Page 67 of One Wild Ride

TWENTY-SIX

Alexander

“Alexander, let’s talk.” My mother leaned against my desk as I entered my office.

I swallowed, unsure if she’d found out. When we left Edgar’s place yesterday, I made Edgar and Mrs. Bechmann swear they wouldn’t say a word about me buying Henrik Payne’s condo for Aria, not even to Evaleen. They had promised but I didn’t know them like I knew Aria. I had to believe if Aria trusted them, then I could, too.

“What is this about, Mother? I have somewhere I need to be.” I walked past her as if my mother’s presence wasn’t causing my blood pressure to skyrocket.

When I changed the locks and security access for Bradley, I was tempted to exclude my mother from accessing my home. But Aria mentioned that it would be too obvious if I did that. That it might cause my mother to do anything necessary to get to me, and possibly get rid of Aria.

“Has Ms. Dixon finished her masterpiece yet?” My mother’s lips curled and yet through sheer medical intervention, no wrinkles appeared on her face.

I turned over some papers on my desk, feigning a search for something to gaze at other than my mother’s bitter eyes.

“No.” My blunt answer was anything but satisfying to her as I knew it would be.

She sighed tempting me enough to look up. My mother’s eyes bore into mine but something in her stare altered. If I wasn’t mistaken, it appeared to be uncertainty. Of course, knowing my mother, she might pretend to be unsure to trick me. That seemed like a more plausible excuse.

“She sure is taking her time. How long has it been now? A month and a half? I know artists that would take half that time to paint an entire room, not just one wall,” she said as she gracefully lowered herself into the chair opposite me.

I was used to my mother’s cutting comments. She prided herself on slicing people to their core just by a few calculated words. But today, something about them rankled me the wrong way. I knew she was feeding me crumbs of doubt for Aria until I was so full I would be too tired to challenge the words that left her mouth.

But that was the old me. Before I knew the achingly beautiful, highly talented, and strongest woman in my life, both past and present. Aria made me realize my mother’s vile anger disguised as critiques were only words, as sharp as a puff of air.

“I guess that’s what makes Aria so much better than your artist friends. Talent takes time. Only a hack would rush it.”

Her eyes flared and for a moment I thought she would stand, challenge me with her body, but I was wrong. My mother, even with as many spies as she had in her pocket and rooms she had bugged, still didn’t realize that the couple of months I had known Aria changed me. Even if my mother made sure my worst nightmare happened—that she would be right and Aria would only be using me for my money—I could never go back to her control.

I needed to make my mother see that she held no power over me anymore.

She believed me weak and easily manipulated. At one time I was, but not anymore.

“I do admit the woman does have talent. That’s why I went back over the rental agreement and was surprised, as were you, to find out the building was in your name. I wanted Ms. Dixon to paint for you.” Her syrupy smile appeared more tart than sweet.

I rolled my eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you anymore, Mother? You have lied to me since I was a child. Sheltered me for years to the point I had anxiety when I went outside in public during the day—”

My mother cut me off, finally standing to beat back my words. “I did that to protect you, Alexander.”

I leaned forward, pressing my fingers into the wood of my desk until I couldn’t feel them anymore. “From what? What exactly were you . . . are you protecting me from? From the paparazzi or some gold diggers? Why don’t you let me worry about that now? I’m a grown man.”

“You don’t understand, Alexander. There is so much more to all this than money. Fine. You want money, take it. Take everything, but understand I did this because you are my son and I won’t let anyone take my offspring from me. Even a fair-haired artist.”

I stared at the woman who gave birth to me. She finally told me something that remotely felt like love. In her sick mind, what she did was for affection, for her family. I hadn’t felt her tenderness for twenty years. Perhaps by standing up to her she finally admitted to having any feeling for me.

But it’s too late.

“Unfortunately, Mom, I will always be your son. Not even Aria can break that link,” I said as I straightened my back and flexed my fingers, running them through my hair.

“This is all your father’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed, we would be so happy.” My mother turned her head as she wrapped her arms around herself.

To my surprise her hand lifted and swiped a tear from her cheek. How could she be upset by my father’s death? She never cried over his plane going down. I even caught her smiling on the phone with the police as they discussed the details of his death. She pretended she was yawning but I knew a smile when I saw one.

“You hated Father.”

Her head turned back to me as a whisper of a grin curled her lips. “If you only knew, Alexander. Then maybe you would understand. Which is why I came to visit you today.”

Frustration, and pain so old it felt like a dull knife lazily sawing at my skin, boiled as I shook my head to try to fling it away. “Why did you come then? Just tell me so I can make my meeting.”

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