Hospitality Man Series II: His Magnificent Specimen (ENGLISH VERSION)

CHAPTER 24

“Hey.” I greet him as I approach, fresh from my conversation with Uncle Christian. The weight of our family's legacy still lingers in my mind, the pressure more intense than I ever imagined. I hadn't expected Uncle to react so strongly upon learning that my son wasn’t carrying the Beaurlington name.

“Hi, Dad.” Markle beams up at me, his smile infectious. I can’t help but mirror it. He has that effect on me—his presence alone is enough to melt away any lingering tension.

“You hungry?” I ask, lowering myself into the chair across from him.

“Not that much.” He tilts his head slightly, flashing that enigmatic grin of his.

I mimic his gesture and smirk playfully. “Can we place our order now?” I arch a brow at him, my grin widening.

He simply nods, and I know—without looking—that he’s twiddling his legs under the table again, just like the first time I met him. That little habit of his gives away his happiness, and the mere thought that something as simple as this lunch can bring him joy makes my heart swell. I catch the subtle movement of the tablecloth near his legs and smile inwardly, pleased that I can make him happy in even the smallest ways.

A woman glides toward us, a notepad and pen in hand. The moment her eyes land on me, her cheeks bloom with color. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before clearing her throat and taking position beside me, her posture just a little too eager, a little too inviting.

“May I take your order, sir?” Her voice holds a practiced sweetness, but I can sense the underlying flirtation. I don’t acknowledge it. Women like her never interest me. Her attempt at subtlety is laughable, and frankly, her blatant attempt at seduction—especially in front of my son—is irritating. I do not mix business with pleasure, and I certainly don’t entertain this kind of unprofessionalism.

Suppressing a sigh, I cross my legs and speak without sparing her a glance. “This little gentleman here wants spaghetti and halo-halo. I’ll take two orders of A1 from the menu and a glass of blood-red wine.” My attention never wavers from Markle, who watches me with a mix of admiration and curiosity. His wide eyes make me feel warm in a way I’m still getting used to. It’s almost overwhelming—the way he looks at me, like I’m someone worth looking up to.

The waitress, however, doesn’t move. She lingers beside me, her presence an unwelcome distraction.

“That’s all,” I say, finally flicking my gaze to her.

She forces an awkward smile, though her eyes betray her embarrassment. For a moment, she seems lost, standing there as if she expected something more—what, exactly, I don’t know. But whatever she’s hoping for, she won’t find it here.

“Sir, we don’t serve spaghetti or halo-halo here.”

The words hit the table like a slap. My first instinct is to look at Markle, and what I see ignites something dark and furious within me. His face falls, his shoulders drop ever so slightly, and though he tries to hide it, the disappointment is clear in his eyes.

Heat floods my veins. My muscles coil with restrained fury.

How dare she? How dare she say that so bluntly, so carelessly, in front of a child? Any competent server would’ve found a way to soften the blow, to offer an alternative, or at least—at the very least—express some level of regret. But instead, she delivered the news with an indifference that felt almost cruel.

My jaw clenches as I pin her with a stare so sharp it could cut glass. She visibly shrinks under its weight, her face paling before turning beet red. She shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape.

I glance toward Uncle Christian, who stands across the room, his eyes already on me. He reads my expression instantly, and with a slight nod, he gestures to one of the waiters. The man hurries toward us, his stride purposeful.

“You heard what I ordered,” I say, my voice deceptively calm. “Tell the chef to make it happen. If you don’t know who I am, ask my uncle—the manager of this establishment.”

The words are low, controlled, yet potent enough to send a ripple of unease through the surrounding waitstaff. Nearby diners pause, sensing the tension. Some attempt to carry on as if they hadn’t noticed, while others blatantly stare. A few—bold or foolish—attempt to meet my gaze, but one sharp look has them averting their eyes immediately.

“Yes, sir. We’ll serve it right away,” the waitress stammers before being swiftly pulled aside by the waiter Uncle had summoned. As they walk away, I catch a glimpse of the waiter whispering something to her, his tone undoubtedly scolding. Serves her right.

Not long after, another waiter arrives, carrying our orders. The moment the plate of spaghetti is placed in front of Markle, his entire face lights up. His hands come together in an excited clap, his mouth forming a small ‘O’ of delight.

My anger dissipates instantly, melted away by the sheer joy radiating from my son.

I shake my head, suppressing a grin. He’s so carefree now, a stark contrast to the solemn child I first met. The melancholy that once clouded his eyes is gone, replaced by something pure and unfiltered—happiness.

That’s all he ever wanted.

Just to have a dad.

And now, as he sits before me, grinning from ear to ear over a plate of spaghetti, I realize just how much that means to him. Just how much that means to me.

I made the right choice. Even if he doesn’t know the truth yet, even if this is all just a fragile pretense in his mind—being close to him, being here with him—it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.

I sigh softly, expecting him to flash me another one of his dazzling grins, but he’s already focused on his meal, twirling his fork through the noodles with childlike enthusiasm. I let my overthinking rest and begin to eat my own food, setting aside the extra order just in case he wants more. Spaghetti and halo-halo are hardly a proper meal, and if he needs something else, I’ll be more than happy to feed him myself.

The time at Blue Generations Hotel & Restaurant passes quickly, and soon, it’s nearly one o’clock. Lunch is almost over.

Back in the limo, Markle sits beside me, rubbing his tummy contentedly.

“Does your stomach hurt, son?” I ask, concern creeping into my voice as I glance down at him.

He looks up at me with wide eyes before letting out a dramatic sigh, then grins mischievously.

“No, Dad. I’m just really, really full.”

Relief washes over me, and I chuckle, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“Good. I was about to panic there for a second.”

He giggles, leaning into my touch, and in that moment, I know—I would do anything to keep that smile on his face.

Markle smiles, shaking his head with a contented sigh. "I'm stuffed, Dad," he chuckles, rubbing his stomach.

I exhale in relief, my panic dissolving instantly as I match his laughter. From the front seat, Zoren shifts slightly, glancing at us from the corner of his eye before turning forward again, a smirk tugging at his lips. Clearly, he's amused. Damn it. I can’t even enjoy a moment of happiness without someone getting entertained at my expense. I roll my eyes inwardly but let out another chuckle.

"Dad, thanks for today." Markle lowers his head, twiddling his fingers—a nervous habit, I notice. There’s a distinct politeness in his tone, a warmth that tugs at something deep within me. He may not be fluent in Tagalog, but his eloquence in English is striking. It amazes me, the way he expresses himself so effortlessly.

"The pleasure’s mine," I murmur, reaching out to tip his chin up gently. "Just tell me whatever you want, and I'll make sure you have it, son." My voice is soft, reassuring.

His eyes glimmer for a second, and I expect him to smile like he always does whenever I say something fatherly. But this time, his expression shifts. His happiness dims, replaced by something more melancholic. Even though I’m holding his chin up, he won’t meet my gaze. A sinking feeling spreads through my chest.

"What’s wrong, son?" I ask, my scalp prickling with concern. What is it? What’s going on in that head of his?

He shakes his head, and it scares me.

"Hey, talk to me," I push gently, my patience thinning as worry claws at me. But before I can say more, he finally speaks. And what he says pulls the ground from beneath me.

"I’m scared this will end." His voice wavers, and I hear the pain laced within it. "After all, I’m not really your son, Dad. But even if that’s the truth, I’m still grateful to have met you, Sir."

A lump forms in my throat the moment he calls me 'Sir.' I swallow hard, struggling to ignore the weight of that single word. In his mind, all of this is just pretend—a temporary illusion that will eventually shatter.

I freeze, my mouth slightly open. So this is what’s been troubling him. He’s afraid I’ll leave. That I’ll disappear. That this bond we’re forming will be nothing but a fleeting moment in his life.

I exhale slowly. What do I say to that? How do I make him understand that leaving is the last thing on my mind?

"That’s not even possible," I murmur at last. "I’m more than happy to have two sons." The words slip out before I can think them through.

His eyes widen slightly, confusion flickering across his face.

I cup his cheek, my touch firm yet tender. "Even if you believe I’m not your real father, Markle, you are already my son. That won’t change, even if I meet my biological child in the future. You will always be my son." My voice is steady, unwavering.

Then, without hesitation, I pull him into a hug.

That should tell him everything. Every unspoken truth, every hidden emotion. Even if some parts of it are still a lie. But one thing is true—I love my son. I love him as much as I love his mother. Oh God, how I long to fix everything. To finally make things right.

Markle presses his face against my chest. "Really, Dad?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my sweatshirt.

"Yeah," I whisper, meaning every word.

"I wish you were my father for real. I’d be the happiest kid in the world." His voice is small, yet the conviction in it knocks the breath from my lungs. I falter for a second before pressing a lingering kiss to his head.

If only you knew, son. If only I could tell you the truth. But until your mother and I make things right, this pretense will have to continue.

"I feel the same way, Son." My voice is calm, but inside, my heart is soaring. He wants me. He longs for me. My son. And that’s all I need to know.

But just as I relish this newfound closeness, a reminder of my lingering problems gnaws at me. Eurika. Ceena. The two other I have yet to face.

I close my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. One hurdle at a time.

We pull up to his school. The limousine glides smoothly through the gates, stopping at the main entrance. I made sure he wouldn't have to walk too far to the building. The moment we step out, heads turn in our direction. Eyes follow us, curious, assessing. Thankfully, smartphones are prohibited on campus. The last thing I need is for Saphire to catch wind of Markle being picked up in a limousine. She would immediately know who’s behind it.

The driver halts right outside the main door. The crowd pretends not to stare, shifting their gazes elsewhere. I step out first, extending a hand toward Markle. He takes it, and I guide him out gently before closing the door behind us. We take a few steps together before I crouch down to meet him at eye level.

I study his face, drinking in every feature, every expression. "I had so much fun today, son. Thanks to you." I grin.

His face lights up. "Tomorrow then?" he asks, his eyes filled with anticipation.

I nod. "Yeah, tomorrow."

Then, just as I prepare to stand, something unexpected happens.

Markle leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

I freeze. My breath catches, and my mind blanks. Before I can gather my scattered thoughts, he throws his arms around me, hugging me tightly. "Thank you so much, Dad."

My chest tightens. A rush of warmth spreads through me, overwhelming and unfamiliar. I barely manage to return the hug before he pulls away and hurries inside the building. Just before disappearing, he waves goodbye. I stand there, watching as he fades into the halls.

It takes me a moment to snap out of it. When I finally do, my grin stretches wider than ever before. My heart feels full—overflowing with something I haven't felt in years.

For the first time in five years, I can say this with certainty—

My son loves me.

He didn’t say it out loud, but I felt it in his embrace. In his kiss. In the way he looked at me.

I exhale, the grin still stubbornly stuck on my face as I climb back into the limousine. As the car pulls away, I glance outside, noticing how people still steal glances at me. I resist the urge to smirk and announce it to the world.

Yes, that dazzling, beautiful, behave boy is mine. My son.

And nothing will ever change that.

Zoren tries to prompt me three times on the way back to Saphire Enterprises, but I barely hear him. I’m too lost in my own happiness, my thoughts drifting to the one thing that truly matters—

My son.