He looks back and the smile on his face feels like it’s homegrown just for me. “What did I interrupt?” Glancing between April and me, he waits for one of us to answer.
Tightening my arms around him, I love the closeness, but there are matters to deal with. Mainly April, so I finally reply, “April was reprimanding Neely for having a cup of tea with me.”
“What?” He looks at April. “Why would you do that?”
Her shoulders go lax, and that fake smile I saw before on the terrace returns. “No. No. Sara Jane just misunderstood.”
“Then what was going on?” He glances between us and then to Neely.
She remains quiet. The tips of my fingers drag down his front. I peek at April who is glaring at me from behind Alexander’s back. I say, “Everyone deserves respect unless they prove otherwise.”
Alexander smiles and kisses my forehead. “I agree.” Turning us around to face the others, he says, “Are we good here?”
Neely and April nod. Then he adds, “Good.”
He’s in a great mood, and I’m glad this little incident didn’t ruin it. “Are you hungry?”
Burying his face into my neck, his stubble tickles as he pretends to devour me. “Famished.”
Remembering what Neely said about his mother, I realize I hold the power to help tame the beast inside my Alexander. Whispering, I ask, “For food or me?”
Not even caring that we have an audience, two of his fingertips trail down my cheek as he looks into my eyes, his reflecting my love for him. “You. Always you, Firefly.”
20
Alexander
“The doctors don’t know what they’re talking about.” Crawling in next to her on the bed, I lick my lips, tasting her nectar on my tongue while my heart rate settles into its regular steady beat.
She giggles. “You are so bad.”
Rolling on my side to face her, I tap her nose. “But so good for you.”
With a wide smile I put there, she says, “So good for me.”
I watch her—eyes closed, lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath.
Satisfied.
Content.
Beautiful.
Her brown hair is splayed around her, lighter streaks falling across her face. I wonder when some of the strands turned gold. When she was gone? Did she enjoy the sun, spend time outdoors, or did the change in scenery cause a change in her?
“I like your hair.”
Her eyelids open revealing the blue I missed so much for those months of her absence. They’re a darker shade than mine. Pools of ocean blue—deep and soulful. Self-conscious, she runs her hand over her head pulling the loose strands back. “Oh gosh, don’t look at me. I’m a mess.”
“A beautiful mess.”
“I should shower.”
She rolls away from me to get out of bed, but I stop her because this is why I fight for her, this is why I must protect her at all costs. I need her healed. “No. Stay. I like you just the way you are.”
The delicate features of her face relax, and she smiles. The tips of her fingers dance over my shoulder. “Do you ever feel like the whole world could come crashing down around us and you wouldn’t notice?”
“Every time we’re together.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“Does that scare you?”
“No.”
My smile comes just as easily as hers moments earlier. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if my mother had lived.”
Sara Jane readjusts so she’s more comfortable. Her wounds are still healing, and I see when she struggles. Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, I admire her face, her courage, and then her lips when she speaks, “What does your life look like?”
“I’d have her but I wouldn’t have you. So if someone were to ask me . . . if I had to choose—”
Her finger graces my lips, and she stops me before I say more. “You don’t have to choose, so you don’t need to say anything more.”
I silently nod, watching her reaction. Kissing her finger before she takes it away makes her giggle again. Then with a loud exhale, she rolls to her back, and stares up at the ceiling. I ask, “Want to talk about April?”
“I guess.”
Looking my way, I can tell she’s going to dance around what she really wants to say. “She’s very settled considering it’s temporary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m assuming she’s not living here forever.”
“I’m not sure what her plans are yet.” That’s a major concern, but I need her close to find out.
“I don’t think she has any.”
“Why the animosity, Sara Jane?” She’s so intuitive. What does she sense?
She hesitates, then says, “She’s not nice to the staff.”
“Nice?”
“She bosses them around like—”
“Like they work here?” I tease, hiding my concern to help stave off her worries.
She doesn’t smile though. “She seems to be taking charge in your absence. Why would she do that? I know that sounds ridiculous, but I don’t boss them around because I’m a guest—”
“This is your home, Sara Jane. The staff is at your disposal.”
“I don’t want them at my disposal.”
“You know what I mean. They are here to do a job.”
“I understand that, but it’s still a luxury to have the help, to go to sleep in a freshly made bed, to not clean a toilet, and to have food to satisfy a craving, but that doesn’t mean we treat them as if they’re beneath us.”
Rolling over, I kiss her. “There’s only one person I want beneath me.” I kiss her again.
Pressure from her hands against my chest mounts. “I’m serious, Alexander.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“How long is she staying?”
I only need a little more time. “I promised her a place to stay after rehab. She has no financial credit and no work references, thanks to my father. She couldn’t get a one-bedroom apartment. She tried.” She’s my mother. Can she be just as evil as my father? There’s no way. I have to get to the bottom of this connection. I wouldn’t be surprised if it led me back to my father who paid them, a transaction already set up before his death. Fuck. She gave me life. Do I owe her the benefit of the doubt? “I also don’t want her relapsing. She’s done good getting through rehab, but she needs support and to know she matters to someone.”
She turns away, irritated. “That means she could be here indefinitely. Do you actually know if she looked?”
Pushing away, surprised by this line of questioning, I sit up. “What are you getting at?”
“She doesn’t like me, Alexander.”
“Why wouldn’t she like you? What happened?”
Slowly, she pulls herself up and leans against the headboard. “It’s true. She’s made her feelings more than clear.”
“She raves about you to me. She talked about the connection she felt with you before you left. It hurt her.”
“It hurt her? You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I get up, wanting some fresh night air in the stale room, my mind conflicted between what I saw on that monitor and what I want to believe. “She felt you didn’t approve of her, so you left.”
“So basically she made up some elaborate fable in her head that I had somehow done this to her, specifically. Wow. My mind is blown.”