Page 17 of His to Love
“I’ll find a job,” I said, “and an apartment. I have a few appointments lined up this week.”
“Detroit?” she asked, hesitancy making her jump over the one word. As if I was leaving her now.
“Mostly.” I smiled, but I was distracted.
Detroit was never where I wanted to be. I preferred the farm to this bedroom. Goats and chickens to my mother’s body that was wasting away in front of me. I could practically smell death coming to take her. It was that same smell that made you wrinkle your nose in a hospital. Medicinal and cold.
I swallowed, fighting back emotions that I didn’t want her to see. The last thing I wanted was for her to see me crying over her. She had always been too full of life—too exuberant and joyful—to waste time with tears.
Once I was sure I could speak without my voice cracking, I began telling her about what jobs I was looking for. Not that I was qualified for much of anything, but I knew my family’s name would open doors for me. And even though I generally hated relying on it, sometimes being a part of the most feared family in Michigan had its benefits. Not that I would take too much advantage. I wanted a job in event planning, even as an assistant or secretary. I didn’t care if it was with a private company or a hotel. I would answer phones or organize calendars and do just about anything to get a job doing what I had always wanted to do and finally had the chance to pursue.
As I was telling her about an apartment I found in Latham Hills, a small borough on the north side of Detroit, she started coughing. At first she covered her mouth, trying to hide it, but I quickly reached for a nearby bucket. She waved it away, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. With a cool rag, I followed her hand and cleaned the sweat lining her brow.
“Your father wants to talk to you,” she said with a raspy voice.
“He told me.”
“He’s not a bad man.”
“I know, Mom.” I smiled and nodded because it was expected. But really, he was a bad man; she was just too blinded by her love for him to admit it. Ever.
“He needs a favor and I need you to listen to him.” Her expression turned serious, and she pulled my hand off her forehead, taking the cloth from my grip.
“Mom…”
“You’re getting older, and mostly because of your father’s mistakes with you, which I allowed for too long…you haven’t forged any close relationships. But I need you to consider this favor he’s asking of you.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like it?”
“Malik Rilotti is a good man. Older, but a kind man, and he’s fair. He could be good to you.”
“W-what?” Unease rolled through me and I stuttered before clamping my mouth shut. I took a quick mental check to see if I just missed vital parts of a conversation. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“That you marry the man who will someday succeed your father? The man who can provide for you, give you everything you need, and give you a family so you’re not without one after I’m gone? Yes…I am.”
Wow.I wiped my mouth with my fingertips and leaned back in the chair next to her bed. “You’re manipulating me with this?”
“I don’t want you to be alone.” My mind flashed to a picture of Tyson in my head. It wasn’t Technicolor or grainy pixels, either. He appeared in my mind’s eye in high-definition, in my memory the way he was at my kitchen table that morning. I blinked it away.
“I won’t be,” I assured her. “But you can’t mean this.”
Her cool hand wrapped around mine and she squeezed. Her grip was no longer as strong as it used to be. “I want you to consider it. Consider the benefits and security, that’s all I ask. For me.”
I couldn’t argue with her. Not when she was practically dying in front of me and I knew she wanted this for me.
It didn’t mean I would go along with it by any means, but for her peace of mind, which was more important than the tumultuous emotions tightening in my stomach, I agreed.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and her eyes closed. It was only moments before she fell asleep with her lips lightly parted while her chest rose and dipped slowly.
Chapter 4
My feet trudged slowly down the large staircase after I left my mom’s room. There wasn’t a whole lot that had changed in this house over the years. The same photographs still lined the hallway walls, although there were a few additions. Some of the decorating had been updated, old couches replaced with new leather sectionals, artwork swapped out to change the feel of the sitting room, but other than that, most things remained the same.
If I closed my eyes, I imagined I would feel exactly like I did when I was a teenager. Trapped in a castle of a house that wasn’t much of a home, and worrying about my mom.
“There she is. The princess has returned home.”
I looked up and immediately smiled when I saw the elderly man at the bottom of the stairs. Claude had been my family’s butler and driver for as long as I could remember. He was probably around before I was born. Looking at him waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, I picked up my speed. I skipped down the remaining steps until his fragile, older arms surrounded me.
