“The compound. As you said, legacy and duty, right? Without me taking over as heir, then what is the point of it?”
“You would really threaten him with that?” she studies me carefully.
“I wouldn’t threaten,” I correct evenly. “I would gently remind him.”
“Roman…”
“I’m not a pawn Mum,” I snap and she nods like she understands.
Dusting her hands off, she turns back to the cake batter and starts to mix it like it’s not her worst enemy. My shoulders relax for the first time since I stepped through the doors. I can see her body relaxing as well as she processes what I’ve said.
In a way, it was a calculated decision to say that to her. I’m not going to the compound, but it keeps my dad out of the loop.I’m not stupid, they are husband and wife and they get on well. If I told her the truth, that I am marrying Fae sooner rather than later, then she would tell him. Not maliciously, but eventually.
“I like her,” Mum says plainly, pulling me out of my musings and forcing a smile from my lips.
“I like her too.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she rolls her eyes playfully. “I like her for you. She challenges you, and she doesn’t flinch around you like most people do. She looks at you like she understands you, not what you are to The Company, but who you are when all of that is stripped away.”
Her voice softens as she looks at me and a small smile crosses her face as that happy aura starts to settle back into the room.
“You’re different around her.”
I roll my eyes, having flashbacks to the gala and how flabbergasted she was that we were touching.
“You stared at us like we’d committed murder in plain sight,” I remind her dryly but she just chuckles.
“I’ve watched you your whole life,” she says gently. “You’ve always been composed and measured, even as a boy. But with her… you look alive. And not in that dangerous way your dad admires, but in a way that makes me believe you could actually be happy.”
“I feel alive,” I admit quietly. “She doesn’t look at me like something to manage, she just looks at me like I’m… hers,” I shrug as I feel my face heat, I’m pretty sure Fae would laugh at me being embarrassed right now.
“Love over duty, Roman. Every time. Duty will always demand more, and it never says thank you, and it never stops. Love… love gives back.” Her eyes flick briefly toward the hallway again. “If you want that girl, Roman, you fight for her. Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself quietly because it’s easier. I won’t watch you build a life you resent.”
“I won’t,” I say simply.
The doorbell rings and the sound slices through the kitchen. Mum closes her eyes briefly, then she straightens her cardigan, wipes her hands, and looks at me with something resolute.
“I’ll get it,” she says.
I watch as she walks out of the kitchen and a stony expression settles across my face.
Three hours. That is all this is. Three hours and I can get back to Fae.
Turning, I walk to the dining room. Just like everything else in this house, it isn’t ostentatious. My dad has always despised that kind of wealth. The table is dark walnut, polished but scratched in places from years of use. The high-back chairs are upholstered in cream and silver cutlery is laid perfectly. Crystal glasses catch the light as photographs line the far wall.
Each photo tells a story. There are ones of us mid-laugh, me at eleven holding a rifle too big for my shoulders, my parents at a gala twenty years ago, and everything looked so… uncomplicated.
Dad is already seated at the head of the table, reading something on his phone. He looks up when I enter, we both offer a single nod. As I round the table to my usual seat, his eyes scan behind me briefly. Something like approval flickers across his face before it’s buried.
“Alone?” he asks and it takes a lot of willpower not to scoff.
“What does it look like, old man?” I snark back but he just chuckles.
I hear footsteps approaching. Mum appears first before escorting Quinn inside like a reluctant maître d’. We exchange a look across the table as my gaze turns to Quinn.
She looks like a Stepford wife tonight. A soft cream dress clings to her body with minimal jewellery, and her shoes are flat, ballerina I think, while her platinum blonde hair is pulledinto a high ponytail. Keeping my face neutral is harder than I anticipated, especially when an overly bright smile crosses her face as she looks at me lounging in my chair.
“Roman,” she says in a bright, happy voice.