Almost, Always | The Weight Beneath the Table
@coupslovre
Cyrus’ POV
We were eating, and even though I listened to Joy and Mom’s soft giggles and light stories, I couldn’t shake the weight of Dad beside me. Silent, observant, cutting through every word with that calm authority of his.
A few minutes passed. The moment Dad set down his utensils and reached for his whiskey, I knew it was coming. The start of his interrogation.
Kaya hinawakan ko ang kamay ni Joy sa ilalim ng mesa. A quiet warning.
He looked at me, just a glance and nodded, eyes steady, though I could feel the faint tremor in his fingers.
“So…” Dad began, and both of us turned to him.
“You don’t have to worry about the wedding next month,” he said, his tone measured. “I know you’re both busy with work. Just be there, that’s all you need to do”
Joy and I both nodded. Dad’s gaze lingered on Joy.
“I heard you’re a teacher, Joy?” he asked. “Mind telling us more about it or how you ended up in Batangas?”
Joy smiled politely, posture straight. “I graduated with a degree in BS Education from the University of Santo Tomas, po. After graduation, I moved to Batangas and decided to teach there.”
Dad hummed. “And that was right after you broke up with Cyrus, am I correct?”
Joy nodded, his polite smile faltering for just a second.
“I see…” Dad said, voice light but probing. “And what made you get back into a relationship with Cyrus?”
I glanced at Joy, his expression calm but under the table, his grip on my hand tightened.
Before he could answer, I spoke. “The company had a project in Tagaytay. The one I sent you, Dad. Have you read it?”
He looked at me and gave a slow nod.
“While I was there,” I continued, “taking some time off, I accidentally met Joy. We caught up, had a few drinks, talked about the past and realized we still loved each other.”
“We kept it a secret, but when you told me I needed to marry before earning the chairman position, I asked Joy to marry me.”
I shrugged lightly. “I was planning to propose next year anywa—on our anniversary, February 24. But I guess this is what they call fate.”
Dad smiled, that faint, unnerving kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before sipping his whiskey.
“You want me to believe that, Cyrus?” he said, his voice cutting through the air.
I frowned. “Does it matter?”
“It matters, Cyrus.” His tone hardened just slightly, enough to still the air. He turned to Joy. “I’ve been around long enough to tell when a story’s been polished to sound true. And I know you both have a history… that part, at least, isn’t fiction.”
He set down his glass deliberately and fixed his gaze on Joy.
“So tell me, Joy” Dad said, almost softly, which somehow made it worse.
Joy straightened, eyes meeting his.
“Why did you agree to this marriage?”
For a second, Joy didn’t move. I could see the rise and fall of his chest, controlled and measured, before he finally let out a quiet breath. Shoulders easing, like he was surrendering to something.
“Because what Cyrus said was true, Mr. Altamonte,” he began. His voice was calm and steady “We met again by chance. I didn’t expect it either. And when we talked, I realized there were still things between us that were never really settled.”
My jaw tensed. I didn’t move, didn’t dare interrupt.
He looked at me and that single glance felt heavier than the words themselves. Then he turned back to Dad, his tone softer now.
“He was honest with me,” Joy continued. “About what he wanted. About what he regretted. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was trying to prove anything. It just… felt real.”
He smiled faintly, that small, gentle kind of smile that disarms people without trying. The kind that used to undo me back then.
“So when he asked me to marry him,” Joy said, “I didn’t think of it as business or convenience. I said yes because… I still believe in the version of him I met that night.”
“The one who finally stopped pretending he didn’t care.”
The dining room went quiet.
Even the air felt heavier.
Dad didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at Joy. Then he finally leaned back and looked down at his whiskey glass. A faint twitch of his mouth, almost like a smile, ghosted across his face.
“You speak well, Joy” he said lowly, deliberate. “Almost convincingly.”
He took a slow sip, then set the glass down, gaze flicking back to me.
“I see why my son wanted you.”
It sounded like praise but the glint in his eyes told me otherwise.
It wasn’t approval. It was a warning.
And sitting there, watching Joy’s calm face, I couldn’t tell anymore where the lie ended and the truth began.