2
MARIA
With Sybil gone, I have a few minutes to pace beside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my office. They look out toward the French Quarter. My sensible heels tap against the stone floors, setting up a monotonous rhythm I find soothing.
I’m going to need that in a moment.
If Sybil is fast enough, she’ll miss my mother. I listen for the unmistakable tap, tap, tap of my mother’s signature walk in her five-inch heels and breathe deeply when I don’t hear them.
I do hear the elevator ding. A quick peek shows Sybil getting onto the elevator. Two other employees join her.
“Have fun!” I wave, but Sybil doesn’t see me.
I wish I was in that elevator with her instead of here. Executing a precise pivot, I spin around and march down the length of my office again.
MD is late. If it were me, I’d find myself at the wrong end of a tongue lashing about how tardiness is an unforgivable sin, but I am not my mother.
She doesn’t answer to me.
And so, I pace.
Each week, we fight the same battle. She wants me to leave the corporate world. Despite the phenomenal success of the Belvedere, the idea of her daughter involved in an industry of service, the hotel business, grates on her nerves.
It’s okay for a man, but not her daughter. Each week, I defend my decision to put my career first. Is it wrong of me to want praise from my mother?
According to her, I’m an embarrassment to the family.
The sound of my mother’s stilettos clacking against the marble in the hall outside my office sends a shiver racing down my spine.
It’s time, and I brace for our weekly battle.
She’ll gently suggest I step down. I’ll dig in, demanding she acknowledge my accomplishments. We’ll end in a stalemate, lick our wounds, and wait until next week when we’ll go at it again.
It’s exhausting.
With a deep breath in, I spin around and fix a smile to my face. My mother’s footsteps echo down the long hall outside my office while I head to the door to properly greet a woman of her stature.
My assistant is not present. I gave her a long lunch, protecting her from MD’s harsh criticism.
“Mother,” I throw my arms out wide, “you look absolutely amazing.”
And she does.
My mother is stunning. A natural beauty, she’s got one of those bodies designers salivate over. Golden hair sweeps up off her neck in a perfect up-do with naught a hair out of place. Her crystalline-blue eyes are deep and radiant, carrying the power to stop men in their tracks. Her luminescent skin is flawless, with not one blemish to mar her beauty. Her hourglass figure, perfectly proportioned, makes men take a second look, every single time.
I’m merely pretty in comparison, although my rare sapphire eyes have been known to turn a head every now and again.
My mother closes the distance with a regal air. Arms held stiffly out from her sides, we hug the air, never actually touching, and exchange air kisses to each cheek. I can’t remember the last time my mother gave me a real hug.
“You lost weight again.” She leans back. Hand to chin, her brows tug tight. “I told you this job is too stressful for a woman. When are you going to realize this isn’t for you?” Her mouth pinches tight. “Where is your assistant?”
“At lunch.” I keep a false smile plastered to my face during her wonderful greeting. She wastes no time getting right to the heart of the matter.
“You need to be stricter with the help. Give them an inch and they’ll walk all over you. If you were a man, your assistant would never leave you unsupported.”
“Mother, my employees need to eat.”
“They need to be here, greeting those who think they can waltz right on in and disturb the CEO. You don’t understand how important appearances are.” There goes her head, shaking side to side. It’s only one of many digs I’ll endure.
“I love my job and part of that is treating my employees well. It encourages them to work harder, then when I have to ask them to stay late, it’s not a problem.”
“You shouldn’t have to ask them to do their job. Marco would never stoop so low. He never asks. He tells them what to do and expects them to stay.”
“I’m doing fine, Mother. My employees love me.”
“No … the stress is showing.” She peers at my face. Her harsh gaze seeks every imperfection. “Your suit is sloppy. Send it to my dressmaker. She’ll do what she can to make it flatter a woman’s figure.” Another scorching gaze sears a hole in my heart. “That blouse is not doing you any favors . I’ll send something over. Put that one in the trash.”
Trash?
I look amazing in my suit, and I got it tailored to perfection. As for the blouse, it’s silky and feminine. I’m not throwing it away.
“Marco said you left your security behind again.” Her arms fold under her breasts as she looks down her perfectly upturned nose at me.
“I did.”
“That Sybil is going to be the death of you. Those men are there to keep you safe. You have no idea what someone would do to get their hands on you and hurt you.”
Maybe not, but I know what my mother will do to keep me safe. I live in a glass tower, a princess of circumstance, and prisoner of the Rossi name.
Resentment builds within me, snarling and spitting, as I whirl toward my mother. The urge to give her a piece of my mind rages within me, but I swallow the words the moment her hard eyes latch onto me.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, let alone half a dozen.”
“I didn’t raise you to be ungrateful. Marco cares about you. He wants you to be safe. He can’t do that if you constantly resist his efforts and leave your security team scrambling to find you.”
“It was one night out on the town.”
Sybil and I try to go out at least once a month.
“It’s one night too many.” She snaps her fingers, ending our conversation. “We must hurry. You know how I feel about tardiness.”
“Yes, Mother.” I am very aware of what she thinks about a lot of things.
“When you disrespect your uncle, you disrespect me. That’s not how I raised you. That friend of yours encourages you to sneak away. How are we going to find you a suitable match when you flirt with scandal? You know better.”
My mother would love it if she could lock me up like a nun. The idea of scandal touching the Rossi name terrifies her.
“I’m not disrespectful.”
“That is not what Marco says to me. As head of the family, he deserves your allegiance and your respect.”
Allegiance?
There’s so much I can say in response to that, but I swallow my words and respond with a nod.
“He has my respect.”
“Then show it.” Her biting comment makes me flinch. “Give him your father’s shares in the Belvedere. Stop this nonsense about running a company you know nothing about.”
“Mother, I know what I’m doing. My degree is in hotel management.” I would remind her I graduated with honors, but it would do no good.
“Not another word.” She stops and holds up a finger. “I don’t want to ruin our luncheon with one of your tantrums. We’ll speak of this later.” Her phone buzzes with an incoming text.