CHAPTER TWENTY
Karina took us to the airport where we hopped on a plane for a short twelve-hour adventure from Uganda to Cape Town, South Africa, with layovers in Nairobi and Johannesburg. It hardly seemed worth the two-day stay, but I quickly reminded myself that it was totally worth seeing Ian outside our daily lives at Masego.
I was so relieved to touch down in Cape Town that I didn’t take in the startling differences between classes on the fifteen-minute drive into town right away. Five minutes in and my view on the right and left side of the highway was a stark contrast to say the least.
“My God, look at that,” I sighed through the window.
“What?” Ian asked, scooting up in his seat next to me, leaning over me to see what I was looking at.
On our right were decent, clean homes, well maintained and obviously inhabited by more affluent owners. On our left was what I could only describe as a slum. Homes, if you could call them that, made of tin roofs, dirt floors, a makeshift town really. It looked like a haven for disease and I was willing to bet lots of crime.
“This,” I said, gesturing to both sides of the road with my hands.
“Ah, yes,” he acknowledged, sliding back into his seat, obviously accustomed to the sights.
“It’s sad,” I admitted.
“Very sad,” he agreed.
“It’s such a stunning contrast in living conditions it feels like a punch to the gut.” I studied row after row of slapdash homes.
“As an American, I can definitely identify that my country has little to no idea what poverty really is. The worst living conditions I’d ever been exposed to back home pale in comparison. It’s literally embarrassing that we complain at all.”
“They just don’t know, Soph.”
“They just stay ignorant, Ian,” I answered in kind to which he could only smile.
“And I was probably the most dense of all of them,” I whispered.
He slid his hand over mine and squeezed softly.
“No longer.”
“No longer,” I repeated, squeezing back. I took a deep breath. “Why don’t those in charge do something about this?”
To this Ian laughed suddenly and hysterically.
“What?”
“Oh, Sophie Price, you’ll get the opportunity. Just wait,” he told me, still laughing.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” I smiled back.
“My mother is the executive mayor of Cape Town.”
“If I was familiar with your politics, I’d probably know how grave that declaration was, but I’m not, so...”
“The executive mayor of Cape Town is essentially the big dog on the block. She’s the equivalent of the governor of an American state or the mayor of New York City.”
My mouth went dry and I desperately tried to swallow something that wasn’t there.
“The executive mayor. Why the hell didn’t you explain this to me before?”
“I did. I told you they were in politics down here.”
“I figured they were council people or something equally mundane.”
“Soph,” he said, brows furrowed, “why would the son of a councilman have top billing in the newspapers here?”
“I figured news was a little slow here.”
Ian laughed again. “Cape Town is one of the biggest towns in Africa, let alone South Africa.” He sobered. “I can relate to you more than you could possibly know.”
“Apparently,” I told him, thinking of the gossip rags back in L.A. and how they all bit at the opportunity to expose the Price “darling, trust fund baby” as a whorish coke head when Jerrick died and how they’d followed me for months, tripping over themselves to catch me falter again.
They relished in the drama, in the darkness that was their profession. They were little slithering snakes, their forked tongues extended to catch the slightest bit of gos-sss-ip. I shuddered.
“Don’t worry,” Ian said, breaking me from my revelry, “they know you’re coming and more than likely have done their research.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him in return, “my father’s aware they’ve done their research by now and has probably already figured out an opportunity to milk the acquaintance.”
“Surely not.”
I shook my head at him in mock sympathy. “Ian Aberdeen, you’ve no idea what he’s capable.”
“Well, he’ll be in good company then,” he said, wrapping his arm around me.
“Now you’re starting to scare me,” I teased.
Ian’s parents’ home was found in Clifton Beach, an area so wealthy in Cape Town even I’d heard of it, despite my not being familiar with much of anything concerning South Africa.
“You’re wealthy,” I stated as fact, watching the security guards check several cars as they attempted to pass the entry gates.
“No, my parents are wealthy.”
I smiled at him. “I see.”
“Does this change your opinion of me?”
“Hardly,” I told him, hoping he’d never get the opportunity to absorb the cold monstrosity that was my own parents’ estate.
The house was massive considering how tightly situated the neighborhood was. Crowded but extremely luxurious homes threaded up the side of Table Mountain, winding and conforming to the mountainside. Ian’s home was a modern multilevel home that adapted to the rock face it set itself within.
When our little car pulled into the drive, Ian had to get out to open the cedar sliding gate. I watched as we wound up a dark rock drive all the way to the towering house that settled so ominously within the cliff face.
“Home sweet home,” Ian deadpanned.
He grabbed my bag as well as his and we climbed the steep walkway to a wide cedar door. Adrenaline inundated me. I glanced down at myself and felt suddenly nervous. My father would not approve of my choice of outfit. In fact, there would be serious consequences if he ever found out I met the executive mayor of Cape Town, South Africa, in anything other than Chanel.
I could just imagine him. “Sophie, this is unacceptable. I require so little of you. Keep up appearances, Sophie Price. Keep up appearances. Keep up appearances.”
“You okay?” Ian asked, dropping his bag and using his free hand to caress the side of my arm.
I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Of course, just nervous, I suppose.”
He smiled genuinely in return. “No worries, love. My brother will love you at least and that’s the only one we need to care about.”
“How encouraging,” I joshed.
He dropped his bag next to mine and held both my shoulders in his wide hands. “Trust me, Soph, even if my parents end up loving you, it should mean very little to you. They’re impressed only with what others can do for them. They run their campaigns on serving the poor here, just as so many before them, but the slums are still here. You saw them. They almost encourage government reliance. It’s sickening.”
“They’re politicians.”
“Very much so.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said they’d get on well with my dad then.”
“I really wasn’t.” He sighed. “Let’s get inside. They’re probably watching us on the cameras,” he said, waving sarcastically at the discrete camera tucked behind a crevice.
He pushed open the heavy door and revealed the interior. Seventy-five hundred square feet of modern art and it could only be described as dark. Dark slate, cool brushed nickel railings surrounding the entire five-level, tiered property. The floor plan encouraged lots of open outdoor living and it didn’t disappoint. Living spaces opened up to the outside by way of glass accordion doors. The architecture was a nod to classic mid-century modern and the furniture was no different. It was cold and perfect and everything had a place. It made my stomach turn.
“Simon!” Ian called out, startling me.
He dropped our bags just inside and walked with purpose through the picturesque living room to the glass wall. He slid one panel into another until they met the sidewall and exposed us to the rich sea air. The salt blasted my skin and I reveled in the tangible feeling. The ebb and flow of the incredible ocean at the base of the mountain settled my nerves almost immediately. It was then I knew Ian had done this on purpose.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“It was the only thing that worked for me growing up here.”
I hugged his side as we looked over our surroundings.
“Did you miss it?” I asked him.
“Not even one iota.”
The tranquil-looking pool below us boasted an iridescent black tile floor and I found myself almost frightened of it. I imagined it would swallow me whole and I would sink into its dark abyss if I ever dared place a toe in that grim water.
“Ian!” I heard behind us.
We both turned and I took in an older, slightly taller version of Ian. He was more tan than my Ian with shorter, more clean-cut hair, though I think that was only because Ian didn’t have a barber at his disposal as readily as Simon did. He sported impeccable clothing with a European flair. All in all, Simon was gorgeous, but he lacked a fire in his eyes that Ian possessed. Yes, Ian was infinitely more beautiful. Girls could keep Simon Aberdeen. I had Ian.
“Simon!” Ian shouted.
Simon scooped up Ian and tossed him around playfully. He greeted him in, what I assumed was, Afrikaans. They exchanged greetings and I stood awkwardly against the railing wishing to everything holy I could have understood them. I perked up only when Simon eyed me before gesturing and asking Ian another question in Afrikaans.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Soph. Excuse me,” he said, meeting me and wrapping my hand in his then pulling me over to meet his brother.
“Simon, this is Miss Sophie Price. Sophie, this is my brother, Simon.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.
Simon bent and grabbed it with a wink my direction and kissed my palm cheekily. “A pleasure, Miss Price, I’m sure.” He righted himself. “Ian’s told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”
“He has, has he? What were these things?” I teased back.
“Not necessary!” Ian practically yelled. “Let’s get inside, shall we? Mom and Dad are here?” he asked, practically pushing me back into the living room.
“Nah, shortly though.”
My stomach dropped a little.
“Where are they?” Ian asked.
“Mom’s at a press conference. Dad’s at a meeting. They said they’ll be home by four.”
“So what’s this news I had to travel half a day to hear?”
“It would sort of be anti-climatic, don’t you think, if I just blurted it out there?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll tell you at dinner.”
“Mom and Dad don’t know then.”
“No, you’ll all find out together.”
Ian eyed him curiously. “Where are we eating?”
Simon cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. “Aubergine’s.”
“Dear Lord, this is serious,” Ian stated.
Simon sighed, running his hands through his dark hair. He sat at the kitchen bar and sank his head into his palms.
He glanced up. “I had to. It’s her favorite place and I need her to be receptive tonight.”
I gazed from one brother to the other. “And what is Aubergine’s?” I asked.
“Aubergine’s is my mother’s favorite restaurant,” Ian explained. “The rest of us hate it. They serve ungodly things like trio of quail or abalone with spiced cauliflower mouse. Essentially, disgusting food.”
“Ah, I see,” I answered.
“We only go there when we really need mom to see our side of things.”
“Oh, now I’m dying to know.”
“You wait like the rest of them,” Simon told me. He looked at me like he’d only just really noticed me. “Wait a second. You’re a girl.”
“Astute, this one,” I told Ian, gesturing toward Simon.
“No, no. I mean, I knew you were a girl. You’d be hard-pressed not to notice with a figure like that,” he said and I rolled my eyes, “but that’s not what I meant.”
“Careful, Simon,” Ian gritted.
“You’re the first girl Ian’s ever brought here.”
“Surely not,” I balked Ian’s direction.
“No, you are the very first. Once, in high school he had a party and naturally girls came but he has never brought a singular girl here...ever. This-this is good. You’ll take some of the heat off me.”
Ian ran a hand down his face and blew out a breath. “Simon, must you always humiliate me?”
“I am sorry, little brother,” he said, standing and hooking his arm around Ian’s neck.
Ian shook him off but smiled. It was the first time I’d ever seen Ian really vulnerable, almost child-like, and I liked it. I supposed Masego was a “forced to act mature” kind of place. I was glad to see him young, to see that creased brow relax, even if it was just for a small amount of time. Ian so obviously carried around Masego’s worries on his strong twenty-year-old shoulders and they were more than capable of handling the weight, but everyone needs a break now and then.
Just then the front door handle began to turn and we all faced the door. I couldn't help but notice Simon and Ian exchange a glance before it opened, but I couldn’t fully read it. All I caught was anxiety, but there was a very good chance that was all me.
I was so overwhelmed in that moment. I wanted to run and jump off the balcony and sink into that abyss then. Anything sounded better to me than meeting Ian’s parents. I didn’t know how much they knew of me, or what to expect of them. I wanted to kick myself for not preparing as my father had taught me to do.
“Always be aware, Sophie. Never let anyone take you by surprise,” he would say.
I shook the thoughts away.
Ian came next to me and wrapped his hand in mine. “No worries, Soph,” he whispered in my ear, soothing me almost immediately.
The door opened and two imposing figures emerged, talking shop, it seemed.
“No, Henrik,” the woman, who could only be Ian’s mother, said.
She was tall, very. Dark black hair and fair skin just like Ian’s. Her hair was stylishly short and met just below her ears. She was lean and striking and unbelievably intimidating. She was exquisite and I could see where Ian had learned “imposing” from. She invented it with the way she carried herself.
She’d stopped talking and stood staring at us. She’d mastered an expressionless face and she was wearing it then. It was no matter to me, because in that moment I remembered my breeding and immediately exuded my own brand of imposition.
The invisible projection hit her like the atom bomb and you could tell she was taken aback.
She and Ian’s dad, Henrik, laid their bags down on the rich, brown velveteen sofa sectional before approaching.
“Simon,” her velvety voice purred. “What have I told you about rolling up the sleeves of your dress shirts. You’ll crease. You’ll have to change before dinner tonight.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Simon said, smiling at her, “but I’ve made reservations at Aubergine’s, so I figure you’ll forgive me?” He oozed charm and I could suddenly see why all the girls gravitated toward him.
“Fine,” she said, a tight knowing smile gracing her lips.
Simon kissed his mother’s cheek before collapsing on the sofa.
“Ian,” his mother breathed. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Mom,” Ian said dryly, kissing her cheek as Simon had before turning. “Dad!” he exclaimed with more feeling and slapped his dad on the back. “So good to see you!”
“Happy to see you, my son,” Henrik said, kissing his son and bear hugging him.
“And who is this vision?” Henrik asked, motioning toward me.
“Dad, this is Sophie Price. Sophie, this is my father, Henrik.” He turned toward his mother. “Mom, Sophie Price. Soph, this is my mother, Abri.” He pronounced it Ay-Bree.
I stuck my hand out and shook Henrik’s. He shook it vigorously in return and with warmth. I turned toward Abri and extended my hand as well. She took it and something passed between us.
She knew.
She knew who I was and who my father was and, for whatever reason, she wanted me to know it.
“A pleasure,” she said, her perfectly coifed hair sliding forward slightly as she dipped her head in a thoroughly practiced gesture.
“Likewise,” I told her in my most uninterested voice.
She may have had a few inches on me, but it was obvious to everyone in that room that I was the bigger presence. It felt good. I turned toward Ian, glancing Simon’s way as I did, and caught their bewildered stares.
“So,” Abri interrupted the thick moment, “Sophie, Ian’s told me you work with him at Masego?”
“Yes.”
“And I also understand that you were caught with narcotics back home and that was what earned you that privilege?”
This lady wasn’t pulling any punches.
“Moeder!” Mother. Ian shouted in Afrikaans, coming to my side. “Ongevraag!” Uncalled for.
I coolly leaned into the countertop behind me, briefly examining my nails as I did so.
“It’s okay, Ian.” I met her gaze fully. “Yes, Abri, unfortunately I was, but it’s of no matter now.”
“That’s rather cheeky,” she added, looking on the verge of laughter. She thought she’d won.
“You misunderstand,” I answered. “If my bad decision led me to a place like Masego and exposed me to what life was really about, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Occasionally, some have to hit rock bottom to understand themselves fully, don’t you think? I plan on using mine to launch myself further than I ever could have had I never known Masego...or your son.”
“Well said,” Henrik told the quiet room, nodding toward me.
“Thank you,” I told him directly with a soft smile.
“Some know themselves without having to hit rock bottom,” Abri said, desperate for the last word.
I let her have it with a nod. She was right after all, but she was also was transparent to everyone in the room and her small statement only helped my cause.
“Shall we dress for dinner?” Simon asked everyone, attempting to break the tension.
“Let’s,” Abri said, her brows pinched as she examined me.