Once my hair and makeup are done, I get dressed and check my phone. No calls. No messages. Where are you, Alexander?
After doing one last check in the full-length mirror, I open the door and head down the hall. I pass by the four guest rooms, which never host guests, and start down the wide staircase. Really, the house, the manor, with its ornate wooden banisters that curtain the staircase, the elegant and refined receiving room, and high, elaborately decorated ceilings, is incredibly impressive. It has lost its luster somewhat over the years for me. I used to think it palatial, but now it feels like a mausoleum. Sad somehow. Like its inhabitants. I cross through the main entry and pass the living room. When I reach the dining room, which I’ve only been in one other time since coming here the first time, I stop in the doorway.
Sitting at the head of a table that seats twenty, sits Alexander Kingwood III. Without looking up from the tablet in front of him, he says, “Please take a seat, Ms. Grayson.” My Alexander looks so similar: his facial structure, his light eyes, the broad shoulders. The coldness I’ve seen frequently when Alexander interacts with others, has never been directed toward me.
That coldness is in his father’s eyes now, though. He gestures to the left to let me know where he wants me. I walk farther inside and reach to pull the chair out, but he rises and says, “Allow me.”
He picks up the intricately carved wooden chair and moves it back for me. I quickly slip in and am tucked neatly under the table. When I look at the space between my legs and the arms of the chairs I feel small and wonder if he picked this setting to intimidate me or to actually get to know me.
The door from the kitchen is gently swung open and a lovely looking woman with chestnut eyes and shiny brown hair walks in. She wears bright red lipstick, and I consider complimenting her on the shade. But I’m too nervous to even speak, much less act like I belong here.
Plates are set in front of us—an omelet, strawberries, and wheat toast. Juice has already been poured and coffee steam wafts above the mug in front of me.
“Is there anything else you require?” he asks. When I reply no, the lady disappears and he picks up his fork. “Please eat before it gets cold.” He sets it down again and a smile that reminds me of my Alexander’s shows up, my guard going down. “Where are my manners? A pretty woman joins me for breakfast and I forget them completely. Good morning, Ms. Grayson. Thank you for joining me.”
“Thank you for the invitation, though I must admit I was surprised by it.” I study his reaction while cutting my omelet.
“Sometimes this house gets lonely. My son is rarely home anymore. I heard you were here and decided to take the opportunity.” He takes a bite of fruit as if we eat every meal together, as if we know each other at all.
“Speaking of Alexander, will he not be joining us?”
His eyes flash to mine, an eyebrow ticking up. “I sent him a text earlier, but he is too busy apparently. I would have thought you’d have spoken to him.”
I will be now—for putting me in such an awkward position. “He was letting me sleep in. I had a late night.” I add, “Studying.”
“How are your classes going? Are you on track to graduate next year?”
“Yes, my course load is heavy, but I’m doing well.”
“Alex tells me you’re intellectually gifted, that you make good grades without cracking a book.”
“Your son is too kind, but it’s he who does well without much effort.”
“He always did take the easy way out.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know what you meant. Alex is . . . a lot like his mother. He has so much on his mind except what he should.”
After hearing last night how his father would make his wife leave Alexander, I inwardly growl. But wanting so desperately to know more about my boyfriend, I ask what I know I shouldn’t, “In what ways?”
Mr. Kingwood looks at me, but in the corner of my eyes I see his grip tighten around the silverware in his hand. “His heart. It’s too soft. He’ll end up getting hurt if he’s not careful.”
“Hurt by what?”
“Not by what. By whom.” He takes his napkin and wipes his mouth. After leaning back on his throne, he says, “I think you’re well aware that this is not as casual an invite as I’d like it to be.”
I mimic his actions, sitting back. “I had hopes it would be.”
That brings a smile to his face that’s more relaxed. “You’ve been dating my son for many years considering how young you both are. Was it at the holiday party where we first met? Even after seeing you several times since, I don’t really know you, Ms. Grayson. I assumed you were a mere passing fascination. One Alex would get over.” Fascination, not fancy, like the phrase. “But here you are in my house, even when my son is not, as if you’re a resident here.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“I’m not looking for answers regarding your sleeping arrangement with my son. That is between the two of you. What I am looking for are answers regarding your future with my son. That involves me.”
“I didn’t know you were involved with your son at all.”
“He said you were feisty. You look so meek that I didn’t believe him. I owe him an apology.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not going anywhere. If you need confirmation of that, you’ll have to speak to Alexander.”
“My wife used to call me Alexander when everyone else called me Alex or Mr. Kingwood.” There’s a distance in his eyes as if he’s looking right through me at the ghost of his wife.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
His eyes focus again, the earlier smile has vanished. “I worry about my son.”
“So do I.”
“Loving him has never been easy.”
“I hear the same about you.”
His palm flattens on the shiny surface of the table, the silverware clinking together from the motion. “I’m going to be very blunt with you, Ms. Grayson. I love my son despite what he tells you. He is my only family, my only blood relative. As such, I’ve afforded him the lifestyle that a Kingwood should have. You’re smart. Pretty, but what keeps you coming back? What is it about my son that keeps you tied so tightly to that relationship when he’s out most nights destroying it?” He knows? He knows Alexander leaves me most nights?
I gulp, my weakness under his glare evident, but I stand my ground because I know the answer in my heart. I know why Alexander would never hurt me despite the accusation from his father. “Love.”
“That simple? It’s a foolish emotion.”
“Maybe to you. To me, it’s everything. I love him, but there’s nothing simple about it.”
He lifts the electronic tablet that had been discarded to the side of his plate, and pulls out an envelope, tapping it three times on the table. “I know you think I don’t care about Alex, but I do. Very much. He’s the last tie I have to my wife.”
“I thought that was Kingwood Enterprises?”
“You know more than you let on.”
“I only know what Alexander shares with me.”
“You’re better off, unless pillow talk is a regular occurrence.”