing visage.

I look beyond. The throngs of news reporters swarm the podium, shoving their microphones in my direction. The police are spaced out in intervals between the blockades, keeping crowds of people at bay. Before I can even get one word out, I'm blinded by camera flashes, bombarded by the constant shutters and assailed by the overwhelming succession of questions.

Which is nothing to me.

I command silence with expert ease, and a hush falls over everyone in radius. I open up my speech about philanthropic funding and partnerships in rural areas.

"Initiatives are being implemented to investigate potential strategies for stimulating philanthropic organizations to make investments in rural communities. The King Foundation's support is aimed at advancing the field of rural philanthropy by examining methodologies for altering the conventional philanthropic paradigm with the objective of encouraging investments in rural communities."

"And how does Mayor Du Pont plan to achieve this?" one reporter shouts out. "All there has been is talk and no delivery. And extensive projects like these require big funding."

"That's the beauty of it," I say, wrangling with a scowl and a smile. "Because he can back up his talk. The mayor and the council are in the works of strengthening the economic capacity of this city. Implementing model interventions, policies, and practices. Sustaining programs, services, and supports. Building and maintaining a workforce while providing community education. And achieving new policies, systems and environmental changes."

The response slaps a disgruntled frown on his face. I meet it with a grin.

"That's the difference between my father and his predecessors. They all talked a good game. But Mayor Du Pont does the work."

The crowd erupts into a cheering applause, chanting, "Mayor Du Pont," with a reverent echo.

I lean into the microphone. "Any more questions?"

***

My father and I are sitting in the backseat of the Mercedes Benz C Class Sedan, on our way to a luncheon.

 Private Chat

Allison: What's going on? You've been dodging me for nearly two weeks?

Allison: Did something happen? Please dear, I'm starting to get worried.

Me: I'm fine, but I'm still the Mayor's daughter, remember? I have my own duties and social responsibilities. I can't just come running when Vance snaps his fingers.

Allison: So something did happen… Well, he does miss you. He's a lot grumpier. If he's not freezing people out, he's yelling at them and being more aggressive. That's him, but somehow it's gotten worse. 

Allison: Please talk to him, preferably before the family reunion.

Me: What reunion?

Allison: Landen has been MIA since he heard of the alliance and Colton sent someone to find him. Apparently he's in Greece. He should be back soon and when he has returned to the homeland, Colton wants a family sit-down Du Ponts and Vacherons reunited.

Me: I have no reason to see him before then. I have to go. Enjoy your day, Allison.

I put my phone on mute before she can reply. I liberate a pent-up breath, my back slumping against the seat dejectedly, staring out of the window blankly, not watching but staring listlessly into the distance. My dad shifts beside me and even though I can't see him. I can feel his eyes like a hand on my shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

I fix on a smile, flashing him with it. "Nothing, just some stuff I have to do."

He smiles back at me plastically. "You think I can't see behind that beautiful smile?" He leans closer to gaze deeply into my eyes. "You may be radiant, but your eyes are dim."

"I'm fine," I say, nearly suffocating on the lie. "I promise."

He nods, then makes a call, looking away. I look away, too.

"Rebecca, cancel all my appointments today."

My head whips to gawk at him.

"Oh, I know Governor Adler will be attending the luncheon," he says with a blithe chuckle. "Who do you think invited him? Reschedule my interview with the media group to next week. And give my apologies to Adler. Something pressing came up."

He ends the call. "Frank."

His driver perks up. "Yes, sir?"

"Let's take a detour to my favorite clinic."

After a moment of malfunctioning, I say, "What are you doing?"

"We're going to have daughter and dad's day at the spa." He places his fingers under my chin to lift it an inch. "It looks like you could use it."

I gingerly remove his hand from my face. "Gee, thanks."

When we arrive at the swanky place, only appointments are allowed, but they make an exception for him. And of course they make the mistake of assuming I'm his wife, since I'm always by his side at rallies and so forth.

He and I enjoy a soul-soothing, purifying back cleanse, aromatherapy full body massage, environ facial and skin analysis with deep cleansing. And a manicure and pedicure, which we both do. During our pedicure session, they gift us complimentary champagne. They varnish his nails with a clear protective gel, whereas my toes are painted white.

"If you're trying to make me feel better." I take a sip—exotic wood interlaced with effervescent bubbles. "It's working."

He gives me a grin, then looks forward, closing his eyes.

"I just can't believe you dumped the governor."

He rolls his head to the side, sending me a 'are you dumb?' look. "I would dump the world if it means seeing you smile. Nothing means more to me than you and your brothers. Frankly, I'm a little hurt you're even surprised."

My gaze lowers. "Well… crazy times we live in."

After our rejuvenating spa day, we were going to go to a restaurant, but pops wants to retire for the day and just order takeout at home. Even though Silas and Luciano aren't here, I order as if they are just in case they make one of their spontaneous stay-overs. After almost an hour, our sushi and seafood arrive and we take it to the kitchen to eat at the island counter.

"So, how are things going with you and Vance?"

"Argh," I spit out, taking two plates out from the cabinet. "We can talk about anything but that."

"Ooo, trouble in paradise?" He slides over his plate and gives me a pair of chopsticks. "It's perfectly normal to have fake-dating problems."

I shoot him a glare. He receives it with a grin.

"Okay," he yields. "If you don't want to talk about that. Let's talk about the real issue… me."

"Dad…"

"No, I've put you in a horrible position, and I'll never forgive myself for that." He swivels on the barstool to face me fully. "The Yakuza have backed off because they know payment is imminent. But at what cost?"

"It's not forever," I say to reassure us both. "Once they're satisfied and they're paid—the alliance ends along with my future fake marriage."

A look emerges in his eyes that tells me something different. It dissolves with a blink.

"Yes, of course," he says with excessive caution. He smiles sadly at me. "I'm just so sorry. This is my worst nightmare… you caught up in my sins. If I could turn myself over to the authorities, tell them about the blackmail and exploitation—"

"Blackmail? What, when did they exploit you?"

He wipes his mouth with his hand before his fingers knead into his temple. "It's how Haru Black chose me. And at first I thought we were partners, but I figured out too late I was a pawn. There is no intelligence agency on the planet that can find him, let alone apprehend him. If I leave, it only leaves you and the boys in danger because the work he needs me to do will go undone. I'm bound to them, but you're not. Once the alliance fulfills its purpose, you will be free—I swear on my life."

I put my hand on his, and he latches onto my fingers.

"Were you ever going to tell me about any of this?"

"No," he says immediately. "The less you know, the safer you are. And because… well, I know what you would think of me. For years you've looked at me… with this look like I was your superhero, a role model you looked up to. That look vanished when I confessed my crimes to you... and I haven't seen it since."

I avert my gaze. "You did do bad things," I whisper. Louder I say, "Which I don't even know the full extent of what exactly the Yakuza was making you do, or what they want from you now that's so bad. However, what I do know is that you may be a good public servant… mayor, but I think you're an even better dad. And that won't ever change, daddy."

His eyes become glassy, and he lifts himself to come over to me, enveloping me in a bear hug. I giggle, holding onto him, his warmth seeping into my skin. A comfort that no amount of spa treatments could ever provide.

"What's this?"

Silas strides into the kitchen. "You guys hugging without us, without me?" He stabs a finger on his chest. "Luciano, we've been cheated on!"

"Move." Silas cuts in between us to glomp down on dad. "I also need my daddy time."

"I smell food."

Luciano hurries in, then goes directly for my prawns. I jump up to impede him, shielding them with my body.

"Those are mine."

"You have the body of a twig, I will throw you."

My phone starts ringing. Luciano smiles victoriously.

"Your phone," he points out.

"I'm not deaf."

I swipe the container of prawns and run out with them, following my ringtone to the lounge. I make the trade, prawns for my phone, placing the container on the TVstand. I glance at the unknown number with furrowed brows before I answer hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Avara, it's Colton Vacheron."

"Oh, Mr Vacheron. How are you?"

"Please, call me Colton. You are, after all, my soon to be my daughter-in-law."

I laugh awkwardly at that. "Can't wait, sir–I mean, Colton."

A hum rolls down the line. "My son is currently on the jet back and he'll arrive by morning. I was hoping tomorrow you and your family would come over for brunch? I would've extended this invitation to your father first, but his secretary told me he has urgent matters to attend to."

"Are you eating the food or are you drinking it? Slow down!" Luciano.

"Luciano, let go of your brother!" Dad.

I turn away from the archway, walking further into the lounge. "Yes, very important things, Mr Vacheron. I will relay your invitation to him and my brothers. See you tomorrow."

"Excellent. I know Landen is just dying to meet you."c