Page 44 of Embracing Us

Chapter nineteen

Linda

“Thank you for an incredible day,” Susan says, wrapping her arms around my neck. She leans her head on my shoulder, weeping quietly as we embrace. “I’m so glad I got to see my boy married. You have been an angel for him, Linda. Today was perfect.” I bite my lip in an attempt to control my own emotions. This woman is not only important to Max; she is vital to me. Without her upbeat communication last year, chances are I would never have visited the hotel. What I have now would have never come to fruition.

“Thank you for being here,” I whisper back, my focus moving to my new husband who is holding our son whilst talking animatedly to Crystal. “We are here for you, whatever you need. We are your family. Lean on us.”

“I have never been concerned for me,” she says, ignoring my comment. Determined, independent and headstrong as always. “But knowing Max has someone by his side now will make the loss of my own independence easier.” She pulls back, blinking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “He acts impenetrable, but I know him. Inside, he is still the teenager who lost his parents unexpectedly. The boy whose heart has been broken time and again. I worried for the fact he loved so openly, with no thought as to getting burnt.” She sighs softly. “But now he has found you, I know he will be loved in return. And you will have the most loyal partner in life as a reward.”

“He is the most amazing man,” I agree, speaking to myself rather than her.

“And you are an incredible woman. It is why you are both well suited to one another. The first time I saw you together, I knew he had finally found you. The one he’d been looking for.” Her hands lie on my forearms. She flexes her fingers against my skin. “As a mother, that is the greatest gift I can ask for before I leave this earth, seeing my child happy and settled as an adult.”

“A mother?” I question, taken aback by the description.

“Max is much more than a nephew to me.” She doesn’t expand on the comment, but there are words left unsaid. I eye her sceptically, and she drops her focus from mine.

“This conversation is not over,” I tell her. “You’re hiding something, and it needs to be brought out into the open.”

“Nonsense,” she mutters. “You’re tipsy from the wine.”

“I’ve been drinking water.”

She releases my arms, stepping back dramatically. The space between us opening wide. The niggling suspicion I’ve had before returns with a vengeance. Max means a lot more to Susan than it first appears. Being childless, I’d assumed she loved him the way she does because she has no children of her own. But calling him her son makes me wonder if he is. These concerns are not something I want to raise with him unnecessarily; it is a topic I will revisit with her on our return to the hotel. With her mortality at the forefront of her mind, I do wonder if she has some skeletons needing laid to rest.

We’ve eaten the most incredible meal while sitting at perfectly laid tables overlooking the ocean. Max held my hand in his throughout, only allowing me the use of it to cut my food when required. His thumb played with the gold band that now encircled my ring finger, the clear symbol that I belong to someone. Him.

The four of us chatted about our plans for the following day. I’d relented, agreeing that Crystal and Susan could take Jackson overnight to allow us our wedding night on our own. “Take the childcare whilst it’s on offer,” Susan said, sharply. “We won’t be there once you return to normality. Enjoy your night, then day tomorrow. We will meet you for a meal in the evening.”

“But…” I tried to protest, and she held her hand up.

“Don’t argue with a dying woman, Linda. This isn’t a request; it is an order. You have to take these opportunities as they arise.” After baulking at the direct statement, I picked up my knife and fork to resume eating without another word. It was quite clear there was no winning this argument. She was determined to give us time together as a newly married couple, whether we required it or not.

My son’s pale skin is soft beneath my lips. I place yet another kiss on his forehead. “Night, my little prince. Mummy will see you tomorrow,” I say in a hushed tone. He is already asleep after enjoying his evening bottle. His thumb stuffed firmly between his lips. As he drifts off into a deeper stage of relaxation, the digit slips from his mouth, landing poised on his rosy red chin. “I’ll miss you.”

“Twenty-four hours, Beautiful,” Max says, his hand sitting firmly on my waist. “A short reprieve from stinking nappies.”

“I know, but being away from him feels wrong.”

“Let me see if I can adjust your opinion on that. Hopefully being with me will feel right.” I glance up at him and smile. “Come on, Beautiful, the honeymoon suite is ready, and it has our name on it.” After a final hug from each of our babysitters, Max guides me away from the terrace where we said I do.

“I hope our things are in the room,” I say as we board the elevator. The honeymoon suite is located on the top floor of the hotel with one hundred eighty-degree views of the landscape below.

“They are,” he replies, reassuringly. “I checked earlier with reception.”

“You really are perfect.” I turn to face him. We stand staring at one another as the metal box rises the five floors to the top of the building.

“Perfect, no. Thoughtful, I like to think so.” The elevator comes to a stop. The doors slide open, and we step out onto a small roof terrace. “This way,” he says, taking my hand and leading me towards a closed door. He pulls a key card from his pocket, swiping it across a black entry pad. The little red light turns to green. Max pushes open the door.

My foot lifts to step over the threshold. “Stop,” he mutters hastily. “I need to carry you in; it’s tradition.” I place my errant toes back on the floor. He slides a hand under my legs, the other supporting my back, then lifts me effortlessly into his arms. My fingers move to surround his neck.

“What else is custom, Mr Gordon?” I purr. “If today we are being traditionalists.” He steps into the room, walking into the centre. Our eyes scan the space. It is beyond opulent. Every surface white or chrome. Swathes of organza hang from a large four-poster bed creating a canopy and curtains. They flutter in the warm breeze that intrudes from the double balcony doors.

The bed itself is black iron, intricate and detailed. The edges depict flowers and fauna. “Lilies,” I say, absently. Max glances at me. “On the bed. Lilies are a symbol of fertility in Greek myth.”

“Makes sense considering this is the honeymoon suite,” he teases. “Are you feeling fertile, Mrs Gordon?”

“No,” I reply bluntly, and he chuckles under his breath. “I would give you a lot of things, but another baby is off-limits. One surprise in my forties is enough. My skin wouldn’t survive another pregnancy. I’d end up with a fanny pack.” He laughs. The sound is clear and echoes off the walls.

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