Page 31 of The Princess and Her Mercenary

“You're always welcome in my home, son,” she assured him. “I never want you to feel otherwise. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

“Not you,” he grunted, shuffling his feet a little. “Some of the guys I used to hang out with… and dad before he died. I don't know. I guess I was screwed up for a long time. Should have probably contacted you over the years.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said briskly, pushing away from him. “But it doesn't matter. You're here now, and that's what's important. Come on inside. And tell me all about your work with this Mr. Ivan person.”

Keane and Ndari trailed after her.

“How do you know about Ivan?” he demanded, frowning thunderously.

She set a kettle of water on the stove to boil and then turned to look at him. “Well, his very sweet wife has been giving me updates on my son. This is how I knew you were alive and knew that I could finally stop worrying that one day I would have to bury my son.”

Keane and Ndari shared a glance? Yep, it was just like Jaya to get herself involved in something like this. Something that wasn’t her business but would benefit her friends. She was like the hacking equivalent of Robin Hood. Which was probably a good thing considering her husband was a ruthless arms dealer. Someone needed to offset Ivan’s evil tendencies.

She could tell by Keane’s expression that he didn't mind. He wasn't disappointed at all that Jaya had interfered with his family. Ndari was relieved. She didn’t particularly want to have to referee a fight between her lover and her best friend.

“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Keane cried. “Have a seat, please. I'll make a pot of coffee.”

“You don't have to do anything for us, Mrs. Keane,” Ndari said, stepping forward.

Keane placed his hand on Ndari’s back and said, “Mum, this is my fiancé, Ndari Abudaulla.”

Mary’s mouth fell open. “Married,” she said, her eyes big as she took in her future daughter-in-law. Ndari tried not to feel self-conscious. It was an uncomfortable feeling for someone with her great self-esteem. She didn’t like being uncertain. But she worried. Would Mrs. Keane look at Ndari and see only the colour of her skin, hear only her foreign name and accent? Would she be welcomed, or asked to leave? She didn’t usually have negative experiences when she travelled and met new people, but she also carefully vetted the places she travelled to and avoided racism like the plague. She didn’t have time for petty arguments over something so silly as a person’s ethnic background.

And then a grin stretched Mrs. Keane’s lips and she threw her arms around Ndari, hugging her tightly. “You must call me Mary, and I’m so happy to meet you. I’ll just bet you’re the reason my son came home again. This might just be the best day of my life. Thank you, darling girl.”

Mary sat them down at the table and then served coffee and cookies. Ndari immediately reached for the cookie platter. Mary sat down on one of the wooden chairs and beamed at her guests. She seemed so pleased to see them that the years melted away from her. She laughed as Keane and Ndari talked about their time in Paris and Prague, especially Ndari's description of Keane dutifully holding her purse while she shopped.

Keane was careful to tell his mother only a select few stories of the past 20 years of his life, leaving a lot out. Ndari could feel some of his reticence in sharing those details with his mother. Ndari didn't think it was shame but something closer to wanting to protect his mom from the truth. Mary didn't need to know what he did for a living. The life of a mercenary was a brutal one. The jobs were usually violent and morally ambiguous. Mary seemed good knowing that her son was involved in security and that he got to travel the world and work for rich clients.

Ndari applauded him for keeping his mother's feelings in mind. Though he came off as this great big rough and tumble guy, he was sensitive underneath all those muscles. The ones that rippled across his arms and chest when he moved, or the way they went hard when she ran her hands over them.

Ndari shook her daydream away as Mary spoke again.

"You'll stay here of course," Mary said insistently.

Keane seemed to think about it and Ndari squeezed his hand to give her support of whatever decision he made. He said, “We’ll stay tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re not putting you out?” Ndari asked.

"No, no." Mary was quick to assure them. "It's just me here. I don't know if Linton told you, but he only had one sister and she died when she was five. Got the flu, went into the hospital and never came out."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ndari said looking at Keane. "How old were you when that happened?"

He shrugged. “Twelve maybe."

Twelve, Ndari thought. Probably around the time he started getting himself into trouble. She wondered if his sister's death had anything to do with that. Ndari started getting into more and more trouble when her mother passed away. It was like something inside her needed to be filled. So she filled it with adventure. Maybe Keane was more like her than she thought.

"What do you plan on doing while you're home?" Mary asked. "I assume, you'll only be here for a short while." She sounded as though she hoped that he would contradict her, but he didn't.

Keane nodded. "Yeah, only a few days. Want to show Ndari the city, some of the places I used to hang around."

"Well, I won't get in your way," Mary told them. "We can chat when you come here to visit."

The three of them talked until late into the evening, then Mary showed them upstairs into the guest room. "I haven't had a chance to dust or anything. I hope you don't mind," she said opening the door.

Keane stepped inside, a strange look on his face. Ndari followed close behind. The room was fairly bare, except for a bed that was rather small for Ndari's taste, but she was willing to deal with it for one night. There was also a dresser and a poster of the solar system.

As the door closed behind them, Ndari asked, "Was this your room?"

"Yes," Keane acknowledged.

And then he left to go into the washroom, his bag in hand. She suspected he needed a few minutes alone. She didn't blame him. This was a lot to take in. He hadn't been in this house in two decades, he hadn't seen his mother in two decades. And yet here he was, about to sleep under his old roof and in his old bed. She hoped she hadn't made a mistake by dragging him home.

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