**Tom**
I trudged up the steps to the front door, each one feeling like a march to the gallows. Before I could even reach for the doorbell, the massive oak door swung open, revealing my mother in all her pearls-and-Chanel glory.
"Thomas!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug that threatened to crack my ribs. "We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost."
"Sorry, Mum," I wheezed, extricating myself from her iron grip. "Traffic was a nightmare."
She tutted, ushering me inside. "Well, you're here now. Your father's in the study, probably wearing a hole in the carpet."
I followed her through the cavernous foyer, our footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The place always made me feel like I should be whispering as if I were in a museum rather than my childhood home.
"So," Mum began, her tone deceptively casual. "How are things at the university? Are there any interesting developments?"
I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Interesting? No, no. There's nothing interesting. It's just the usual... you know, lectures and such."
She shot me a look that said she wasn't buying it for a second. "Really? Because you sounded rather flustered on the phone earlier."
"Did I?" I laughed nervously, my voice cracking like a teenager's. "Must've been the bad connection."
Before she could press further, we reached the study. Dad was indeed pacing, his polished oxfords leaving a visible trail on the plush carpet.
"Ah, the prodigal son returns," he announced, checking his watch pointedly.
"Sorry, Dad. I got caught up with... work stuff." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. As soon as I said it, I knew I'd made a mistake. Dad's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.
"Work?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You mean that useless professor job of yours?"
I felt my shoulders tense. Here we go again.
"I wanted to give you the CEO seat in our company," he continued, gesturing dramatically around the opulent study. "But you surprised me - no, shocked me - with your ridiculous desire to become a professor."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. "Dad, we've been over this. It just happened. I found my passion-"
"Passion?" he interrupted, practically spitting the word. "What good is passion when it doesn't pay the bills?"
I bit back a laugh. It was as if I was struggling to pay bills on my professor's salary. Sure, I wasn't rolling in it like he was, but I was doing just fine.
"Look," I started, ready to launch into my well-rehearsed defense of my career choices, but Mum swooped in like a perfectly coiffed guardian angel.
"Now, now, boys," she chirped, clapping her hands together. "Let's eat, shall we? The cook's prepared a lovely roast, and it'd be a shame to let it go cold while you two bicker."
Dad harrumphed, shooting me one last disapproving look before marching out of the study. I caught Mum's eye and mouthed a silent 'thank you.' She winked back, linking her arm through mine as we followed Dad to the dining room.
"Don't mind your father, dear," she whispered. "You know how he gets when he's hungry."
"Right. It's definitely the hunger making him cranky. Not my life choices or anything."
She patted my arm consolingly as we entered the dining room. The table was set for a small army, gleaming silver and crystal catching the light from the chandelier overhead. I half expected to see the Queen pop out from behind a potted plant.
As we took our seats, the awkward silence was palpable. Dad busied himself with his napkin, arranging and rearranging it on his lap as if it held the universe's secrets. Mum smiled brightly, clearly determined to salvage this lunch.
"So, Thomas," she began, her voice overly cheery. "How are your students this semester? Are there any promising young minds?"
I nearly choked on the water I'd just sipped. Images of Sara flashed through my mind - her shocked face in the lecture hall and her flushed cheeks in my bed. Promising young minds indeed.
"They're, uh, fine," I managed, coughing slightly. "You know, the usual mix."
Dad snorted. "Usual mix of what? Future baristas and professional protesters?"
"Richard!" Mum admonished, shooting him a glare.
I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile. "Dad, many of my students have very successful careers in various fields."
"Is that so? And how many end up flipping burgers or living in their parents' basements?"
I opened my mouth to retort, but he barreled on.
"Face it, Thomas. You chose the wrong profession. Teaching? It's a noble pursuit—I'll grant you that—but it's not a career for someone with your potential."
I felt my face growing hot. "And what exactly is my potential, Dad? To be another cookie-cutter businessman? To spend my days in board meetings, discussing profit margins and quarterly reports?"
"Now, boys," Mum interjected, her voice strained. "Let's not-"
But Dad was on a roll. "At least then you'd be making a real difference in the world. Creating jobs, driving innovation. Instead, you're wasting away in some dusty lecture hall, spouting theories to kids who'd rather be checking their Instagram."
I was about to unleash a scathing reply when the dining room door swung open. Our butler glided in with a silver trolley. The tension in the room seemed to evaporate as the aroma of roast beef wafted through the air.
As the butler laid out our meal, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a grown man, still getting lectured by my father as if I were a teenager who'd just crashed the family car. And all the while, I was sitting on a secret that would probably give the old man a heart attack.
"This looks lovely," Mum chirped, desperate to change the subject. "Doesn't it, boys?"
Dad grunted something that might have been agreement while I nodded enthusiastically. It was all to avoid another round of 'Why Can't You Be More Like Your Father: The Remix.'
As we tucked into our meal, I zoned out, my mind drifting back to Sara. God, what a mess. I wondered what she was doing right now. Probably not sitting through an awkward family lunch, that's for sure.
"Thomas? Thomas!"
I snapped back to reality, realizing Mum had been trying to get my attention. "Sorry, what?"
She frowned. "I asked if you were feeling alright. You seem... distracted."
I stared at my plate, pushing a piece of roast beef around with my fork. "I'm fine, Mum. Just... thinking about work stuff."
"Work stuff," Dad scoffed under his breath.
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel Mum's concerned gaze boring into me while Dad seemed content to aggressively see at his meat.
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly seemed deafening. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each second stretching out like an eternity.
I cleared my throat. "So, uh... where's Leonardo?"
Dad's knife screeched against his plate, making me wince. "Your younger brother," he said, emphasizing the word as if to remind me that I, too, was supposed to follow in his footsteps, "is in Europe. Business meeting."
"Oh?" I tried to sound interested, even though I knew where this was going.
Dad's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Since you're not interested in joining as CEO, Leonardo's stepping up. Someone has to take over the family business, after all."
I felt a twinge of... something. Guilt? Regret? Or was it just indigestion from this tension-filled meal?
"I'm... not sure now," I mumbled, surprising myself.
Dad's fork clattered onto his plate. "What was that?"
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "I said, I'm not sure now. About... you know, not joining the company."
The look on Dad's face was priceless. It was as if I'd told him I was secretly the Queen of England. Mum, bless her. It looked like she might faint from sheer joy.
"Well," Dad said, leaning back in his chair. "Well, well, well. It seems the prodigal son might return after all."
"I didn't say I was definitely joining, Dad. I just... I don't know. Maybe I need to think about it some more."
Dad nodded sagely as if he'd known that this day would come. "That's all I ask, son. Think about it. Really think. This is your legacy we're talking about."
I fought back a snort. Legacy. Right. Because that's what every kid dreams of - inheriting their dad's multi-million dollar company and spending their days in board meetings.
But then again, was it really any worse than my current situation? At least, as CEO, I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally sleeping with my employees.
"I will, Dad," I said, trying to sound sincere. "I'll think about it."
Mum beamed at me from across the table, looking like she might burst into tears of joy at any moment. "Oh, Thomas. You don't know how happy this makes us."
I forced a smile, already regretting my words. What the hell was I thinking? Me, a CEO? I could barely manage my love life, let alone a multinational corporation.
As we finished our meal in a much lighter mood - well, lighter for my parents, at least - I couldn't help but wonder what Sara would think of all this. Would she be impressed by the idea of dating a future CEO? Or would she see through my facade, realizing I was just a confused professor trying to please his parents?
I sighed inwardly. One problem at a time, Tom. One problem at a time.