49. Cassian #2
“Let’s go to the living room,” she says, leading the way down the hall. “Would you like some refreshments?”
I mumble something in agreement, even though I’m pretty sure eating is the last thing I can do right now.
She calls to someone who is elsewhere in the house, then stops at a large arched doorway and gestures me inside. “Have a seat. Annie will bring a few things in a moment.”
I walk into the room and hesitate. It’s as if all the color’s been zapped out of here. Beige sofas, beige walls, beige cushions. Even the art is colorless. I move to a couch with a view of the massive bay window at the front of the house.
Mariana sits on the opposite sofa, crossing her legs and staring at me. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s still unsure of me or if she’s simply making up for lost time.
I shift in my seat. “Sorry for coming unannounced,” I say. “I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to do this.”
She waves a graceful hand, the one that has her wedding and engagement rings on it. The set is so big, it reaches her knuckle. “You caught me by surprise, that’s for sure.”
I clear my throat and stare down at the plush beige carpet. The words I carelessly strung together in the car are worthless. Even if I could remember what they were, the moment feels weightier than I anticipated. I don’t want to chew her out for leaving. I want to know her.
“As happy as I am to see you, I need to know—why are you here, Cassian?” she asks in a gentle voice.
Lifting my gaze to hers, I realize we share the same eyes. I wonder how many other things I got from her that I don’t know about because she wasn’t around to tell me.
“I wanted to meet you,” I say.
“Technically, we’ve already met.” She smiles, but I can only see a politician’s wife in it. She is prepared for anything and everything that comes her way. “But I’m so glad you came.”
Before I can ask if she actually means that, a middle-aged woman in a white maid’s uniform enters carrying a tray of sandwiches and two cups of coffee.
“Thank you, Annie,” Mariana says.
The woman sets the platter down on the table between us and bustles out of the room without a word. Mariana nudges the tray toward me, and I reach out to take one of the sandwiches. My stomach turns at the thought of food, but I should at least pretend to eat out of gratitude.
“Tell me about yourself,” Mariana says brightly, lifting her cup to her lips.
I do my best, telling her about attending university, about becoming a mechanic, about spending the past two months helping Dad on the estate. Through it all, she smiles and nods as if I’m a stranger she’s entertaining. Maybe that is all I am to her.
When I finally finish, my mouth feels like it’s full of sand. I take a gulp of coffee and hope she decides to talk next. Otherwise, this whole visit will be very short.
“Sounds like you’re doing quite well for yourself,” she observes. “I’m proud of you.”
It’s so far from anything I expected her to say that a laugh trips out of me before I can stop it. “Proud of me? You had nothing to do with it.”
Her cup rattles in the saucer, and she moves to set it down. “You’re still my son.”
“I’m not your anything. You left.”
“Cassian,” she starts, and from the conciliatory tone in her voice, I already know this conversation isn’t going to end with a happily ever after. That was never in the cards. “I don’t know what your father told you—”
“He told me the truth. That you left us because a better offer came along.”
She drops her gaze to her lap, clicking her manicured nails together. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Really? Because last time I checked, you left and didn’t look back for twenty years. So tell me where I got it wrong.”
“I did leave—you’re right. But it had nothing to do with you. It didn’t even really have anything to do with your father. It had everything to do with me. I was young, impulsive, and scared. I had just found out I was pregnant again, and I knew the baby wasn’t Mateo’s. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you left, like a coward,” I snap.
“You have no idea how often I regretted leaving you behind,” she says softly.
“Not often enough to come back for me.”
Sighing, she folds her hands together. “Your father and I agreed he would get full custody. I thought it would be easier for you if I stayed away.”
Pushing to my feet, I shake my head. “No. You stayed away because it was easier for you to be the perfect wife if you didn’t have a child from a previous marriage hanging around.” I stalk to the window, anxious for fresh air.
“Maybe you’re right, but you’re my son, and I’ve always loved you. If you believe nothing else, believe that,” she says.
I keep my gaze locked outside, because I don’t want to feel sorry for this woman. She left me, and it doesn’t matter why. She doesn’t deserve my sympathy or my absolution.
A white Mini Cooper convertible pulls into the driveway with the top up. As it circles around to the garage, I catch a glimpse of a young woman inside, her black curls tied back with a bow. That must be her. The daughter. My replacement.
“Does she know?” I ask without turning around. “That you had another family you left behind?”
After a short pause, Mariana answers, “No, she doesn’t. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
I give a sharp laugh. “I bet you would.”
“Cassian, please look at me,” she says.
Finally, I turn from the window. My mum has angled her body toward me, desperation clinging to her features. I wonder when she last felt desperate. I can’t imagine there’s much she doesn’t have.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Can you forgive me?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” It’s the truth. Maybe with time, but right now, the pain is still too fresh.
She stands and moves around the sofa. “This may seem insensitive, but I’m going to need you to keep our relationship to yourself. My husband knows about you, of course, but something like this could negatively affect his next campaign, not to mention ruin our daughter’s life.”
The scowl on my face grows deeper. “That’s what you’re worried about? That I’m going to go to the press?”
“Of course not,” she says quickly. “But in this line of work, you can never be too careful.”
“Believe me, the last thing I want is to be associated with the likes of you.” I watch as the pain crosses her face. It lasts less than a second, then that perfect veneer snaps back into place.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She reaches into the desk in the corner of the room and produces a leatherbound checkbook. “Maybe this will make it up to you.”
My lip curls into a sneer. “I don’t want your money.”
She shrugs, unaffected by my attitude. “This is a one-time offer, so if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” I march for the door without a backward glance. As I slip back into my boots in the foyer, I listen for her approach, but she never comes. Apparently, any joy she claimed to feel over this meeting came from finally being able to offer me something to stay quiet.
I slam the door so hard behind me that it flies back open. I don’t bother closing it again. Slipping into my car, I rev the engine and tear out of the driveway, leaving tread marks on the perfect concrete.
My dad was right about one thing. Vivienne is nothing like my mother.