CEO’s REDEMPTION

“Father.” Jerol salutes the man, whom I presume is in his late sixties, and they embrace in these quick manly hugs that do not last even for a second. They appear not to have so much in common in terms of complexion except for the eyes and jaws. However, that is not a problem in any way. What baffles me is the elegant woman who was lagging behind this man. Her eyes have not left me since she saw me, and I am getting nervous. If it’s an assessment she is doing, I highly doubt I will pass. The look she is giving me is not anywhere close to liking or approval. It’s a look of disapproval. I don’t like it.

“Welcome, father. Mother!” Jerol takes a step to hug his mother, who glitters with adoration the moment his son speaks to him.

“Hey, son!” She says this, enveloping her son in a motherly hug.

If only I knew the feeling, I would be able to know how exactly Jerol is feeling right now in his mother’s loving arms. But I never received a hug from my mother in my whole life, so I can only imagine the feeling. It must be sweet.

“Mother, father, I want you to meet someone.” He announces this after they pull away from the hug that lasted for far too long. He gently pulls me to him, his hand going around my small waist. The four eyes in front of us shoot at me, scaring the hell out of me. One pair of these eyes is open to anything. I can see through them the enthusiasm of knowing who I really am for the man right beside me. But the other pair of eyes is filled with questions and discontent. I bet she is hoping against all hope that I am not what she thinks I am. “I would like you to meet my beautiful wife, Tessa Angeline McCall.”

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My cheeks turn red due to that sweet intro from my fake husband, and the smile that appears on his father’s face warms my heart. However, I paralyse the moment my gaze lands on his mother. I knew she wasn’t impressed with me for some reason. I guess you can’t hide everything with just a makeover, right? She might have sensed something odd behind this beautiful attire and make-up.

But honestly, does she have to be so harsh and so obvious? She is strangling me with her eyes.

“What a beauty you got for yourself here, son! I didn’t know you had such great taste!”

“Oh, come on, father!”

“I am dead serious. I am tempted to think that you got her from one of these stupid dating sites because, as I know you, Jerol, you don’t have time for anything but work. But then again, her beauty and everything else about her tell me that she is too descent and well reserved for such crap.”

“Are you trying to scare my wife away, father?”

“Not at all, son. I am happy that you finally, finally, found your missing rib. Now I see why it took you almost forever, huh? You were mining for gold. Good job, son, and welcome to the family, my dear.” He pulls me for a hug, and after we pull away, he offers me his hand for a handshake. “I am Adriano McCall.”

“Ni.. nice meeting you, Mr. McCall.” I mumble with a broken voice.

“Come on now, my daughter. You are my son’s wife, and that practically makes you my daughter. Just call me father; that will make me so proud.”

“Well..” I spare a glance at Jerol, and after he slightly nods his head to me as a yes sign and an assuring smile appears on his face, I turn to his father, who still has my hand in his. “Alright. Father. Thank you.” He smiles, and I snuggle back into Jerol’s arm.

“Sweetheart.” He turns to his statue of a wife, who looks so bored even before the party begins. “Aren’t you going to say anything to your daughter or even your son about this big step he has taken?”

She looks at her husband and fakes a weak smile that is so obvious, and she turns to me, offering her hand. “Welcome, Tessa Angeline…? Sorry, I didn’t get your sir’s name. What was it again?” She says, and my hand just got hooked on the air by some kind of magic. We stare at each other, our hands waiting for the handshake, her eyes challenging, and her expression growing impatient with waiting for an answer.

“I.. I..” I swallow hard and avoid her eyes for a moment. I don’t want to see a look of disappointment in her after what I am about to say, because I can feel it is way below her expectations.

“She is a McCall, mom. That is all there is to know.”

Saviour! I was about to grin until her mother challenged me.

“I know that, son. But which family does she come from? Where does she come from? Who are her people? I think I have the right to know, right, son?” Her hand falls on the side of her thigh, the sound of the invaluable bracelets on it being the only sound that can be heard around us.

I look up to Jerol, and from the look of things, his silence, and the confusion on his face, I am sure he wasn’t expecting this. He looks clueless about what to say, and because I hate lies, I decide to let out the truth. Besides, there is nothing to be ashamed of, whether I have a surname or not.

“I don’t have a surname, Mrs. McCall. I was just Tessa Angeline before I became a McCall.” I say, and her eyes turn cold at once.

“What?” You don’t have parents? You never had parents. Who raised you? Where did you grow up? What do you do then? What have you specialized in? Are you….”

“Mom, please! Is this some kind of interrogation or something?” Jerol shouts, cutting his mother off and shocking both his parents with his outburst. I don’t know whether to be glad that he came to my rescue before his mother could choke me with her questions or feel bad for him almost yelling at his mother just to defend me. I’m sure this woman will have more reasons to hate me now.

“Well, I am sorry. But forgive me, son. I just can’t accept anyone in this family without a thorough check on their background. This world is full of fake people. People who are experts in nothing but taking advantage of every chance they get. So, who exactly is this woman, Jerol? I need answers.”

God, please! I can’t be the reason for this family to fight on the first day I meet them.

“This woman, mom, is the woman I love. She is my wife. No more questions, and that’s final.” He tried to remain as calm as he could, but his eyes were smoking fire. I reach for his hand and intertwine our fingers, squeezing it a little in an attempt to calm him a little.

“You are so damn wrong, Jerol, if you think I will accept her just like that without knowing her real identity. I will do whatever it takes to know her every single detail.” She warns.

“Do whatever you want, mother, as long as you don’t involve us. Whatever your findings will be, don’t bother us with them. If you don’t mind, we have kept the guests waiting for far too long, and it’s getting late. Let’s have dinner, please.”

We all stroll on the red carpet to the red-themed dining table with white plates and clear glasses well arranged.

After a moment of chit-chatting and inaudible whispers, the servants bring the food to the table. Everyone is teasing Jerol about having a beautiful girlfriend. One even made a joke that he would snatch me away from him, but just one single glare from Jerol was enough to make him take his words back.

The aroma, my God! It’s so rich. I swear, I have never smelled something so good in my entire life.

“What can I serve you?” Jerol inquires when it’s almost our turn to serve ourselves.

I’m almost drooling!

Wait…

What do I know about rich people’s foods? Nothing. These people are so complicated in just everything. Chicken to them is not the ordinary chicken the poor people know. They have different kinds of chicken depending on how it’s cooked. That is what I learned from a servant here, and since I can’t even differentiate between roasted and grilled chicken, I tell Jerol to serve me whatever he is having.

Soon enough, a plate of chicken and brownish rice that’s mouth-watering lay under my nose, and a bowl of soup aside. I run for the piece of chicken on my plate, but before I can lay my hands on it, some clicking sounds startle me.

I looked around the table, and that’s when it hit me. I am not back in the ghetto, where almost everything is eaten with hands. I am with the rich and distinguished, and I have to behave like them. Jerol must have discovered my distress, and like he said before we left the bedroom earlier, I feel his hand squeezing my thigh under the table, probably asking, “What’s up?” because I am sure I look damn tense.

I look at him and then at the small knife and fork on my plate, but he gives me a questionable smile.

I clench on the new eating tools and try to prove my fitness in this class of the rich, but I fail miserably. Even holding the small knife properly is an issue, not to mention cutting the damn meat, which seems so slippery for the knife. I try again, and again, and again, until I bitterly take a break, releasing a sigh of frustration.

This is so framing, not my style!