Maybe she’ll feel safe enough to tell me why she puts up walls after we have sex or when she sleeps in my arms.
It can’t be the depravity — she loves that as much as I do. It’s a game we play, and it’s a damn good one at that. I hope to hell it’s not the performance, because Ron Astor the Second and his legendary size would take a rope to his neck, and that’d be a fucking tragedy.
Maybe I need to kidnap Knox and torture the answers out of him.
Or not.
Kidnapping and torturing your future brother-in-law is frowned upon in ninety-nine per cent of cultures.
Besides, I want her to be the one who tells me, not him.
But if she thinks she can run away from me by skipping school, she must not know me.
I’m an Astor. We don’t stop.
My great-great-grandfather brought his wife from Africa. When his family didn’t agree, he kind of gave them the middle finger and married her anyway. Or rather, he pestered her until she agreed to marry him.
I’m that type of Astor.
He camped out all the way in Africa — I’m lucky I just need to camp out in front of the Steel household.
“Ronan.”
I lift my head from my phone at Dad’s voice, realising I’ve been staring at the lack of texts for way too long.
“No phones,” Lars whispers. “How hard is it to follow that simple instruction, young lord?”
I glare at him and he feigns nonchalance, staring at Dad.
I grin, sliding the phone in my pocket. “Please, proceed. I apologise for my inadequate behaviour.”
Dad must sense the sarcasm in my overly posh tone, but he brushes it off. “We’re here because your mother and I need you to know a few things.”
“Another trip?” I scoff. “Oh, wait — is it the Maldives this time?”
“Mon chou…” Mum’s eyes fall downwards, and I wish I could somehow stab myself in the balls. The jab was supposed to be at Dad, not her. He’s the one who’s always whisking her off somewhere.
“Ronan,” Dad scolds.
I stand up. “I’m not interested in your destinations, Dad. Lars needs the details.”
“Don’t you need the dates, though?” Dad snaps back. “So you can throw your endless parties.”
“Lars…” I stare at him incredulously. “You bloody traitor.”
“Language,” Dad scolds. “And I’m speaking to you, not Lars. You really thought something could go on under my roof and I would know nothing about it?”
Yes, Dad. It already fucking happened.
It takes everything in me not to stare at Eduard. I’m trying to erase him from existence.
“What are you trying to prove with all those parties, Ronan? The drinking? The weed? The alcohol?” Dad’s voice turns more lethal with every word. “Do you think you’re a kid?”
“Not anymore,” I say, and this time, my eyes slide to Eduard. He squirms in his seat, smoothing out his tie.
“Take it easy, Edric.” He smiles, as if trying to alleviate the tension.
Fuck him.
And fuck Dad.
And even Lars, the fucking traitor.
“Stop it.” Mum’s voice turns brittle. “Please.”
In a second, Dad is by her side, grabbing her by the shoulder.
I turn to leave. I have no time for family drama, and if I spend one more second in the same room as Eduard the fucker, I’ll jam a knife in his throat, and once again, murder is frowned upon in ninety-nine per cent of cultures.
“Mon chou, don’t go,” Mum pleads.
“I’ll speak to you later, Mother.”
“There’s no later.” Dad’s booming voice stops me in my tracks. “She’s dying.”
I whirl around so fast I’m surprised I don’t fall on my face. The words he said echo like doom in the asphyxiating silence.
I see them in a different light now.
Dad placing his hands on my mother’s shoulders…her pale face and the tears gathering in her eyes…Lars staring at me with sorrow…
He knew.
He fucking knew.
“What did you just say?” I whisper.
“Your mother has uterine cancer, and she has always suffered from immunodeficiency disorder. The cancer relapsed a year ago, and the surgeries failed.”
“What do you mean they’ve failed? And why am I just learning about this now?”
“It was me.” Mum stands up and nearly drops back down. Fuck. When did she become this weak? Why haven’t I noticed that she usually only speaks to me while sitting or in her bed?
I run to her and force her to sit down then kneel by her side.
She strokes my hair back. “I asked your father and Lars not to tell you. You were my miracle, mon chou. When I first married your father, the doctor told me I couldn’t have kids because of my immunodeficiency disorder. Four years after, I found out I was pregnant and begged your father to let me bring you into the world. Nine months later, you came along, and I was the happiest woman alive. You gave me the privilege of being a mother. The moment the nurse put you in my arms, I cried like a baby while you smiled. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Her voice catches, and something in my throat does, too. “The cancer started when you were around eight and we thought we got rid of it back then, but it came back last year. That’s why we’ve been going on those trips, mon chou. You’re so young and lively, and I didn’t want to put this burden on you.”
“Burden?” My voice breaks. “What are you talking about? You’re my mother.”
“It’s because I’m your mother that I have to protect you.” A tear falls down her cheek. “But I can’t disappear from your life anymore. I hate it more than anything in the world.”
“You won’t.” I stare at Dad, who’s watching us with furrowed brows.
“We have results to pick up next week,” he says.
“That’s good news, right?” I stare between them, and the silence nearly suffocates me.
“The doctors said I only have a fifteen per cent chance of survival, and I failed on a fifty per cent chance before, so we don’t have much hope.”
“But…but there’s chemotherapy and—”
“No,” Mum cuts me off. “I’m not doing chemo again.”
“She’s refusing that.” Dad’s forehead scrunches.
“And you’re agreeing?” I snap.
“Chemo will only keep me away from you, and then I will die in pain without seeing your face.” She cups my cheek. “I don’t want that.”
“I won’t leave your side.” I grab her hands harder. “Don’t do this, Mother. You can’t leave me. I’m your miracle, remember?”
“It’s because you’re my miracle that I want to spend whatever time I have left with you…” She trails off, a sob catching in her throat. “Please, I’m begging you and Edric to not take this away from me.”
She brushes a trembling kiss on my temple, and her tears drop onto my cheeks as she stands up and starts to leave the room. I try to help her, but Dad holds me back with an arm on my shoulder.
Instead, he motions at Lars to follow her.