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Victor looks up as I walk across the dance floor toward him. The heaviness of the past is suspended between us—the years of criticism, the denial of what I was going through, the way he always saw me as a disaster waiting to happen. His expression is severe and enigmatic, as always.

“Hi, Dad,” I say.

He doesn’t reply at first, just gives me a long, assessing look. Finally, he clears his throat, his voice gruff.

“Nicholas. Surprised you showed up.”

If he’s taking a dig because Sienna and I were late, I refuse to let it get to me. I sip my whiskey. “We got caught up with some business.”

“Of course.” He mirrors me, taking a sip of his drink. “Your restaurant is doing well, from what I hear.”

“It is. Full house every night.”

I don’t know how to keep my tone from sounding bitter. There’s a pause, and for a second, I wonder if coming to talk to him was a mistake. He’s never attempted to cross the gap between us; why would I? But when Victor speaks again, his voice is more reluctant than I’ve ever heard it. His brows draw together.

“You’ve … accomplished a lot,” he says slowly, pointedly examining the dance floor. “More than I thought possible in such a short time. Two years and you’ve managed to make something of yourself.”

A flicker of surprise. It’s not exactly an apology—Victor Harwood doesn’t make apologies, he buys them—but it’s a start. I study his face, noticing the hint of pride in his stony eyes, something I’ve never seen before.

Maybe I’m just seeing things.

“Guess I had some good motivation,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “And a good example of what it means to work hard and care about a business.”

My father nods, and his upper lip twitches as if he’s about to give me an unpracticed smile. But then he clears his throat, gulping his drink. “She’s good for you. That wife of yours.”

I cast a look over my shoulder, finding Sienna near the jazz band, her face lit by the glow of the stage lights. She’s watching the musicians, tapping a heeled foot to the music, and I feel a wave of love for her, for everything she’s given me. Sienna is the reason I’ve been able to build something real, to prove to myself that I’m capable, no matter what people say.

I turn back to my father, my voice steady. “It’s in my blood,” I tell him, choosing my words carefully. “I can’t help but want to be something. Especially with a father like you, and a woman like her by my side.”

Victor doesn’t respond, just stares at his empty tumbler. I smile to myself. There’s a bond between us—a complicated one. But it’s still there, beneath everything that happened. And I think that’s enough.

We stand in silence for a few moments, neither of us feeling fit to say anything more. It’s not exactly closure, but for now, it’s fine. I bid him goodbye—until the next time we see each other—and head back toward Sienna.

She’s swaying to the music, my wife, her mouth softly set in the dim light. She looks up as I approach, eyes bright with curiosity. “How did it go?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach out, take her hand, and thread my fingers through hers. She doesn’t ask me for details, just smiles and presses her arm against mine. Grounding me in the moment.

The band plays on, and I glance back one last time, seeing Victor standing in the corner, nursing a new gin. I feel … satisfied. Whole, like the last puzzle piece is sliding into place.

Sienna leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close, resting my hand on her middle. I don’t need anything else. Not anymore.

As the music swells, I look down at her, and I’m nothing but grateful.

My legacy.