Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Fifty-six

"Have a seat, please." I swing a hand toward the couch, carefully watching Roberto's slow steps as he moves like a lion.

He takes a seat and I stand aside, unsure of what to do or say next. But I got this, no matter how confused and surprised I am right now.

"Would you like something to drink?" I offer.

"Water, please." He taps his fingers on the armrest, his eyes taking subtle account of whatever makes my small living room.

An exquisite gold watch and a pinky ring catch the small of my attention. It's almost identical to Adrian's: black onyx stones resembling eyes, and some carvings that I can't tell their figure until I'm closer to it. Adrian's was silver or white gold, but Roberto's is pure yellow gold.

I take a few steps to leave but something stops me midway. Turning around, Roberto's restless gray eyes regard me instantly. For an old man, he looks strong and healthy. He's average in size, white in color, with black hair aged into fine gray, and a very stern jaw strewn with a beard.

He's a fine, very, very fine old man.

Seated cross-legged on my sofa, he looks simply rich and powerful. His cashmere trench coat and suit have different shades of brown, yet blend perfectly alright with a plaid scarf accenting his neck. I clear my throat, all to pull myself together.

"Um, you said your name is Roberto Castle?" I ask again.

"That's right." He smiles indulgently, as though he's utterly anticipating for me to bombard him with more questions—which I certainly should.

He's earned it.

And aside from his elegance, there's a sense of rowdiness surrounding him and in his deep stare. I feel like his impish smile can turn into a blast of rage in nanoseconds if someone presses his invisible buttons. He's like a blurred boundary between light and darkness.

Enough, Arabella! He's not here to be analyzed by you.

"So then," I continue, "does this mean you're..." My voice fades as I debate whether to be upfront or subtle. "Are you, by any chance, Adrian's..."

He lifts his one eyebrow, a hint of amusement on his face. Equipped with patience, he waits for me to finish my question, as I pause for him to fill in the details about his relationship with Adrian even if they're sharing their last name.

"Father?" he probes, smiling wider for some reason.

"Yes!" I answer fast. "Are you his father?"

"I am," he replies.

Oh wow! I swallow a bit, surprised.

"But you barely resemble each other," I think out loud, my brain construing the fact that he's a white man while Adrian is black.

Adopted maybe? Or is he biracial? Now I'm confused.

Roberto bursts into a burst of laughter, probably amused by the look of pure bemusement I'm throwing his way.

"Why? You don't believe he's my son just because he's rich in melanin and I'm not?" he quizzes, his tone jovial, his words embellished with a very familiar accent the more I listen to him.

"No, I did mean that," I defend myself.

He smiles more. "I do hope you're not a racist, are you?"

"Oh my, what?" I chuckle. He lifts his eyebrow higher, having fun at my expense. "Um, okay. I'm a bit curious if he's your biological son or not. But don't worry, because it doesn't matter. The fact that you're his dad is the only important thing here."