Page 155 of The Temptation

“Open this one first,” she says, handing me the square-shaped gift.

I don’t hesitate; I tear into the wrapping like I’d expect a kid with a normal life would do on Christmas morning. It’s not something I have personal experience with, though.

As soon as I see the green box and logo on the front, my eyes snap up to her. “You bought me a fucking Rolex?”

She lifts one shoulder like it’s no big deal.It’s a bigfucking deal.I flip open the box to find a gold watch inside, complete with a dark, slate-coloured dial.

“Do you like the design? I bought it from a private seller.”

“This would’ve cost you a fortune.”

“I’m a gazillionaire, remember, I can afford it.”

I take it out, admiring it for a moment before strapping it to my wrist. “I love it … thank you.”

“Open this one next.”

The second gift she passes me is larger than the first. It’s rectangular in shape and flat.

When I tear the wrapping off one corner, I see a frame. I’m expecting to find a picture of her or maybe of us inside, but that’s not what it is.

I stare down at it.

“Is this …” My voice trails off, caught somewhere between disbelief and something heavier.

She doesn’t answer. She just steps closer, brushing her hand over my damp hair like she knows exactly what this means to me.

I recognise the younger version of my mother instantly. She’s barefoot in a sundress, wild curls blowing across her face, one hand on the handlebars of a vintage motorbike, the other gripping the man beside her. And that fucking smile … I’ve never seen her smile so genuinely before.

“Is that?—”

“Your Papa … yes.”

My father.

The man I’ve imagined a hundred different ways, but never actually seen.

He’s younger in the photo than I am now. He’s standing beside my mother with his arm slung casually over her shoulder, the two of them beaming like the world hasn’t caught up with them yet.

She looks carefree, but it’s the image of him I can’t look away from. There’s something reckless in his eyes, something too familiar. He looks like me … exactly like me.

I always knew I had my mother’s eyes, but there weren’t many other similarities. It’s funny the number of times I tried to conjure up images of the man who helped give me life, only to realise in this moment, I’ve been looking at him in the mirror every day.

I grip the frame tighter. My throat burns.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

She takes a seat beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I got it from your grandmother.”

Those words cause my entire body to stiffen. “You went and saw my grandmother?” I ask, the words coming out angrier than I intended.

I drop the picture on the mattress beside me and abruptly stand. My fingers knot in my hair as I start to pace.

“R-Romeo,” she stutters. “I-I?—”

“That woman never wanted me,” I say, cutting her off. “She spent her entire life pretending I didn’t exist. She was never here for me, or my mother, for that matter. She disregarded us both like we meant nothing.”

“What?” she screeches, leaping to her feet. “She didn’t even know you existed until I showed up on their doorstep.”