“Where are they?” Ian asked.

“Mom’s at a press conference. Dad’s at a meeting. They said they’ll be home by four.”

“So what’s this news I had to travel half a day to hear?”

“It would sort of be anti-climatic, don’t you think, if I just blurted it out there?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll tell you at dinner.”

“Mom and Dad don’t know then.”

“No, you’ll all find out together.”

Ian eyed him curiously. “Where are we eating?”

Simon cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. “Aubergine’s.”

“Dear Lord, this is serious,” Ian stated.

Simon sighed, running his hands through his dark hair. He sat at the kitchen bar and sank his head into his palms.

He glanced up. “I had to. It’s her favorite place and I need her to be receptive tonight.”

I gazed from one brother to the other. “And what is Aubergine’s?” I asked.

“Aubergine’s is my mother’s favorite restaurant,” Ian explained. “The rest of us hate it. They serve ungodly things like trio of quail or abalone with spiced cauliflower mouse. Essentially, disgusting food.”

“Ah, I see,” I answered.

“We only go there when we really need mom to see our side of things.”

“Oh, now I’m dying to know.”

“You wait like the rest of them,” Simon told me. He looked at me like he’d only just really noticed me. “Wait a second. You’re a girl.”

“Astute, this one,” I told Ian, gesturing toward Simon.

“No, no. I mean, I knew you were a girl. You’d be hard-pressed not to notice with a figure like that,” he said and I rolled my eyes, “but that’s not what I meant.”

“Careful, Simon,” Ian gritted.

“You’re the first girl Ian’s ever brought here.”

“Surely not,” I balked Ian’s direction.

“No, you are the very first. Once, in high school he had a party and naturally girls came but he has never brought a singular girl here...ever. This-this is good. You’ll take some of the heat off me.”

Ian ran a hand down his face and blew out a breath. “Simon, must you always humiliate me?”

“I am sorry, little brother,” he said, standing and hooking his arm around Ian’s neck.

Ian shook him off but smiled. It was the first time I’d ever seen Ian really vulnerable, almost child-like, and I liked it. I supposed Masego was a “forced to act mature” kind of place. I was glad to see him young, to see that creased brow relax, even if it was just for a small amount of time. Ian so obviously carried around Masego’s worries on his strong twenty-year-old shoulders and they were more than capable of handling the weight, but everyone needs a break now and then.

Just then the front door handle began to turn and we all faced the door. I couldn't help but notice Simon and Ian exchange a glance before it opened, but I couldn’t fully read it. All I caught was anxiety, but there was a very good chance that was all me.

I was so overwhelmed in that moment. I wanted to run and jump off the balcony and sink into that abyss then. Anything sounded better to me than meeting Ian’s parents. I didn’t know how much they knew of me, or what to expect of them. I wanted to kick myself for not preparing as my father had taught me to do.

“Always be aware, Sophie. Never let anyone take you by surprise,” he would say.

I shook the thoughts away.

Ian came next to me and wrapped his hand in mine. “No worries, Soph,” he whispered in my ear, soothing me almost immediately.

The door opened and two imposing figures emerged, talking shop, it seemed.

“No, Henrik,” the woman, who could only be Ian’s mother, said.

She was tall, very. Dark black hair and fair skin just like Ian’s. Her hair was stylishly short and met just below her ears. She was lean and striking and unbelievably intimidating. She was exquisite and I could see where Ian had learned “imposing” from. She invented it with the way she carried herself.

She’d stopped talking and stood staring at us. She’d mastered an expressionless face and she was wearing it then. It was no matter to me, because in that moment I remembered my breeding and immediately exuded my own brand of imposition.

The invisible projection hit her like the atom bomb and you could tell she was taken aback.

She and Ian’s dad, Henrik, laid their bags down on the rich, brown velveteen sofa sectional before approaching.

“Simon,” her velvety voice purred. “What have I told you about rolling up the sleeves of your dress shirts. You’ll crease. You’ll have to change before dinner tonight.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Simon said, smiling at her, “but I’ve made reservations at Aubergine’s, so I figure you’ll forgive me?” He oozed charm and I could suddenly see why all the girls gravitated toward him.

“Fine,” she said, a tight knowing smile gracing her lips.

Simon kissed his mother’s cheek before collapsing on the sofa.

“Ian,” his mother breathed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Mom,” Ian said dryly, kissing her cheek as Simon had before turning. “Dad!” he exclaimed with more feeling and slapped his dad on the back. “So good to see you!”

“Happy to see you, my son,” Henrik said, kissing his son and bear hugging him.

“And who is this vision?” Henrik asked, motioning toward me.

“Dad, this is Sophie Price. Sophie, this is my father, Henrik.” He turned toward his mother. “Mom, Sophie Price. Soph, this is my mother, Abri.” He pronounced it Ay-Bree.

I stuck my hand out and shook Henrik’s. He shook it vigorously in return and with warmth. I turned toward Abri and extended my hand as well. She took it and something passed between us.

She knew.

She knew who I was and who my father was and, for whatever reason, she wanted me to know it.

“A pleasure,” she said, her perfectly coifed hair sliding forward slightly as she dipped her head in a thoroughly practiced gesture.

“Likewise,” I told her in my most uninterested voice.

She may have had a few inches on me, but it was obvious to everyone in that room that I was the bigger presence. It felt good. I turned toward Ian, glancing Simon’s way as I did, and caught their bewildered stares.

“So,” Abri interrupted the thick moment, “Sophie, Ian’s told me you work with him at Masego?”

“Yes.”

“And I also understand that you were caught with narcotics back home and that was what earned you that privilege?”

This lady wasn’t pulling any punches.

“Moeder!” Mother. Ian shouted in Afrikaans, coming to my side. “Ongevraag!” Uncalled for.

I coolly leaned into the countertop behind me, briefly examining my nails as I did so.

“It’s okay, Ian.” I met her gaze fully. “Yes, Abri, unfortunately I was, but it’s of no matter now.”

“That’s rather cheeky,” she added, looking on the verge of laughter. She thought she’d won.

“You misunderstand,” I answered. “If my bad decision led me to a place like Masego and exposed me to what life was really about, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Occasionally, some have to hit rock bottom to understand themselves fully, don’t you think? I plan on using mine to launch myself further than I ever could have had I never known Masego...or your son.”

“Well said,” Henrik told the quiet room, nodding toward me.

“Thank you,” I told him directly with a soft smile.

“Some know themselves without having to hit rock bottom,” Abri said, desperate for the last word.

I let her have it with a nod. She was right after all, but she was also was transparent to everyone in the room and her small statement only helped my cause.

“Shall we dress for dinner?” Simon asked everyone, attempting to break the tension.

“Let’s,” Abri said, her brows pinched as she examined me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I’d had the foresight to pack a little Monique Lhuillier tulle cocktail dress in champagne back home but didn’t feel it practical to pack heels so I’d stuffed in an odd pocket of my bag a simple pair of black Fendi ballet flats with a ribbon that wrapped the ankle. I was so grateful I’d done all that but forgot that it took days for tulle to “de-wrinkle” for lack of a better word. I had little under an hour and I was freaking out a little.

Abri had set her sights on me the minute she’d walked in the door and it made me, to say the least, a little uneasy. The last thing I wanted was to look unkempt when being scrutinized so closely. I wasn’t sure her motive but I knew without a doubt that Abri Aberdeen did not trust me. I didn’t think I could blame her, though her interrogation style left a little to be desired, because, well, she was the executive mayor of Cape Town and I do believe she’d set her sights on loftier political positions. I was a potential liability.

I unpacked my dress and hung it in the bathroom, took a steaming hot shower courtesy of their guest quarters and kept the room warm and humid by keeping the door shut while blowing my hair out and curling it with the wand oddly kept in a drawer next to the dryer. It was thoughtful of Abri to keep the instruments available to her guests but also felt like two points were added next to a dash by her name when I’d used them.

By the time my makeup and hair were done, the room had cooled. The wrinkles had disappeared significantly but not entirely. I thought about running the shower again but knew the water hadn’t yet reheated. I’d just started to panic when I heard a knock on my door. I threw on the silk short robe conveniently hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, one more point for Abri, and answered.

Simon.

“Hi,” I said, my brow wrinkled in curiosity. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” he told me, “I wanted to say, while I have the opportunity in other words, while my mother’s not around, you’re in.”

“I’m in?”

“Yes, you’re in with us already. The guys took a vote and you’re in.”

“Guys?”

“Well, my dad and I.”

“And I’m in?”

“Yes.” He looked me up and down. “Why aren’t you dressed? We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

The way he was so comfortable with me, I supposed I really was “in,” as he called it.

“I’m in a bit of a bind. The wrinkles in my dress won’t fall out.”

“Not a problem. Check the closet in your room. You should find a hand-held steamer.”

“Dammit! Two more points,” I gritted, my fist slapping an open palm.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Thanks. I’ll be ready.”

I shut the door behind him.

The steamer was where he’d said it would be and it worked beautifully. The dress looked like I’d just picked it up from the store, maybe even better.