Second Hand Waitress

“Now you’re so far away that you can’t visit your old father regularly. And all because I wanted my son to get a good education and some valuable life experience,” Timothy said with a dramatic sigh. Tesah, however, wasn’t moved by the performance. It was a little show his father liked to put on, especially for his future brides—the whole "Look how much I care for my ungrateful son" act.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the wedding, Papa,” Tesah interrupted firmly, knowing his father could go on and on about how unappreciative he was. It was best to stop it early. “I’m completely buried in work.”

“You don’t even know when it is,” his father pointed out, and Tesah inwardly scolded himself for the mistake. But at least he had managed to steer the conversation away from his supposed shortcomings.

“My bad. I just assumed it was soon,” he quickly corrected himself. “I’m busy with the Medina project, and you know the Dubai expansion is picking up speed. This isn’t the best time to take a break. But if it’s a few months from now, I’d be happy to attend.”

“Oh no… we’re in love! We can’t wait that long,” his father said with a disappointed sigh. “The wedding is in two weeks.” He looked at Tesah expectantly. “I really wanted you there, son. I was hoping you could be my best man.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Tesah repeated. Eritrea pouted dramatically. “And Eritrea. I would come if I could.”

“It’s okay, Tesah,” she giggled, her voice sharp and high-pitched. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other in the future.”

Yeah, right. Tesah wouldn’t bet on that. His father would probably move on to his next wife before that could happen. He had lost count of how many stepmothers he’d had over the years—each one younger than the last—and he wasn’t interested in keeping track. His father never had affairs or flings. He only had wives. Since Tesah’s mother had passed away from leukemia, there had been many. One had taken her own life, another had died from an accidental overdose, and the rest had all divorced him.

Thankfully, Tesah didn’t have half-siblings scattered all over the world. His father had gotten a vasectomy when Tesah was ten. A blessing and a curse. He wouldn’t have minded a sibling—it would have made his childhood less lonely.

He watched his father kissing and whispering to his latest young bride for a few more minutes before deciding he had done his duty.

“Well, congratulations again. Please send me the wedding pictures.”

“Of course. It was great talking to you, son. We should catch up more often,” his father said. He ended every call with the same phrase, and Tesah always agreed. But they both knew they probably wouldn’t speak again for months. Neither of them minded.

After ending the call, Tesah wandered aimlessly through his spacious penthouse in Medina. The apartment overlooked the city’s waterfront, where luxurious yachts were docked. It was the perfect home for a bachelor—far better than simply staying in one of his hotels, which had been his lifestyle until he turned thirty. That was when he decided to invest in this multimillion-dollar property, conveniently close to both his office and his flagship hotel.

But the waterfront wasn’t exactly peaceful. It was lively, crowded with tourists, and always noisy. The real estate prices were sky-high, so buying this apartment had been a smart financial move. The place was sleek, modern, and designed by the same team responsible for his hotels. Glass walls, marble floors, and minimalist furniture. Beautiful, yes—but it felt cold. Like a showroom or a hotel suite. It didn’t feel like home. Then again, Tesah wasn’t sure if he even knew what "home" felt like.

Growing up with his father, there had never been a real sense of stability. From the time Tesah was six or seven, there had been a constant rotation of “mothers” coming and going.

Because Timothy Clover believed that every new wife was “the one,” he never saw the need for a prenup. For such a rich man, his father could be incredibly foolish. He thought prenups were unromantic and ruined the spirit of marriage. And every time a marriage ended, he lost a huge portion of his fortune. Only one of his ex-wives had remarried and stopped receiving alimony. The rest still lived comfortably, thanks to his generosity—or naivety.

Tesah had long since accepted that his father would never change. But he had made sure to protect himself from the same fate. He had seen what blind love could do, and he refused to let himself be used that way. If he ever married, he would choose carefully. His wife would come from wealth and understand the responsibilities of high society. She would carry herself with dignity in public. There would be no reckless passion or wild romance—his choice would be logical, not emotional.

He stepped out onto the balcony and gazed down at the neatly lined yachts in the bay, their masts stretching into the darkening sky like rows of thin, accusing fingers. His own fifty-foot yacht was docked somewhere below, but in the fading light, it was hard to spot the Arabella—named after his childhood dog.

A warm breeze carried the smell of fried food up to him. He could hear distant laughter and see people strolling along the dock. Just living their lives. Some happy, some not. Husbands and wives, lovers, families.