OUR BROKEN BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER NINE

"Hello to you too, son."

Emerson's father's wrinkled face held a smirk that looked anything but pleasant. He was a man that might have easily been handsome once, but old age had not done him any favors. His eyes were a moss-colored green, and he had black hair with wisps of silver throughout. I understood where Emerson got his height as his father stood just as tall, at least six foot two. The suit he wore hugged the muscles in his arms and showed the slim fit of his body.

He didn't take his eyes off me as he took a few steps forward. I debated stepping up next to Emerson but decided that I'd let him take the lead. His smirk cracked to show his white teeth as he spoke to me, "I'm Charles, Emerson's father. I didn't get the chance to introduce myself at the wedding."

He extended a hand, and, placing the knife in my hand on the counter behind me, I came up next to Emerson to shake it, not letting go of my husband's hand. Husband. So strange.

My voice came out level—bored even, "I'm Cassandra. Nice to meet you."

I could feel Emerson's anger radiating off of him, charging the air. Charles finally averted his gaze toward Emerson and his smirk became an oily smile. I tried not to recoil. Emerson only stood about two inches taller than his father, but his spine remained pin-straight. It gave the illusion that he towered over him. He looked down his nose at him as if even doing that disgusted him.

What the hell did his father do to him?

A part of me didn't even want to know if it was anything compared to what my mother did to me for all those years.

Emerson kept his eyes on his father as he demanded once again—darkly, "What are you doing here." The light in his eyes that I had come to cherish in such a short time was gone. His eyes were ablaze with the emotions he felt toward Charles; anger being the prominent one, I assumed.

Charles walked past us, as if he owned the place, and sat down on the stool under the island— my stool. Emerson's father's voice was bland but edged with such misplaced amusement, "I came by to introduce myself to the wife since you failed to do so. I also came by to tell you that I have...," his eyes flicked to me and then back to Emerson before he drawled, "an assignment."

Every one of Emerson's movements ceased, even his breathing. His quiet response was the only depiction of surprise—despair, "No."

Charles crossed his ankles and gave his son a pleased smile. How could he ever delight in his son's misery? Emerson's grip tightened around my hand to the point of pain, but I didn't care. I let him hold it as tight as he wanted. He never told me anything about his father, but it was clear something bad happened between them.

Charles sat up straighter and cocked his head to the side, "What do you mean no?"

I wasn't sure Emerson breathed as he said, "We had a deal."

Charles' eyes lit up, and his smile expanded until he was hunched over laughing. "Right. Our deal. Does the wife here know about our deal?" he said, waving a hand in my direction.

I didn't allow my face to change from its blank state, though confusion was a very present feeling. Emerson didn't even glance at me, and his voice became so dark that I almost wanted to let go of his hand and run far away.

"Get out."

My eyes stayed on Charles, whose amusement didn't waver. He opened his mouth to speak but didn't get the chance.

Emerson took a step forward, released my hand, and snarled, "Get. The. Fuck. Out."

Charles flinched at the challenge and seemed like he was willing to put up a fight, but ultimately decided against it. He stood up smoothly, with an identical grace to Emerson. He walked past us and said, "This conversation isn't over."