I hadn't heard from my parents since the day when Warren's father caught us going at it. They had it in for me worse that I thought, I kept thinking to myself. Until the day when my father called me and asked me to see him in his office.
So I did. This could go one of two ways; one, my father was super angry with me, took away my trustfund and never wanted to see me again. Two, he knew that my brother, Eric, found out about my fathers on-going affair and that I knew about it too (my brother sent me a very descriptive text - he too caught them in the act).
I got to his office, nodded politely at his pretty assistant, who he for all I know could be f-cking as well, and entered through the door that read "Senator Julius Gustavsson".
"Hi, dad," I forced a smile to appear on my face as I draped myself in one of his dark Chesterfield armchairs.
"Dalia," he sighed fatherly and sat down in a matching chair across from mine. In unison we crossed our legs.
"You wanted me to come?" I said when he didn't start.
He nodded and rested his chin on his thumb, "I heard about you and the Norwood kid from Norwood himself yesterday."
"Yes," for a brief second I was taken back to the time when my parents would sit me down to 'have a little talk' about something I'd done. Like when I was caught smoking at 15, or when some unfortunate pictures of me and my father's campaign manager appeared on Facebook (he was immediately fired) or when they caught me sneaking out, "well, what do you want me to say?" the words came out a little more harsh than intended.
He stared at me indulgently, "you know perfectly well what I want you to say, and I know perfectly well that you won't say it."
His soft tone and attitude towards me surprised me. I expected tornados and fireworks, but instead I got olive branches and white doves. I sighed, "I love him, dad. And he loves me."
His facial expression didn't change. I guess that's what makes such a darn good politician, "are you sure of that? I still won't approve, you know."
"I'm sure," I replied promptly ignoring the second half of his answer.
He buried his face in the palms of his hands, "but why now, Dalia? Why now, just a couple of months before the election? Couldn't you have picked a democrat?"
"Couldn't you have picked mom?" I spat back in his face. I didn't want to go into a family feud, if he would accept that Warren was apart of me, but I also felt the need to defend my poor mother.
He looked up at me from his hands, "I suspect Eric told you."
He continued, "your mother and I aren't happy, Dalia. We haven't been for the last years. But she wants to continue living the lifestyle we lead, and I need her for my campaign. But we're to old to get divorced."
I chuckled sarcastically, "so you just took the maid."
This must've been everything but pleasant for my father - being interrogated by his daughter, "what will it take for you to keep quiet about it?"
I didn't believe my own ears, "you're bribing me?"
"If that's what it takes."
I sat in silence for a minute thinking, "okay, I have some ideas..."