You’re So Cool

"Are you still drinking that god-awful wine, old man? Come outside!" Martha hollered, her grip on Dante's arm tight and full of overwhelming, tearful joy.

From the depths of the house, a gruff, heavily textured voice barked back. "Woman, are you ever done nagging? You never let me enjoy a damn drop on a normal day!" Heavy footsteps thumped against the floorboards. "You're getting in my business on the day our daughter is getting engaged? I'm drinking today even if the Lord himself descends from the heavens to snatch the bottle away!"

The screen door banged open. Arthur Mercer strode out. He was a lean, dark-skinned man with thick muscle cording his forearms. He clutched an old wooden pipe in one hand, grumbling under his breath, his fierce tigerlike eyes narrowed in deep annoyance. He looked ready to wage war over his ruined drinking time.

Then his gaze shifted. He spotted the towering figure standing next to his wife.

"Dad," Dante called out softly.

Arthur froze. The air left his lungs in a sudden rush. His fingers went slack. The wooden pipe slipped from his grip, hitting the hard porch floor with a sharp, echoing clatter. Tobacco spilled across the wooden planks, forgotten.

For a long moment, the older man just stared. He reached down and pinched his own thigh, as if testing the reality of the moment. Then, his boots carried him forward, closing the distance in a few rapid strides. He stopped right in front of Dante, his chest heaving. His jaw worked, struggling to form a thousand unsaid words.

"You're back?" Arthur asked. His rough, weathered voice wavered, thick with raw emotion.

"I'm back," Dante replied.

Arthur bypassed all formalities. He stepped in and threw a light, testing punch against Dante's solid chest. The impact landed with a dull thud, meeting iron-hard muscle. The older man's tigerlike eyes gleamed with unshed tears and fierce pride.

"You grew stronger," Arthur noted, his voice dropping into a register of deep approval. "Taller, too. The military years were well-spent. You're a real man now."

Martha wiped a tear from her cheek and swatted her husband's shoulder. "Nonsense, look at him! He's gotten so thin. Our boy must have gone through so much out there."

Arthur just let out a booming, chest-deep laugh. He threw his muscular arms around Dante's shoulders, hauling the younger man in close. He realized then that the scrawny kid he had raised was now a full head taller than him. "Come inside. Have a few drinks with your old man."

"Sure," Dante said.

He stepped into the house alongside the gruff man who had selflessly raised him. Fatherly love was often a mountain—immovable, silent, and grounding. A shared bowl of strong wine communicated far more than a hundred spoken sentences ever could.

Out in the courtyard, however, the joyous atmosphere of the engagement banquet fractured. The surrounding guests, previously sipping champagne and exchanging polite pleasantries, quickly grouped together. A chorus of malicious, snobbish whispers swept through the wealthy crowd.

"That's Mercer's adopted son, right? The one who left to play soldier ten years ago?" a woman sneered from behind her fan.

"Look at those tattered clothes," a man in a tailored suit mocked loudly, eyeing Dante's faded attire. "He must have been kicked out of his squad for poor performance. What a useless man."

"Your roots determine your future. I always said that boy would amount to nothing. I heard he and Clarie were childhood friends. Mercer even tried to matchmake them back in the day."

"Thank God she dodged that bullet. Imagine marrying a penniless failure like that. He'd drag her right down into the mud."

Another guest let out a cruel laugh. "Clara's new fiancé is a true heir. Young, rich, and handsome. This stray dog isn't even fit to carry his expensive shoes."

Dante caught every word. Used to the harsh, bloody realities of the battlefield, he remained indifferent to the pathetic slander. He had stared down death too many times to care about the buzzing of flies.

Martha, on the other hand, heard the whispers and flared up. She spun around, her eyes blazing with protective fury. "Keep your mouths shut!" she threatened fiercely, pointing a finger at the gossiping elite. "If I hear one more bad word about my boy, I'll fetch the bucket of dirty foot-water from the back and drench the lot of you!"

The guests clamped their mouths shut, scandalized.

Arthur ignored the crowd. He grabbed Dante's arm and defiantly dragged his adoptive son straight toward the main VIP table situated at the center of the yard.

"Come, boy!" Arthur roared with immense joy, his voice echoing over the quieted crowd. "Sit right here at the main table with me! We're going to drink ourselves silly today!"

Across the yard, Clara Mercer’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. She watched in sheer horror as her father seated the ragged, unkempt Dante right in the middle of her wealthy, elite guests. The VIP table was reserved for local dignitaries and rich heirs. Her father was deliberately dragging him over just to embarrass her.

She gritted her teeth and marched over to take her seat. She forced a stiff, practiced smile, making begrudging conversation with the affluent guests around her. She treated Dante like thin air, keeping her eyes rigidly averted from his direction.

A few minutes later, a stir rippled through the courtyard.

"Ah, here comes the groom!"

"Congratulations! May you have a hundred years of happiness."

Trent Osborne paraded through the parting crowd. He was impeccably dressed in a custom designer suit and polished leather shoes, radiating the gentlemanly confidence of a man born into money. Clara proudly linked her arm through his, her chest swelling with pride as they approached the main table. Friends and relatives looked on with pure envy. She had secured a rich, glamorous future, and she wanted everyone to know it.

Approaching the table, Clara lifted her chin with the haughty arrogance of a proud swan. She stopped right in front of Dante.

"Allow me to introduce you," Clara announced, her voice ringing clear so the entire table could hear. "This is my fiancé, Trent Osborne." She shifted her gaze to Dante, her eyes cold. "And this is Dante Thorne. My father's adoptive son."

She refused to call him her brother.

Dante felt a sharp pang of dejection. The freezing distance in her voice stung worse than a physical blow. The girl who used to follow him everywhere, the inseparable friend of his youth, was gone.

Trent’s interest piqued. He looked Dante up and down, his eyes brimming with undisguised condescension. He had heard the old rumors. He knew Arthur favored this stray over him. He needed to assert dominance right here and now.

"I've heard Clarie mention you," Trent said, plastering on a warm, fake smile. "I'm glad you managed to attend our engagement banquet."

Dante said nothing, meeting the man's arrogant gaze with a calm, steady stare.

Trent puffed out his chest, adjusting his expensive cuffs. "I'm Trent Osborne, the heir and current vice-president of the Osborne Group. My annual salary is a million dollars right now, but soon enough, I'll inherit the entire company from my father. Clarie is going to have a very comfortable life."

He wrapped a possessive arm around Clara's waist, smirking down at the seated Dante. "I heard you joined the army. Did you manage to get a colonel's rank?" Trent didn't wait for an answer. He answered his own question with a mocking laugh. "Oh, I guess not. Otherwise, you wouldn't have retired in such poor shape. You know, in this day and age, a man with no educational background or vocational skills will find it impossibly hard to have any future at all. It’s a tough world out there for people like you."

Arthur slammed his heavy wineglass onto the table. The loud smack made the nearby guests jump.

"No one would mistake you for a mute if you kept your mouth shut," Arthur snapped, his tiger eyes flashing with intense disapproval. He knew the Osborne Group was just a small enterprise with a measly twenty-million net worth. Trent was inflating his wealth to show off and put Dante down. Arthur refused to tolerate the malicious ploy.

"Dante is my son," Arthur roared, his voice thick with unyielding defense. "Whoever he becomes, you have zero right to judge him!"

Trent laughed off the fiery rebuke, waving a hand as if Arthur were just a senile old man overreacting. "Father, please. I'm just showing some concern for Dante. There's no need to get so worked up."

He turned his condescending smirk back toward Dante. He leaned in slightly, relishing his supposed superiority. "We're about to become family, Dante. I'm sure you don't mind a few words of advice between us, right?"

Dante sat still. He casually reached up and pulled a wireless earphone from his ear. He blinked slowly, looking up at Trent's smug face with blank, hollow indifference.

"Sorry," Dante said. "You were saying?"

A vein throbbed in Trent's temple. His confident smile cracked.

Clara flared up, incensed by the sheer disrespect. "Dante, you are being incredibly rude! Trent is offering you generous advice because he cares about your situation, and you just ignore him?"

Dante stretched lazily, popping a kink in his neck. His tone remained deadpan and icy calm.

"My apologies. Occupational habit," Dante stated flatly. He placed the earphone on the table and met Trent's furious gaze. "I have never taken any interest in irrelevant, useless talk. It simply wastes my time."

Trent's jaw dropped. The rich heir stood frozen, his face burning a furious crimson with rage. He had orchestrated a flawless display of wealth and superiority, only to be effortlessly dismissed like a speck of dust on a boot. The humiliation burned hot in his chest.