Page 18 of Obsessed Heir

I manage to keep my expression neutral, but I can’t help tensing over what’s to come. With him standing behind her, Miss Opal can’t see how his jaw hardened and his nostrils are flaring.

“Not as though you have a son of your own, Mother,” Barron retorts, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

The sarcasm in his voice is like a slap in the face. It’s enough to shatter any peace or assurance I could find in her loving words. The affectionate comments struck a deep nerve, and I end up trapped squarely in the crosshairs as her son’s target.

Holly’s perfect eyebrows rise, her expression one of thoughtful scrutiny as she picks up on the undercurrents of tension between the McClellands.

I wish I could make myself smaller, to slink away from the growing hostility and lick my wounds. But I’m frozen, choking on the knot in my throat. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to see to our things.”

I turn on my heel, desperate to find an escape. James is standing at an entryway, facing away from everything happening with the McClellands.

“You seem to forget,” Miss Opal replies, with her usual sweetness, “you haven’t needed a mother in over twenty years.”

The sudden silence is deafening. While her statement is true, I’m not sure Barron was expecting it. He’s been absent from her life since I arrived. She’s been alone in that big house while he’s in some other part of the country or the world.

It’s been heartbreaking to see her go from missing him to an eventual resigned acceptance of being on her own. How many times has she said,With him being a man, and his father’s son, he’s bound to be bold and ambitious.

Then, blessedly, James clears his throat and turns toward the hallway. “This way,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. No doubt he picked up on my desperation to escape.

“Yes, please,” I reply with a tremulous smile, nodding perhaps a bit too vehemently.

Any excuse to remove myself from the volatile situation is a lifeline I’ll latch onto. James pauses beside the open door, gesturing with a subtle dip of his chin.

“Follow me,” he says, his tone lowering in deference to the charged atmosphere.

I don’t need to be told twice. I hurry after James as he slips through the doorway and moves away. Behind me, I can still hear the distant echo of Holly’s tinkling bracelets. No doubt she’s preparing to engage Miss Opal in lighter conversation.

I’m glad to escape the strained exchange between the three. My heart is pounding in my ears as we make our hushed escape.

The more distance between myself and Barron’s icy disdain, the better. With any luck, I can make it through the rest of the cruise by being neither seen nor heard. It’s the only way to avoid being in his crosshairs again.

“I’ll get you a key card within the hour,” James says in a low, reassuring tone. It’s as if what just happened is nothing out of the ordinary. “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for an additional person, and I didn’t think of it until now.”

“There’s no rush,” I assure him. “I won’t be going anywhere without Miss Opal.”

We continue down the corridor, our footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. James leads me to a spacious bedroom. The furnishings and luxurious decor make it apparent this is where Miss Opal will stay.

“The en-suite bathroom is through here.” He gestures to the left.

“This might be a tight fit for the chair.” While the room itself is large, the doorway is a bit narrow. I have a sudden flashback of Barron trying to wrestle Miss Opal’s wheelchair out of the infirmary.

“I’ll tell Mr. McClelland.”

That’s the last thing we need.

“Let’s see once we bring her in,” I hedge, not wanting to cause any more trouble. “Maybe I’m overestimating.”

He picks up on my reluctance to make waves and simply gives an understanding nod.

“I set the luggage by the closet,” he continues, indicating the lone suitcase sitting off to the side. “The television remote control is here in the tray.” He walks to the large wooden dresser opposite the sumptuous king-sized bed and its decorative array of plump pillows.

“The desk has connections for a computer and a power center. You’ll find the Wi-Fi password here on the corner.” He taps one of the small cards positioned beside a flatscreen monitor.

“And for the balcony…” James hits a button on the wall panel. The curtain lining the glass doors glides across its track with a soft mechanical hum.

I imagine they expect guests to relax on the sofa and enjoy the panorama once they’re at sea. Currently, the view includes the bridge we crossed on the road to the port, stacks of shipping containers, and a sliver of shoreline. Land…dry land is good.

Then he flips the latch and slides open the door leading out to a private balcony. The gentle ocean breeze wafts in, stirring my hair and bringing with it the briny scent of saltwater.

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