Chapter 36. Knox
When my phone rang and I saw the name on the screen, a cold knot tightened instantly at the base of my spine. Mrs. Prentiss, my mother's live-in nurse, never called during the day unless something was wrong.
The quarterly reports for the Asian manufacturing division were spread across my desk, a sea of numbers and projections that usually had my absolute focus. But that afternoon, the figures blurred. I picked it up. "Hey."
"Mr. Knox," her voice was thin, pulled with a concern that she rarely displayed. “It's your mother, sir. She's having one of her episodes. Her breathing is a bit shallow, and I've called Dr. Winters as a precaution. She's asking for you, though, and I thought you might want to know."
"I’m coming."
I ended the call and stood. For a moment, I simply stared at the mahogany desk. I took a breath and walked out of the study.
I found Florian in the living room. He was sprawled on the rug, surrounded by textbooks, a yellow highlighter clamped between his teeth like a cigar.
He looked up as I entered, his eyes bright and teasing, ready to make a bratty comment about me interrupting his academic genius.
But the smile died the instant he saw my face.
He scrambled to his feet, the highlighter dropping to the carpet. "Daddy? What’s wrong?"
I stopped in the center of the room, feeling uncharacteristically exposed. I was the one who provided stability. I was the mountain. But right now, the ground felt like it was shifting under my feet.
"It’s my mother," I said, my voice sounding rough. "She’s… not well. I need to go there."
Florian was at my side in a heartbeat, his small hands gripping my arm, grounding me. "Is she okay? What do you need? Do you need me to call the driver? Maybe we could take the Jaguar? I can drive."
I looked down at him. He was so young, so vibrant, a splash of chaotic color in my monochrome world. The thought of facing the cold, echoing halls of my childhood home alone made my chest ache.
"I need…" I hesitated. It was a selfish request. He was terrified of meeting my family, terrified of being judged for his background, for our age gap, for everything that made us us. But I couldn't do this alone. "Would you come with me?"
Florian froze. I saw the flash of panic in his blue eyes, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He knew what this meant. Meeting the matriarch. But then he looked deeper, searching my gaze, and he must have seen the raw need I couldn't hide.
"Yes," he said immediately, his voice fierce. "Yes, of course. Let me just… put on shoes. I’m ready."
***
The Aston Martin ate up the miles of highway. I kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Florian’s thigh. Florian sat rigidly, his fingers playing with the top button of his shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning it.
He pulled the visor down to check his reflection for the tenth time. "Is this shirt okay? It’s not too… too little? I should have worn a tie. Do people wear ties to emergencies? God, I look like I’m twelve."
"Florian," I said, reaching over to capture his restless hand. His skin was cold, damp with sweat. "You look perfect. Stop."
"But she’s… she’s your mom," he whispered, staring out the window at the passing countryside. "She’s going to take one look at me and call security."
"She will do no such thing," I said firmly, giving his hand a squeeze. I brought his knuckles to my lips, kissing them briefly. "She will see what I see. A brilliant, compassionate, beautiful young man who makes her difficult son incredibly happy."
“You're not difficult!” he protested, and I chuckled.
“See what I mean?”
He looked at me then, his expression crumbling into something soft and vulnerable. "You really think so?"
"I know so," I promised. "She’ll adore you, little one. Because I do."
He took a shaky breath and nodded, lacing his fingers through mine. We drove on, two frightened men holding onto each other.
***
We passed through the iron gates, ancient and rusted, and began the ascent up the winding gravel drive. Oaks that had stood since before the Civil War lined the path, their branches reaching across the road to interlock like fingers.
I felt Florian stiffen beside me. My own home was modern, glass, steel, clean lines. But this place was different. It was the heavy, suffocating weight of legacy.
"Jesus," Florian breathed, his nose almost touching the passenger window. "You grew up here? It’s… it’s a castle. I didn't even know this existed here in America."
"It’s a museum," I corrected dryly, parking the car at the base of the wide stone steps. "Don't let it intimidate you. The plumbing is terrible."
But I knew it did. I saw the way he smoothed his shirt again, his movements jerky, as we climbed the steps. When the heavy oak doors swung open, a uniformed housekeeper named Maria appeared, Florian practically tucked himself behind my shoulder.
"Mr. Knox," Maria murmured, stepping aside. "She’s in the conservatory. The light is better for her there."
We walked through the grand foyer, our footsteps echoing on the black-and-white marble tiles. Florian’s eyes darted around, taking in the oil paintings and the crystal chandelier that hung above us.
The conservatory was at the back of the house, a glass-walled room that trapped the heat and the suffocating scent of roses.
My mother sat in her high-backed velvet wing chair, positioned to overlook the rose gardens.
She was wrapped in a cashmere shawl, her silver hair coiffed into a perfect, immovable wave.
She looked smaller than I remembered. Frailer. The skin over her hands was translucent, revealing a map of blue veins, and her breathing was audible in the quiet room.
"Mom," I said softly, stepping into her line of sight.
She turned her head slowly. Her eyes, usually a piercing gray, were clouded, but as they landed on me, a spark of herself returned. Then, her gaze shifted past me, locking onto Florian.
I stepped aside, bringing him forward, my hand resting protectively on his back. I could feel him vibrating with tension.
"Mom, this is Florian," I said. "My partner."
Florian looked like he was facing a firing squad. He swallowed hard, then managed a shaky bow of his head. "It’s… it’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Knox."
My mother studied him. She took in the blond hair, the nervous energy, the defiant tilt of his chin that he couldn't quite suppress even now. I braced myself for a critique, a sharp comment about his age.
Instead, her face softened into a genuine smile.
She patted the chair beside her. "Come sit here," she said.
Florian hesitated, glancing at me. I nodded. He stepped forward until he was within reach. My mother cupped his cheek. Florian flinched instinctively but then leaned into her touch.
"You have beautiful eyes," she said. "And you’re trembling. Robert, pour the boy some tea. He looks like a startled fawn."
Florian let out a breath and a small laugh. "I… yes, ma’am. A little startled. I'm sorry."
"None of that 'ma'am' nonsense," she chided gently, dropping her hand. "Sit. Both of you. Son, I missed you."
I moved to the velvet settee opposite her chair, pulling Florian down beside me.
We sat close, thigh to thigh. As I poured the tea from the ornate silver service, Darjeeling, her favorite, I saw Florian relax a little.
She hadn't eaten him alive. In fact, she was watching him with something that looked suspiciously like delight.
As we had tea and talked, the tension in the room dissolved slowly. My mother, it seemed, was determined to dismantle my dignity piece by piece.
"He was eight," she was saying, her eyes dancing with mischief as she looked at Florian. "And convinced he was a superhero. The neighbor’s cat, a perfectly capable creature named Milk, was in the oak tree. Robert decided Milk required saving."
Florian grinned, glancing at me over the rim of his teacup. "Let me guess. He organized a committee to evaluate the climbing risk?"
"He marched right up that tree," she chuckled. "Got stuck on the third branch. Milk climbed down immediately, leaving my brave boy clinging to the bark, wailing for the fire department."
"I wasn't wailing," I protested, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "I was… calling for help?"
Florian laughed. "Oh my god. Daddy, that’s adorable."
My mother’s eyes sharpened at the term 'Daddy', but she didn't flinch.
A knock at the glass door interrupted us. Dr. Aris stood there, looking solemn with her blond hair in a bun, holding a thick file.
"If you’ll excuse us," I said, standing up. The dread returned instantly, cold and heavy. "I need to speak with the doctor."
"Go on," my mother waved a hand dismissively. "Florian and I have plenty to discuss."
I stepped out into the hallway, pulling the glass door partially closed but not latching it.
The conversation with Aris was grim: medication adjustments, monitoring oxygen levels, and the inevitability of decline.
I listened, nodded, and authorized whatever was needed, but my attention was split.
I didn't want to waste one second away from my mom and Florian.
As the doctor walked away toward the study to write a prescription, I turned back to the conservatory. I paused at the threshold, hidden by the heavy velvet drapes. My mother had leaned forward. She had reached out and taken Florian’s hand in hers.
"I haven't seen my son this happy in years," she said.
"His father... well, he was a good man, but rigid. Robert inherited that iron spine. He’s carried the world on his shoulders since forever.
His dad… he didn't really understand Robert.
He didn't understand why he wouldn't date women.
But it was never a problem for me. You are who you are.
" She squeezed Florian’s fingers. "Whatever you're doing to make him look lighter, child, please continue. "
Florian looked down at their joined hands, his voice soft. "I don't do anything special. I'm just… me. Sometimes I worry I'm too much trouble. Or too young."
My mother laughed softly. "Age is a number for accountants, not lovers. My own husband was fifteen years my senior. He was my rock, just as Robert’s yours." She winked. "Love doesn't concern itself with calendars, young man. It concerns itself with who stays when the storm comes."
I felt a stinging behind my eyes. I had spent years building walls, presenting a facade of invulnerability to the world, and even to her. To hear her acknowledge my happiness and credit Florian for it… was an absolution I hadn't known I needed.
It took me a second, but I composed myself and stepped back into the room. "Everything is settled," I announced, though my voice was thicker than usual. They smiled warmly at me.
***
When it was time to leave, my mother held Florian’s hand for a long moment. "You will come back," she ordered. "And stop calling me Mrs. Knox. It makes me feel ancient. Call me Amber."
"I will," Florian promised. "Thank you, Amber."
The drive home was transformed. The oppressive weight that had filled the car on the way there had evaporated. I drove with one hand, the other resting on Florian's thigh again. Florian didn't fidget this time. He shifted, resting his head on my shoulder.
"She's cool," he mumbled against my sweater. "Not scary at all.”
"She liked you," I said, running my fingers through his hair. "I told you she would."
"Yeah, well. You were right. As usual." He snuggled closer, his breath warm against my neck. I chuckled. "I think I get it now. Why you are the way you are. You’re just like her. Soft on the inside, iron on the outside."
"Is that so?"
"Mhmm."
I smiled, tightening my grip on the steering wheel, driving my boys, the bratty one beside me and the frightened one inside me, home.