“I was in court in Chicago,” I explained. “What would you have me tell them? That you want weekly reports on my sperm count, so you can have a busload of grandsons in hopes that one of them will make it to the White House someday?”

Sarcasm was something I hadn’t grown out of.

“Stop whining.” My father swirled his Jameson in his rocks glass. “Tell them that you have an important meeting.”

“I hate lying. You know that.”

I dug into my breast pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case, taking one out and lighting it. Tossing my lighter down on the table, I focused straight ahead of me, knowing my father was watching me through the swirls of smoke.

He was weighing his words, deciding if it would be worth his energy to chide me.

I blew out the smoke, biting back the smile tugging at my mouth. The day I graduated from law school last spring was the day I stopped letting him push me around. I had my degree, and I had the upper hand. He needed me more than I needed him, so once I’d secured my future, I put my foot down.

He’d bullied me into taking up the law, which even though I found little enjoyment in it, I was actually adept in it, and my forced marriage to Maddie was already hanging on by a thread. She was as unhappy as I was, and our son was the glue.

As much as I loved her, it was only a matter of time.

The waitress set down my drink—GlenDronach, neat—and disappeared.

“How’s the kid?” my father asked.

I smiled, my son’s sweet face flashing in my head. “Perfect,” I replied. “He came out of the womb with a smile, and I don’t think he’s stopped since.”

“He’s strong.” My father nodded, eyeing me. “He needs brothers.”

“He needs a father,” I shot back, blowing out smoke and hating the dirt taste in my mouth.

“You know I hate smoking.”

“I know,” I replied. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask me tonight? Other than about my child?”

He sighed, probably annoyed that I wasn’t playing along. “And Madeline?” He leaned forward, his midnight blue suit a sharp contrast to the red booth. “How is she?”

“Fine.” I nodded, tapping off some ashes in the ashtray. “Probably busy redecorating. She already has the kid in mommy and me swimming and Gymboree.”

“She’s a good woman.” He leaned back, looking at me pointedly.

I fisted my fingers, accidentally snapping the cigarette in half. “You don’t have to tell me that. I know my wife better than you.”

Maddie was my best friend.

Or rather she used to be.

We grew up in the same circles, were thrown together at social functions growing up, and were even “encouraged” to attend the same university. Lucky for our parents we hit it off and always kept in touch when we were separated. She attended boarding school down south, while I attended military school, but we wrote and talked on the phone. She knew me, and I cared about her.

Unlucky for us was the knowledge that our parents had a plan. Arranged marriages are supposed to be a thing of the past, but they’re still very much alive and well, and it’s ruined the close relationship Maddie and I once shared.

The stress of forcing myself to make love to someone I didn’t think about like that was killing me. She was still trying, but I’d shut down.

And it killed me to hurt her.

I could feel my father’s judgmental eyes on me, and I hurriedly tucked my cigarettes and lighter back in my jacket, getting ready to leave. I couldn’t do this tonight.

“Son,” he started, “I love you—”

I let out a bitter laugh, cutting him off. “Don’t even try. Unlike me, you’re terrible at lying.”

“And I do want you to be happy,” he continued, ignoring my insult. “I know you and Maddie are having problems.” He lowered his voice. “You’re practically separated, sleeping on your office couch half the week or in spare bedrooms in your house.”

How did he know that? Damn it.

“There are ways for a married man to find satisfaction outside of his home.”

I shook my head before throwing back the rest of my drink. “You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

To my father, happiness was power. And taking anything you wanted was powerful. He had no boundaries, and no sense of right or wrong.

But I did.

I may not have been in love with my wife, but I did love her. I may not want to yank up her skirt and fuck like her like I couldn’t live without her, but I did care about her. We hadn’t had sex in months, and even though I knew things were ending between us, I wanted to protect her and respect her.

I let out a breath and slid out of the booth, standing up and grabbing my phone and keys.

“This marriage cannot fail.” My father leaned forward, issuing his order. “You’re getting more and more distant by the day, and you need to keep it together. You’d be surprised how easily another woman can—”

“Another woman,” I growled, cutting him off, “isn’t going to fix what’s missing.”

“I know what’s missing,” he retorted, looking me up and down. “You have no lust for anything. Every day is the same. You already feel like you’re sixty years old, right?”

I froze, staring at him.

“Life is so dull”—he spoke slowly as if knowing every thought in my head—“even food seems boring, doesn’t it?”