Page 6 of Worthy Promises
“I’ll return with the food,” Drogo stated. He turned on his heel and exited the kitchen, leaving Worth alone. The pervasive loneliness festered beneath Worth’s skin, and he idly wondered how long he was supposed to stay stranded in the house. Knowing how stubborn his father was, and how little he cared for Worth, it’d likely be until one of them died.
It was terrifying to think of leaving Court Ethelin. Everyone already knew what a disgraceful dragon he was, and he didn’t have to deal with their censure in his lonely house. His dragon roared in protest at his thoughts, but Worth couldn’t help hating his pink scales. Thanks to them, Worth was trapped within the four walls of his small abode and had only himself to speak with on most days.
Caught between his fear of the unknown and his growing need to be far from where he sat, Worth didn’t know what the future would bring. Sad, desolate, and fearful, Worth dragged himself out of the chair and, with a sigh, grabbed one of his old books after turning on the radio. A little sound allowed him to pretend he wasn’t alone, but he’d long ago lost the ability to find comfort in his surroundings.
Chapter 3
That same year
St. James, New York
Oliver’s mother sighed dramatically as she flopped onto a sturdy wooden chair at the dining room table. Without glancing in her direction, Oliver continued to eat his dinner. It wasn’t that he lacked concern for her feelings, but they went through this charade at least once a week.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Oliver’s father asked.
“My life has no meaning,” Felicie wailed. “And it’s all Oliver’s fault.”
“Darling, you know I would do anything for you. How can I ensure you find joy in your days?” his father inquired.
“It has been an age since we last entertained. I would so dearly love to have guests in my home again.”
Oliver swallowed and took a moment to pat his napkin to his mouth. With two fingers, he straightened his tie. It was a lovely pink hue—Oliver’s favorite color. “I have often encouraged you to invite the neighbors over. You enjoy making friends, and I believe you’d have far more pleasure in your life if you were to get to know the other residents of St. James.”
“Oliver, I could ask none of my friends here to this…thisplace,” his mother cried, waving her hand around the room and scrunching her nose as if someone had just dropped horse dung on the shiny wooden floors. Although the house was a far cry from the monstrosity they’d left in New York City, Oliver had ensured it was elegantly, if not extravagantly, decorated.
“What is wrong with your home?” Oliver asked.
“This is not my home,” his mother replied, her eyes filling with tears. “Myhome was gorgeous. I remember so vividly my grand open house. Osmo, do you remember how people spoke of my debut as a hostess? They were impressed by my choice of foods, and I was even written up in the papers.”
“Yes, it was quite an impressive waste of money,” Oliver said. “If you had spent less, we may have been able to keep that house as our residence. Then again, perhaps not. Father indulged your every whim, and we didn’t have the funds to be so extravagant. We were lucky to find a buyer willing to take on the expense. Thankfully, you’d filled it with enough impressive works of art that we could afford to buy this large plot of land.”
“Sometimes I close my eyes and remember how it was to dance with you in our beautiful home, Osmo,” his mother reminisced as if Oliver hadn’t spoken. It didn’t surprise him that she was ignoring him. His parents had tolerated him until he’d taken charge of the finances. To his horror, he’d quickly learned that his father had gravely underestimated the situation thirty-one years ago.
They’d barely had a few pennies left in the family coffers. Oliver had impressed himself with his scrambled efforts to ensure the servants were given their highly deserved wages. His priority had been to find new positions for those who didn’t want to stay given the uncertain future ahead. Oliver had called in favors he didn’t have with men who’d barely trusted him to sell art.
If it weren’t for the many treasures his mother had overpaid for while decorating her monumentally expensive estate, Oliver wouldn’t have known where to turn or how to keep a roof over their heads. At nineteen, he’d had little experience in the world, but he’d learned swiftly. Now, he was a successful businessman with a growing reputation, but he certainly didn’t make enough to finance the lifestyle his parents yearned for—and they never let him forget it.
Despite it being their fault that their family had become nearly destitute, once the responsibility was handed to Oliver, it was his duty to provide for the family. He’d accepted that and had found a large plot of land with a small house already built on it. As the years passed, he’d gained enough money to expand it and redecorate it, but it was modest. His parents called it boring…just like their only son.
They continued to share memories of the single event his mother had hosted in their old home, and Oliver tuned them out. It was impossible to please them, and Oliver had accepted their lack of affection for him. He was sorry he couldn’t hand them everything they wanted, but he had to stay focused on the future. Every extra dollar was put into his business, and if things went well, he would hit his goal of opening his first gallery the following year.
The gallery wasn’t something he’d shared with his parents. They cared nothing for his dreams or his desire to ensure the Toivonens never spiraled into dire circumstances again. In fact, they didn’t care for him at all.
“Oliver, are you listening?” his mother demanded.
“My apologies, no.”
“I’m not sure what staid thoughts are distracting you from our conversation, but kindly pay attention. There is nothing I like less than having to repeat myself.”
“Fine, what is it?”
“Surely, if we have enough money to throw a party here, then we have enough to purchase a new home.”
Oliver’s brows snapped together in frustration. No matter how hard he tried to explain things to his mother, she had no concept of economics and no desire to learn. “There is a vast difference between offering cakes to our neighbors and buying a home larger than the one you currently occupy.”
“It isn’t the size, Oliver,” his father interjected. “We are stranded out in here in St. James.”
“Plenty of notable people have lovely homes here in St. James,” Oliver argued.
