That evening, Gilbert dressed up and left his room, heading to the door. He met his mother on the staircase as she tramped up the stairs with a foul expression.
“Where are heading to?” she asked him firmly.
“I have dinner plans.” Gilbert replied cheerfully.
“If it is with an investor, well and good.”
“No.”
“No?” Zain was now curious. “If you are not having dinner with investors then who is it that you are so dressed up for?”
“Gia.” Gilbert said and tried to leave. Zain pulled him back, almost making him slip off the stairs.
“Jesus Christ! Are you looking to kill me?” Gilbert asked as he steadied himself, hands holding on the steel rail of the stairs.
“We talked about this, son.”
“Talked about what?”
“You cannot be with Gia. How many times should I say it?”
“Why mum?”
“She is a
