No Strings Attached

Part 29 - No Strings Attached

The next instalment!

B. X

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Riccardo's P.O.V.

"They're here." I smiled weakly. I was nervous as hell. My father. The father in a biological sense and nothing else. To be frank, the man was a waste of space and I had no time for him whatsoever, but my mother always talked about grasping opportunities with both hands and I didn't want any regrets when he finally kicked the bucket.

Besides, Kimberley, angel as she was, had talked me into this. And seeing her involved in something for the first time in what felt like forever meant I'd do anything to please her.

I kissed her lips, "Are you excited?" I asked, "Christmas in a few weeks.."

She kissed my cheek, "Very..."

I glanced over at the Christmas tree, all of the lights sparkling, those shiny decorations. The picture of me and Kimberley was on the mantelpiece, and the frame was decorated in strands of tinsel.

It was the photo from when we got engaged, Kimberley in that gold, one sleeved dress. I was in my new navy suit.

An imprint of her lipstick was on my cheek in the photograph. I was looking at her, she was looking at me, and in that one frame, life seemed so faultless.

Ding.

I walked over to the door and opened it.

My dad was standing there. In a short winter coat. His face looked relatively darker from when I had seen him last. He looked older too. The b**ch was there too, in some kind of long fake fur coat and plastered hookers makeup all over her face.

"Merry Christmas!" she said in a sickly sweet voice extending her arms, "Well I know it's not for a month but don't you just get that Christmassy vibe?"

I didn't give her the pleasure. Although Kimberley did.

They walked straight in to the dining room and took their seats.

I shot Kimberley an expressive look as if to say, "Don't push it."

We talked for the next 20 minutes about Dad's new riverside apartment in D.C.

"So Kimberley," my father said, "Where are you from?"

She smiled holding my hand underneath the table, her eyes slightly shifting, "My parents are British. I was born in California, stayed until I was three. Then we moved to the UK we lived there until I was 11, then moved back to the West Side, California."

Kimberley was British? What the hell? Why hadn't she told me this before?

He smiled and tightened his jaw, "You hear that Carmelita? She's-not-Puerto Rican..."

She looked up from her plate and frowned at me, "You know Niño, from what your father told me of you, you seemed like a good boy. I thought you would find yourself a nice Puerto Rican girl? What about Sofia? She was half Puerto Rican wasn't she?"

I clenched my jaw, "Sofia has nothing to do with this."

Kimberley grinned like a Cheshire Cat, "Excuse me Carlosito, Carmelita, I'll be back with dessert in a few minutes..."

I shot daggers at my father, "My ex-wife, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you're here. I haven't seen or heard from you in years! So now you decide to shack up on my doorstep?"

Kimberley returned to the room with chocolate pudding in her hands and a smile on her face, "Here you go."

She placed the bowls in front of them and took her seat.