Counterfactual

13 | wonderland

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WONDERLAND

( — an imaginary land of marvels or wonders. )

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

          TRUTHFULLY, GABRIEL IS THE ONE LOOKING LIKE HE SAW A GHOST. Better yet, the man even looks like one, as Rowan takes in the ghastly white tone of his skin, the purple shades under his dark eyes, similar to bruises, and the shadows the lights cast upon his face, darkening his cheek area and making him look like a living skeleton, threatening to dismantle at any given moment.

          When he thought things were slowly crumbling, he never thought they'd reach this point. This is Gabriel Guerreiro, Isla's father, and he's pretty sure that almost obnoxious self-confidence runs in their blood. He has grown so used to Isla's way of living and acting that he assumed her father would be the same, seeing as he hangs out with her a lot more often and there technically was no way of knowing the truth, but still. The man standing in front of him looks like nothing but the ghost of his former self, a mere shell.

          This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to serve as a guide, almost like a parental figure, and what the hell is Rowan going to do now? Though he really hates to admit it, he feels like a lost sheep, now that the herder has disappeared. Him not having vanished physically makes it all a lot harder to deal with.

          "Sir," Rowan hesitantly begins, carefully setting his back over the chair by the entrance, and makes his way towards the armchair set in front of Gabriel's desk. However, he doesn't sit down, not right away. Instead, he holds onto its back, fingers digging into the plush, and forces himself to keep his voice as steady as possible. "I don't mean to intrude, but . . . is everything alright? You look like—"

          "—a mess?" Gabriel chimes in and, even though that was how Rowan was going to word it, Gabriel doesn't have to know that. Quite frankly, there are plenty of things Gabriel doesn't need to know and what he doesn't know can't hurt him. "I've heard worse. I'm sure you've already noticed by now Isla isn't shy about voicing her opinion." Rowan feels his lips involuntarily twist at the mention of Isla's name and prays the man didn't notice it. "That's exactly how we've raised her. Anyway." He sighs. "Please, sit down."

          Knowing there's no possible way to escape, Rowan obeys like a well-behaved puppy, but pulls a leg close to his chest once he's sitting down, his combat boot pressing against the pillowed armchair. He also knows just how unprofessional his posture is, but the game has reached a point where he and Gabriel no longer pretend to be all formal around each other.

          If they were still doing it, hiding behind masks, Gabriel would have pulled himself together before Rowan entered his office, as no one can possibly see the king shatter—not even the princess. Not even his servants.

          "We can reschedule this meeting, if you want," Rowan continues, curling his fingers around his calf. "You look like you're in desperate need of a nap and my . . . problems . . . can wait." Truthfully, they can't wait for that long, considering no one knows anything about what happened to Taylor Morris and now he also has to worry about not putting Rhiannon and/or Project Oxygen in jeopardy by knowing he'll be let in into their exclusive clique. It's also something Gabriel doesn't necessarily need to know—the latter problem, that is. The former is, obviously, of his concern. "I think I can deal with most of it on my own."

          "Nonsense." Rowan immediately straightens his back. "Rowan, I know you're here to work for me, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you as a person instead of just as my employee. I thought I had already made that perfectly clear." Huffing, Rowan stares down at his feet, sincerely hoping he's not blushing in embarrassment. Even though that rarely happens, pushing his luck isn't something he's not willing to do under such circumstances. "What's going on?"