Chapter 56 His Mother's Son
"...and so we commend our sister Margaret Moore to the mercy of God, our Maker and Redeemer. May she rest in peace and rise in glory."
The priest's voice is low but powerful, carrying across the small gathering.
Quiet sniffles of the handful of people standing around the grave sound out all around.
I stand between Laura and Tom, my black coat pulled tight around me against the early morning chill.
The coffin is already lowered, a simple spray of white lilies resting on top. Lawrence's mother is gone. The woman who had smiled at me so warmly last week.
Deep down I feel relieved for her. The pain was too much, and now she's gone to rest.
But I also feel sad for the children she left behind.
Two older aunts of Lawrence I'd only just met, and a few of his London staff murmur their condolences as they begin heading toward the waiting cars.
Veronica is among them. She stays a moment longer than the others, then walks over to where Lawrence is standing.
Stepping in, she wraps her arms around him affectionately.
He doesn't resist. For a little while, he stands there, letting her hold him, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
My stomach twists, but I look away.
This isn't the time.
Veronica eventually pulls back, giving his arm one last gentle squeeze, then walks away without a word.
"Scarlett," Tom says softly beside me. "I have to go."
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thanks for sticking with us, Tom."
He pulls me into a short, warm hug and presses a kiss to the top of my head, the way a big brother might. "Stay strong for him," he murmurs.
"I will."
He turns to Laura. Her dark sunglasses hide her eyes, but I already know they're red-rimmed and swollen. Tom wraps her in a tight hug anyway.
"Remember you're not alone," he tells her gently. "You need anything…anything at all…you call me. Okay?"
She sniffles and nods against his shoulder.
"Wherever in the world I may be, I'll come."
Laura holds him tight. "Okay." She whispers. "Thank you, Tom."
He steps back, gives us both a sympathetic smile and a short nod, before heading toward Lawrence, who is still standing alone at the edge of the grave.
Laura and I watch as Tom claps him on the shoulder and says something too quiet for us to hear.
Lawrence doesn't respond; all he does is nod.
After a moment, Tom walks off toward his car.
"Oh, Scarlett," Laura says shakily, pulling a handkerchief from her bag and pressing it to her nose. "He's going to be a huge mess."
I look at her sadly as she takes off her sunglasses.
I was right. Her eyes are raw and red.
"When our father died…" She pauses, her voice cracking. "It broke him. I mean, we all felt it, Mum, too, but Lawrence feels everything so deeply. So strongly."
She sniffles. "He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't even eat for days. Mother had to practically force-feed him just to keep him alive."
Her shoulders start to shake, and I pull her into my arms without thinking,
"Shhh" It's's okay," I whisper. "It's okay."
She clings to me for a long minute, then slowly pulls away, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just…"
Laura straightens, exhaling shakily before meeting my gaze. "It's going to be a tough ride, Scarlett. And he needs you now more than ever," she explains.
"He might not show it…he's a hard man, always has been…but he needs you. Don't let him push you away."
I nod, glancing toward Lawrence. He's still standing perfectly still, staring down at the coffin.
"I understand, Laura," I whisper. "And if you need a shoulder to cry on, too… I'm here for you."
She gives me a watery smile. "Thank you, Scarlett. You're a gem."
I manage a small smile back.
She sniffs once more, then forces a shaky little chuckle. "Well… I'd better go." She glances toward her brother. "Take care of yourself, Scarlett."
"You too," I whisper.
I watch as she walks over to Lawrence and wraps him in a long, tight hug. He returns it, briefly, before she pulls away and climbs into her waiting car.
Now, it's just the two of us left at the graveside.
The cemetery workers stand at a respectful distance, their shovels in hand, waiting patiently for him to leave so they can finish their work.
I slip quietly away and slide into the back of Lawrence's car, giving him the space he needs.
It's parked a little beyond the wrought-iron gates, far enough to give him privacy but I can still see him.
The new driver doesn't say a word, nodding politely and looking straight ahead.
Through the tinted window, I watch Lawrence. He still hasn't moved.
I wonder what he's thinking, probably remembering the good days. Or the harder ones.
Or maybe he's just trying to hold on to the sound of her voice saying "my clever boy" one last time.
My heart aches so badly it feels like it might split in two.
It feels unfair. We were supposed to have more time. He was supposed to have more time.
After everything… the years of building Law & Moore, the ruthless control he keeps over every part of his lifem... this is the one thing he couldn't fix or outsmart.
And dying on his birthday, too? That was so cruel.
Death is so cruel.
It has taken a huge piece out of my lover's soul.
As I sit in the back of the car, I can't stop staring at him through the tinted window.
My mind keeps drawing the same painful comparison.
There's the man I first met in the New York office— the cold, terrifying version of Lawrence Moore who criticised every tiny detail of my work and looked at me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience to be fixed. And then there's this man. The one who slowly let me in. The one who fed his dying mother soup with trembling hands. The one who laughed when Tom walked into the penthouse for his birthday.
Two completely different versions of the same person.
And right now, standing alone at the edge of the open grave, he looks like neither.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lawrence straightens. The moment he steps back, the cemetery workers move in quietly with their shovels, scraping the pile of dark earth and filling the grave.
Lawrence's gaze scans the grounds, searching for me, before he looks towards the car. I lift my hand and wave through the window so he knows where I am.
When he sees me, he starts coming in my direction.
On reaching the car, he slides into the seat beside me without saying anything.
The driver pulls away smoothly, moving through the cemetery gates and back into the grey London streets.
Lawrence's face is blank. One would think he'd have red eyes due to grieving, but there are none.
There is no visible sign of the storm I know is raging inside him. And that's what scares me most.
He's locking everything up, sealing it tight behind those high walls he used to keep the entire world at a distance.
The silence inside the car is tense, but I reach over and take his hand anyway.
He doesn't react at all for a long time. Then, slowly, his fingers curl around mine.
The simple gesture loosens something tight in my chest.
Lawrence leans his head back against the leather seat and closes his eyes.
And in the strained silence of the car, I wonder if he'll ever be his true self again.