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“Come in.”

Cas opened the study door in response to his father’s voice. “Have you got time for a chat?”

“Come in, come in.” His father looked more relaxed than Cas had seen him in months, since before Nick Richardson. “Take a seat. I wanted to ask why you’ve called a family meeting.”

“I’ve got something I need your help with, my family’s help with.” Cas settled onto the old chesterfield. An early purchase after a business success. Cas had stroked the leather, glorying in the fabric. His father had shared his glee. Cas had forgotten that. His dad was a tactile person, as well as a hardhead. Maybe this would be okay?

“And you wanted a few words with me first?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“Why haven’t you?” A simple question, which shamed Cas.

“I was working up to it, but I might have misunderstood a few things. Hunt said I might have misunderstood a few things.”

Cas had re-examined the facts after his conversation with Hunt. Cas didn’t know the extent of the regional properties, because that was another question he’d never asked. “You’ve been different since Nick Richardson tried to take over The Hariri building. I’ve been worried. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You helped me more than anyone else.” His father’s gentle smile sliced through him.

“Not true, Baba.” Cas murmured the childish endearment.

“You offered me all you had. Hunter bailed me out, but not at the risk of his business or his dreams. We both understood that. Because of the nature of his business and connections, he was able to move fast, and I’ll always be grateful.”

“Why have you been so distant, locking yourself in here all hours of the day and night,” Cas asked. Living in Maha’s granny flat, eating with the family, Cas had been a witness to patterns he wouldn’t otherwise have seen.

His father’s brow creased. “I’ve always worked long hours. Maybe you’ve forgotten?”

“I thought you’d cut back.” Cas had assumed as he’d got older, as the business had seemed secure, his father would have reduced his work schedule.

“I’m a workaholic. Occupational hazard for a lot of migrants. We have things to prove to our new countrymen as well as the families we left behind. You’ve all inherited the same habit. Haven’t you worked two jobs at least for years?”

“Yes.” Looks like his father had paid more attention to Cas’s life than Cas had to his father’s.

“And, I’m not always alone.” His father gave a roguish wink. “Your mother is part of every plan. Just as I imagine Anna will be part of all Hunter’s plans from now on. That’s what I want for you.”

“Actually, I’ve met someone, but we ended it.” Saying it aloud was a gut punch, pain rippling outwards to paralyse him.

“Were you going to tell me?”

“No,” Cas admitted. Beatriz deserved better than being a secret. They both deserved better. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

“Neither one of us is in a position to start a relationship.”

“Why, I ask again?”

“You always said you waited until you had the money to support a wife. That’s what you’ve been telling me for years. That was the message from my childhood.”

“I exaggerated.” His father raised a hand and let it fall. “It would have been easier if we’d waited until we had more money. That’s another problem with being a demigod, you believed everything I said. Zahra didn’t. Your sister was still a student, but she and Carlos were both sure.”

“Carlos was already practising medicine. He had an income.”

“You’re of age, virile, you get your brains from your mum and your work ethic from me. You have a regular income. What’s to stop you?”

“She’s the eldest child, a second-generation migrant, although, like Maha, she wasn’t born in Australia. Her parents have struggled. Her salary is needed at home.” Summarising the problem made it seem more manageable. Made his solution sound reasonable.