Chapter 117 A delicate rose.
CHAPTER 117
A delicate rose.
ROMAN – POINT OF VIEW
“Tough luck, Tina,” I snap, heat crawling upwards, “I want to see her, and I will.”
Pity fills her eyes, which only irritates me more. Do I need a reason to see my mother? It has been over ten years, and she still refuses to see me. Who does that? I don’t care if she hates me. I want to look in her eyes, know that she’s fine, and only then will I leave.
“Out of my way now.” I glare at her.
She nods and steps out of my way.
I walk into the home my mother has lived in for ten years, holding the gift basket Scarlett packed for her.
The home feels more like a house. The living space is empty; everywhere looks empty. Growing up, our space was filled with flowerpots and pictures, but now, it is like she has faded away. I don’t understand why she refused to move on. It has been over ten years now. Dad is gone, and he’s never coming back.
I walk further into the house and find her in the backyard.
She’s alone, reading a book while a song plays from the radio. A very familiar song.
For a moment, I do nothing but look at her. She’s different, older, but alive. Her scars have faded, and she looks like she always did. She had me when she was barely twenty. It was love at first sight for her and my father. Her parents warned her, they said he would break her heart, that they were rushing into it. I guess they were right. He broke her heart in the worst way, and ten years later, she refuses to move on.
Is this what love is supposed to be? Obsessive consumption of the other? Is this what I should feel for Scarlett? Or, perhaps, we can create our own version of love.
“Mother.” I clear my throat and walk to her.
She stifles a lot of emotions flashing over her face, but she says nothing.
I am used to her silence, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Just because I carry it well doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.
“Hello, mother. I see you are well.” I place the gift basket between us on the table. She looks at me, follows my action with her gaze and says nothing.
“I don’t want to see you.” She finally speaks, her voice barely a whisper.
In the fire, she inhaled a lot of smoke, which affected her lungs, heart and voice. She can speak, but not as much. She has scars from the heat all over her legs and arms, but she’s a fighter. I think that’s what makes her angry. She had so much fight in her, while Dad faded away. He saved her at his own expense. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if something had happened to her, which is what she is going through, too.
Their love consumed them, and now, she’s alone.
“I am getting married soon,” I begin. “I’m sure you have seen the articles. Don’t read it. It’s all bullshit. All propaganda nonsense to frame us in a certain light, to frame me as the heartless billionaire.” I scoff, irritation flaring in me, “Anyway, Scarlett, my fiancé. She’s beautiful, the most beautiful woman, well, after you. She’s delicate as a rose, but I’m not so sure. She has thorns, sharper ones. We have been dating for two months now, and will get married. I want you there, of course.”
She looks at me, but doesn’t speak.
“You are my mother. I want you there. Father will be happy. Scarlett wants to meet you, so let me know when it works for you,” I scoff bitterly. “Well, tell your nurse, since you won’t talk to me. I am getting married. It will be a happy day, and I am working very hard on getting my father’s land back. There has been a lot of chaos lately with work, some attacks, espionage and scandals, but I am working on it.”
I consider telling her about the attack in Italy, because at my core, I’m just a boy who wants his mother.
Recklessly, I pull off my shirt and show her the scar, it’s a red, long line now, “I was attacked. Scarlett was hurt, and we went to get her back. I was hurt, but I’m fine now.”
Her face betrays no emotion, and I feel stupid. Of course, she doesn’t care.
I wear my shirt back, and gesture at the basket, “Scarlett packed those for you: books, drinks, fruits and everything. She wants to see you, so let me know when it works.” I pull out my phone and pull up a picture. I pan the screen towards her, “This is Scarlett.”
I am too focused on my discomfort to see the look on her face, the way her eyes widen in disbelief, the way her mouth curls.
When I look up again, she’s gazing into the distance as if she didn’t look at the picture.
I get up, at mwits'ts end, and whisper, “I’ll be back, Mother. You will see me. I don’t want your forgiveness because I did nothing wrong, but believe whatever you want to believe.”
She whimpers as though in pain and speaks, “I … I want to go home.”
“I know.” I nod and walk out, chest caving in painfully.
I want to go home, too.
I walk out of the apartment, and the air thins. My chest caves in, and I am flooded by emotions. I bring out my phone with trembling hands and call Harold Whitman.
He picks on the third ring.
“Sterling,” he says in a form of greeting.
“I want the construction deal now. I am done playing around. I am done jumping through fucking hoops. I am done being strung along. Tell the fucking council that I want it.” I snarl, rage curling through me. I need the deal, and through it, I can finally get my father’s land back. Then, my mother can go home.
Harold exhales, “I was going to call you this evening. The council has made a decision.”
“What?” I demand, done beating around the bush.
“One more hoop to jump, and the deal is yours – we want thorough background information on Scarlett. Show us that you have nothing to hide, and the deal is yours.” He assures me.
I frown, stumped.
Am I to throw Scarlett under the bus?
I don’t think about it.
“Do it. Get your best team on it. I don’t care. I want an answer by tomorrow.” I end the call and get in my car.
I need to get ahead of them.