Page 31 of A Man of Wealth

“She was beautiful,” Vivienne says softly as she stares at the photo of my mother. She’s not wrong. My mother was gorgeous. She was like an angel, and when she died, she took every little bit of heaven with her, leaving me with a demon who was just as ugly as she was beautiful.

Vivienne turns to look at me. “You have her eyes.”

I pull her hand, causing her to turn toward me. “Enough.”

Reaching up, she touches my chest. “Why do you not want to talk about her? Is it too painful?”

“Why do you care?”

She pulls her hand back as though she’s touched a flame. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

I grip her hand and pull her back toward me, leaning down so our faces are mere inches apart. “I think we both know that you did mean to pry. My mother is off-limits. I will not discuss her, not with anyone.”

Vivienne swallows, her face flushing as she looks into my eyes. “OK. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Good,” I whisper. I release her hand. While I’m growing to trust her and I certainly don’t think she’s the two-faced reincarnation of Satan that I had previously suspected, my mother is still a sore point for me. Hell, she’d be a sore point even if Vivienne’s name hadn’t been on the byline of that article.

“W-what did you want?” she asks.

I reach out and slowly go to stroke the side of her face. I notice her slight flinch and I feel anger rising in me. When my thumb gently strokes her jawline, I feel her body relax slightly.

All of my irritation at the discussion about my mother evaporates as I look into her eyes and see a mixture of fear and relief. Someone’s hurt her before, physically. How had I not noticed this previously?

I bring my other hand to her face and cup it.

“Who did this to you?” I ask, my voice low and menacing because whoever did this, I want to pummel. I only saw my father strike my mother once in a fit of rage. He thought she was cheating on him. He never again touched her in anger, and he spent months groveling at her feet, asking for forgiveness, which my mother gave him. She told me when I commented about it that my father was a bit of a beast and once in a long while he wasn’t able to control the beast side of him, but she still loved him. I never understood that, at least not until I met Vivienne. She has a way of redirecting my anger and I’m not completely comfortable with that. But I, unlike my father, would never dare strike another human except in self-defense or to protect someone I love. I admit, in my younger years, I got in my fair share of fistfights after my mother’s death. My third private academy made my father send me to therapy. Since I was out of prestigious school options, he complied begrudgingly. It was that therapist that over the next four years changed me, taught me to funnel my anger and aggression, and showed me that I was becoming a monster, just like my father.

Vivienne’s eyes close.

“Answer me,” I demand giving her face a gentle shake. I can feel my jaw clenching as I wait for her response.

Those dark blue eyes open, a sheen of tears covering them. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

“It matters to me,” I insist.

“There’s another reason that I didn’t go back home,” she says softly as she stares not at my eyes but my mouth as though it’s too intense to look at me properly. “When my father found out that I wasn’t going to…what were his words…stay the course; we got in a fight. He was drunk…and it got physical. Jeff, my brother, pulled him off me.” She takes a shuddering breath and I clench my jaw so hard I’m fairly certain I just broke my molars.

“Your father hit you?” I growl. She has no idea how close to home this hits me. Our pasts suddenly don’t seem so different.

She nods, a single tear escaping and running down her cheek onto my thumb. I pull her against me.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I kiss the top of her head. “I would never strike you, ever.” Because I know how that feels and I will never do that to a person I love. My mind pauses on the last word. Love. I can’t love Vivienne. I don’t love women, not in a relationship sense. But based on how I feel right now, I know that I would most definitely pummel someone’s ass for her.

“I would never hurt you,” I murmur against her hair.

She pulls her head back and wipes her tears away. “Wouldn’t you though?”

I’m taken aback by her words.

“Vivienne…I…” I trail off as I try to find the words to tell her that I would not harm her, ever.

“We both know that this”—she motions between us—“can’t last forever.”

I look down at her, this time when I reach for her jaw, she doesn’t flinch. I’m not entirely sure what motion I made activated her PTSD, but now I’m acutely aware of my movements.

“Then, let’s make the most of the time we have,” I state because she’s not wrong. She doesn’t know the plan. She doesn’t know what we are trying to do. And she certainly doesn’t know about my exit plan.

Chapter14

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