Page 7 of Worthy Promises
“Summerhomes,” his mother wailed. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be for anyone to learn that we live here year round? They come here to escape the heat of the city, not to take up residence. Why would they? It hardly has the panache of what we left behind.”
Part of the problem his parents faced was being cooped up in the house all day, but it was their own doing. Although they took the occasional trip to the city to visit a friend or two, they preferred to distance themselves from the society they yearned to be included in. They were too embarrassed to admit that they’d lost their fortune.
It was far easier to explain that Oliver had insisted on controlling his future inheritance and had become a tyrant, forcing them to follow his dictates. His parents had fed their friends the lie that Oliver had appealed to the leader of the snowy owls, Count Jalmari Scandiacus, to become head of the household. It had worked because Count Scandiacus was an unpopular leader and preferred to keep himself separate from his people.
Oliver had never even met the man. His ruler was preoccupied with the goings-on of the Council and lived in Washington, DC to attend daily government sessions with therest of the leaders. The Count never ventured to New York or any other enclave of snowy owls. Although the snowy owls revered Fate enough to accept that the man was in charge, Count Scandiacus’s reputation was abysmal.
“We cannot afford what we left behind,” Oliver reminded his mother for the millionth time. “The house shouldn’t have been built; the funds didn’t exist to create such a lavish, overstuffed showplace that served no other purpose than to impress your friends.”
“Sometimes I wonder how I found myself with a son so cold and unfeeling,” his mother retorted. “If any compassion lives in your heart, it was long ago smothered in duty.”
“Who gave me the duty of earning this family money?”
“Isn’t it odd that he would choose art as his focus in business?” Felicie asked Oliver’s father. “I’m surprised he didn’t wind up involved in railroads or some other less-inspiring venture.”
“If he’d been interested in railroads, I daresay we’d still be in our fine mansion in the city,” his father muttered. “Imagine wasting one’s energy with paintings when we have a family reputation to uphold.”
Oliver didn’t bother to point out that his father did nothing but gossip with his mother, ride his horse, and fuss about how small his wardrobe was.
“Trade is trade,” his mother replied. “We raised him to be a gentleman, and here he is flaunting his work constantly.”
Unsure how he’d ever flaunted anything, Oliver rolled his eyes and wondered if he’d face their petulance in the morning if he excused himself from the meal before they’d both declared themselves finished with their dinner. Three times a day, he sat in the dining room while his parents criticized every aspect of his personality and expressed how much they found him wanting. Although he should’ve been used to it by now, it still hurt.
“I wish I knew where we went wrong with Oliver,” his father said.
“If only Fate would bless us with another child,” his mother answered wistfully. “Be it a boy or a girl, I know we could do better.”
“I can’t imagine Fate giving us another child with such a lack of passion in their soul,” Osmo remarked. “It’s as if Oliver lacks a heart.”
The muscle in Oliver’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t bother to defend himself. He didn’t think he was lacking. While he wasn’t given to the dramatic like his parents, he had desires and passion. He loved art and was constantly moved by it. Although Fate had trapped him in a home with two parents he couldn’t please, he thought regularly about having a mate.
For all that was wrong with his relationship with his parents, they continued to adore each other. They were the best of friends and spoke constantly on a variety of subjects. The easy way they related to each other was something Oliver envied and hoped to have for himself someday. He wouldn’t have a female mate, so there weren’t likely to be children unless they adopted, which was fine with Oliver.
As miserable as he often found himself under the roof he shared with his parents, he worried that if he did somehow have children, he’d find himself similarly unable to connect with them. The last thing Oliver wanted was for anyone to feel as isolated and rejected as he had since he was a small boy.
While Oliver had a healthy amount of desire for other men, he didn’t often indulge in finding a partner to slake his lust. Without his mate, Oliver refused to enter a meaningful relationship, and the work involved in taking time out of his schedule for sex was annoying. Most often, Oliver took matters into his own hands. There was no lack of sex drive in him, and he masturbated almost daily.
Done listening to his parents discuss his faults and put new dents in his confidence, Oliver set his napkin on the table and scooted his chair back. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change his circumstances, and his parents blamed him for everything. Oliver did his best to keep up a strong front and never allow them to see how much they hurt him, but it was difficult to accept that no one loved him.
“Are you already finished, Oliver?” his father asked. “I feel as if dinner has barely begun.”
His parents preferred meals to drag on forever, but Oliver had plenty on his schedule and liked to escape as soon as he could without insulting the pair.
“Finished every bite,” Oliver replied.
“There is a bit of wine left in your glass,” his mother insisted. “Surely you won’t rush out before we’ve chatted.”
Why they wished for Oliver to stay when they had nothing kind to say about him, he didn’t know, but they routinely demanded he remain in the dining room long after he was ready to depart.
Perhaps they wish for more opportunity to heap insults on my head, Oliver thought ungraciously.
“I apologize, but I have some correspondence to respond to,” Oliver said, rising. “I’m taking the train to the city tomorrow and will be busy with appointments.”
“Oh, how I wish to go to the city again,” his mother commented with a sad smile on her pretty face.
“You can take the train any day of the week if you wish,” Oliver reminded her.
“The problem is, I have to come back here since you refuse to move us to something worthy of our family name.”
