“You’re not kidding,” I mutter.
I don’t know what’s more painful, thinking she walked out on me, or finding out my life has been a lie. I don’t even know where to start unraveling this disaster. I grab my glass of wine and throw it at the wall across the room, watching it shatter to the floor.
“You probably think I’m a monster, taking the money and abandoning you when you needed me, Serafin. I was only trying to do what’s right by my family. There was no way they would’ve ever got anywhere in this world without your parents’ help. Besides, we both knew your parents would never let you end up with a girl like me. It didn’t take a signed contract to make that obvious.”
“Mia, do you know what that means? Do you understand how fucked up that is? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out.
She rushes out the room and up the stairs before I can stop her, brushing past the chef carrying another course of food. The sound of the door slamming echos through the whole house making me feel suddenly very alone in this world.
It wasn’t her job to fight for me. It was my job to fight for her. I might not be able to change the past, but from this day forward, nobody’s ever getting in between the two of us again. Not her parents, not my parents, not Janka or her dead beat ex husband. If my father taught me anything, it was how to fix problems and make bad situations go away, and now, thanks to him, I’m going to be putting those skills to the test. Never again will anyone make Mia feel like she doesn’t have a choice.
As long as in the end, her choice is me.
10
Serafin:
“I’m so glad you called, love. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” my mother says as she pulls her handkerchief out of her pocket and begins dusting off the picture frames on the mantel. “This is unacceptable. Whoever is doing your cleaning needs a talking to.”
“Mom, stop,” I say. “Sit down. You want a drink?”
I haven’t seen my mother in a few months. She spent the winter traveling the world with her other rich widow friends, sightseeing and cruise hopping.
I know her life really didn’t start until after my father died, and somehow she looks even younger than she did at his funeral. I guess that’s what happens when you have nothing to be stressed out about anymore with more money than you could possibly burn through in a lifetime. Between plastic surgeries, spa trips, and six month long vacations, my mother is living her best life.
It still doesn’t stop her from being a raging bitch towards the hired help, though, apparently. I always secretly suspected it actually makes her happy flexing her status over others.
“I need to talk to you about something.” I motion for her to sit down at the table across from me, but she keeps pacing around the room, like she’s purposely avoiding a conversation with me.
There’s no way she could know what I brought her here for. Mia is at her first day of work at Jakub’s office. I haven’t talked to her since last night, and only caught of glimpse of her getting in the town car this morning, her short black slip dress a little too over the top for my liking, even though it fit her body just right. All of Jakub’s secretaries wear the same thing, though. I know she wants to pay off her debt on her own, so unless there’s an actual problem, I’m not going to intervene with her work life.
I am however, fully prepared to intervene with her personal life. Especially because it overlaps with mine in such an intricate and familial way.
“Who did this painting?” she asks, spying Mia’s canvas on the wall. “It looks like you’ve finally developed a less macabre taste. Maybe you could replace some of those with more by this artist.” She points to my Gothic collection hanging nearby, Jan van Eyck’s Crucifiction hanging in the center, in all it’s macabre dead bodies and skeletal glory.
“You’d like that? If I traded in my Fuseli for some more stuff by this artist?”
“I don’t see why not.” She cocks her head as she studies the painting. “You can tell whoever painted this is a very well trained artist.”
“I would hope so,” I say, trying to contain my laughter. “You paid for her schooling with my inheritance.”
My mother turns and scowls. Her platinum blonde hair is so white it almost looks gray, and as she stands there with her hands on her hips and her eyes filled with rage, she looks a little bit like one of the witches in my painting collection.
“You know your father and I have always been huge philanthropists, Serafin. Why have all this money if you’re not going to share some with worthy causes? We raised you better than that!”
I throw my head back and laugh. She really has no idea what I’m talking about. She really thinks I’m mad they donate money to charity.
“Worthy causes like convincing me the love of my life abandoned me?” I shout. Her eyes turn from rage to fear in an instant and she puts her hands out in front of her like she expects me to attack her. She slowly steps backwards into the wall.
“Mother, I have never put hands on you before,” I growl. “Stop being hysterical and tell me the truth. Your little boo hoo baby act isn’t going to work on me like it did with dad. Besides, I’m pissed at him too.”
“You were so young, love,” she says. Her voice is wavering like she’s trying to hold something back. “We were all so traumatized by your accident, nobody was thinking straight. It was just the simplest solution.”
“She’s the only woman I ever cared about, mom. You knew that.”
“I know that now,” she says. “Back then, I didn’t believe in love. Me and your father believed in practicality. When I was coming of age, you didn’t have the luxury of marrying someone because you were in love with them. You married someone, and you learned how to love them. On the surface it’s much easier that way.”
“You didn’t love dad?” I think back on how happy they seemed to be together, at least during the happy times, but there was always something missing in their interactions with each other. Their relationship was always more of a transactional thing with set expectations for one another. I just assumed it was because they were both very conservative people. I never thought maybe it was because they really weren’t in love.
“I loved your father the best I could with what I was given,” she says. “And I loved that he gave me a beautiful son. You have always been the most important thing to me, Serafin. That’s why I thought I was doing you a favor by making sure you wouldn’t have to go through the pain of trying to be with a woman like that.”
I like the words she’s saying, but I don’t like the tone she’s taking. The way she emphasizes ‘woman like that’ leads me to believe she still thinks she did the right thing. I know I’m not going to make overnight progress with her, but it’s time she knows I’m not her little child anymore. I’m a man now, and it’s not her job to protect me anymore, no matter how good her intentions were.
“She is a very talented artist, I must say,” my mom says, staring off sadly into space. “I’d really love to see more of her work.”