Chapter 11
All his life, James had lived in a large house full of servants and beautiful things. It had been his mother who filled the halls with laughter, music, and love. After she had died, he had roamed the halls, lonely, seeking the warmth that his mother had radiated. He hadn”t found it at home.
But he had found it in school, in Anastasia. She had reminded him of his mother. When Anastasia had disappeared, he had forgotten what the warmth had felt like, what it had looked like. Now standing in Mariah’s living room, he remembered.
He remembered how his mother had made dinner every day, trying out new recipes, spinning, and dancing in the kitchen to the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra. If his father had been around, they would dance and laugh together, hugging and whispering words to each other.
As a family, they had sung in the living room after dinner and had talked about their day. Everyone had had an opinion, and everyone else had listened to it.
He had been barely seven, but his parents had made him feel cared for. He couldn”t help but notice that sitting with Mariah in her living room made him feel that way again.
She didn”t have a dining table, so they sat down cross-legged on the floor to eat their dinner. The chicken casserole was delicious, chewy, and filling, unlike any other he had tasted before.
Mariah told him it was something they had had only on Sundays at the orphanage she had grown up in. She had liked it so much that she had learned how to cook it.
As they ate, they talked about everything and anything. He told her about his childhood and his biological mother. He missed his mother, but it had been about two decades. The pain had dulled. The look in Mariah’s eyes and the warmth of her hand in his as she tried to empathize with him made him grin in appreciation of her concern.
After dinner, he offered to do the dishes. She declined. She insisted that her dishes were unworthy to be washed by his hands. He laughed but followed her to the kitchen, aware of her warm presence and touch everywhere in the apartment.
He watched her now as she rinsed soap suds off the washed dishes. The clothes she wore were a size too big for her, and they hid the curves on her petite frame. Her red curls tumbled down to her mid-back.
Her hair had been perfect before, but she had brushed it while the casserole had been cooking. She had brushed till it shone, and her curls had become more defined as her hair dried. He was tempted to run his fingers through them, to feel their silky softness and breath in the coconut scent of the curls.
She put the last plate away and turned to him with a smile that rendered him breathless. “See?” She beamed. “I’m all done.”
“I never doubted you,” he smiled back and moved out of the way for her to exit the kitchen. He felt a beep in his pocket and fished out his phone. There was a message.
Dad: Where are you, son? I thought we were to work on the Berkshire deal before the presentation tomorrow. Your input, as my successor, is necessary. Remember that.
He groaned as they walked into the living room. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to work on a presentation with his father after dinner. Dinner at the Sorenson house was at 7:00 pm. He glanced at the time. 9:17 pm. A frustrated groan sounded from his throat.
Mariah turned. “Anything the matter?”
“I–” he walked past her to grab his keys. “I have to go. My father and I have work to do and I lost track of time,” his hand was already on her doorknob.
“Did I get you into trouble?”” She stood at the center of the room. Her arms hugged her stomach while her hair fell like a curly curtain across her face. His stomach tightened into knots at the sight of her. For the life of him, he didn”t want to leave, but he had to.
He ran a hand through his brown hair and arched a brow at her, his lips curling into a smile. “No.” He turned the knob, and the door opened. “But I appreciate the thought that you worry about me.”
Mariah’s brows shot up, and she burst into a fit of laughter. It rang, loud and melodious, through the apartment. He grinned at her, committing the scene to memory. This was how he wanted to remember her. Not in tears, or the rain, or with headaches or nausea, but happy and full of laughter.
“See you at our next appointment,” he stepped out onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. “Hope those drawings will be ready by then,” Mariah nodded in response, and he winked at her. “Stay safe. Don”t go trampling in places that would trigger you, okay?” He gave her one last word and closed the door. He stood alone in the dimly lit hallway of the building for a minute, reveling in the time he had just shared with Mariah. He longed for every night to turn out like this.
Letting out a deep sigh, he made his way to his car. The streets were quiet as he drove, forcing him to ponder the things on his mind, like the idea that his stepmother wanted to force him to become engaged to Veronica. It still felt like a knife over his neck.
This is what she felt was best for the family and for himself as the successor of Ore. He thought about the ever-nagging pain of loneliness.
He slowed at a stop sign, and a streetlamp cast its light into the car. He looked down as the light landed on the brown shorts he wore.
He shook his head and wanted to both groan and chuckle. In the rush to get back home, he had forgotten to ask Mariah back for his clothes. With one hand, he reached for his phone and tapped on Mariah’s number on his contact list. It rang. She picked up after the third ring, and her voice filled the car.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Sor—James,” she corrected herself. He had told her many times to address him by his first name. “Your clothes…”
“The exact reason I was calling.”
“I had forgotten to put them in the washing machine. They are here, still wet. I’m sorry.”
“No, don”t be,” he countered. “You were busy running around trying to fix something for us to eat. You are only human with two hands. You can”t do it all.”
“I know,” she groaned. “And I have to be in the office by 8:00 am. Would you mind if I dropped them off at a dry-cleaning service?”
He could picture her in her living room, pacing back and forth with a hand running nervously through her hair. “I don”t. Makes it easier for me to retrieve, and easier for you to get rid of. It would seem atrocious if you walked into my office with my clothes. Don”t you think? Imagine the rumors?”
He heard her laugh. “Atrocious indeed.”
“Glad we think alike. I’ll send you an address where you can drop it off. Tell them it’s mine. They”ll handle it from there.”
He heard the rustling of sheets over the line and wondered if she was in bed already. “Okay… how much do they charge?” she asked as a matter of fact.
James was struck by her offer to pay for his dry cleaning. It was just who she was–caring and kind. “All expense-paid service,” he said, and he heard her release a small gasp of surprise.
“Just drop it off, then? They’ll handle it,” he heard her mutter. Then she continued, “Okay, bye, James” and the line went silent.
He knew she was still there. Her soft breathing pulsed through the speakers. Craving her voice, he pressed her with a question. “Hope it won”t cause much of an inconvenience for you. Maybe I could send a car to pick you up from work and take you back when you drop the clothes off. What’s your schedule like?”
As he had wanted, she jumped into her schedule excitedly, telling him how she was climbing the ranks at work because of the project she was leading. He listened to her talk about her day and duties at the office until he slid into his parking lot at the Sorenson house.
After he parked, he brought his phone to his ear and stepped out of the car. He was accosted by one staff member of the house the next second, taking his keys and his briefcase. If she noticed his odd attire, she said nothing and walked with silent feet behind him. He walked with the staff member toward his father’s office.
Mariah yawned, muttering something about being too tired to complete the work she had brought home. Stopping in his tracks, he knew it was time to let her rest. In reality, she wasn”t very far away. He could see her the next day if he wanted to.
“Sleep beckons, dear Mariah,” he said in a soft voice, and he meant it when he called her ‘dear’. “‘God gives His beloved sleep.’ My mother always said this scripture to me every night before I went to sleep. Sleep well, Mariah. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Mariah gave him a soft groan in response. He smiled, knowing she was already halfway asleep. He hung up and tucked his phone in his pocket.
He had ascended the grand spiral staircase in the antechamber of the house. He was walking near a wall lined with doors leading to different rooms. The wall was decorated with framed family photos. His father’s study was at the end of the hall. He made for the study, observing the family photos. Every major moment in his life was captured on the wall.
He paused and looked at the most recent one. In it, his hand held an award, and he was standing with his father. His father had been so proud of him that day. They had smiled and laughed just when the camera had clicked, and the moment had been immortalized in the photo.
He had the same smile as his father, the same brown hair and green eyes. He had the same build, too, although he was slightly taller.
The wheels in his head turned ever so slightly as he observed the resemblance. If father and son could look the same, there was no reason a mother and daughter couldn’t look the same. His thoughts went to Aunt Emma’s words when she had seen Mariah. ‘Was that Alison?’ she had asked.
He scoffed, wondering why it had taken him so long to come to this conclusion. He continued his slow trek to his father’s study as a thought formed in his head. Over the years, his memory of Alison Chandler had dulled, but he had a picture of Anastasia and her parents in his childhood scrapbook. If the theory forming in his head held any weight, Mariah might bear a resemblance to her mother, Allison Chandler.
***
The next day, the city skyline sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine, forming the perfect window view from the top floor of Ore HQ”s main building. The view was caught from the glass wall of an office.
Inside the office, James sat on a majestic brown chair, his back to the beautiful view. He was hunched over his gleaming mahogany desk, eyes skimming through a thin book. His computer was a little to the left on the desk, where his stationary stood in a fancy holder.
He had his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were cuffed at the elbows.
Past his desk were a couple of sofas arranged around a glass coffee table. On the east and west walls of the office were shelves filled with books and files. On the wall directly opposite his desk hung a huge flat-screen television that was turned off. Nestled here and there amidst the office furniture were ornaments, plants, vases, and trinkets.
The office was quiet, save for the scratching of pen on paper as James signed off the last page of a mining contract in China. Closing the thick black cover of the contract, he dropped it on the pile by his chair.
He still had a lot of work to do before the day was over. He trudged on. After lunch, he sat through a conference call with supervisors in Ore’s tin mines around the world. His father was there too but left James to handle the meeting.
It was long and full of details. He returned, yawning, to his office to find a stack of contracts he needed to review and approve on his desk. They had been dropped by an apologetic Greg, who soon appeared and offered to go get him a cup of coffee while he worked.
He dug in and started to work. Time flew by.
Soon, James had been reading and signing contracts for over an hour. He heard the door to his office open again, and Greg’s slow footsteps echoed through the room. Turning a page, he signed his name on the bottom left side of the page and stamped it with the company seal.
“You wouldn”t believe who I met at the coffee shop,” Greg said, walking to stand in front of the desk. James lifted his eyes to look at his friend. Greg wore a black pinstripe suit with a gray tie and a grin on his clean-shaven face. His round glasses sat on his long nose, smoothing out the angles of his face.
“I sent you out for coffee,” James said and sighed, then returned his gaze to the contract on the desk. “Not to bring me the latest news on the streets.”
“True,” Greg agreed. “But I had to wait a while for your coffee, and listening to Veronica talk about the architect made the time bearable.” James”s head shot up as Greg set the plastic cup of coffee on his desk. “I knew that would get your attention,” Greg laughed. James scoffed, trying to hide his interest in the direction the conversation was taking.
“If there’s anything important to note, then be quick with it,” James ordered in an even voice. “I don”t have all day to listen to what Veronica said and did not say.”
Greg pulled the seat opposite James and sat down. “I can tell that Mariah is in your thoughts and dreams. You want to be in her presence or hear her voice every waking second.”
James knew Greg wasn”t going to let him live in peace, not after he told Greg about the dinner at Mariah”s house and how he had wanted the moment to last forever.
“Mariah this, and Mariah that,”” Greg teased. “Well, you better move fast, lover boy. Word on the streets, from a pretty reliable source–and I mean that in every sense–is that Martin has taken her to dinner at the Hotel de Lux. Fancy, right? He”s in it to impress.”
Carefully, James put the gold fountain pen in between the pages and closed the contract he had been signing. He set it in the stack of papers he still had to sign. Greg watched him with amused eyes as he pulled his sleeves down from his elbows to his wrists, picked up his jacket, and put it on.
Without a word, he pushed his chair back and stepped out from behind the desk. That was the exact moment Greg burst into laughter.
“All I told you was that Martin and Mariah were at Hotel de Lux. You didn”t even wait to know if I was teasing.”
James”s eyes fell on Greg, and he hoped Greg didn”t see how angry he was. Martin had seen Mariah a few times at the Sorenson house when they had had interviews. James hadn”t expected that his brother would want to extend his playboy ways to her, but it was certainly believable.
“You wouldn”t have mentioned it to me if it wasn”t true. You must have confirmed it and come to tell me. Why? Because you know Martin. Few people can handle him. Mariah cannot. Even if she could, she”s too polite to do it with force. And you and I know—”
“Force is the only language Martin understands,” Greg muttered. “Here.” Greg tossed a car key to James, who caught it in mid-air. “The SUV is more imposing.”
James chuckled and crossed the room in quick stride. He was soon out the door and in the elevator, going to the ground floor.
***
The restaurant at the Hotel de Lux was a hotspot for romantic dinners. Its circular tables were hidden underneath tall gold lamps, ornate vases with white tulips and jasmines, and occasionally a wooden wall overgrown with carefully cultivated vines.
The whole place was alive with a gold and cream theme, giving James the feeling that he walked into the dining area at Mount Olympus or Buckingham Palace. The theme made it easy to find Mariah as her red hair stood out amid the colors.
She sat with her back to him at the far end of the room, where the light was dimmest. True to the claim, Martin was with her. Dressed in a champagne suit, he had the appearance of someone sweet and kind, but James knew better. His stepbrother was anything but sweet and kind.
James found a table and sat down. He had just wanted to sit back in the shadows to observe and ensure Martin didn”t cross the line with Mariah, but when Martin reached out to hold Mariah’s hand. James watched in slow motion as Martin lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. James saw red.
He was up on his feet and stalked towards them. He thanked God that there were few patrons in the restaurant at the moment and that Martin had the sense to sit away from curious eyes.
Martin”s eyes widened when he saw James, and it made James give him a deadly smirk. He didn”t offer a greeting to his stepbrother. Instead, he took Mariah’s hand from Martin. She gasped in shock at his sudden appearance and action.
James stood with his hand clasped on Mariah’s and stared at Martin. His brother sat reclined in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. Mariah rose to her feet in greeting, “James, hi!” she beamed.
James was forced to look at her. She had a bright smile on her face. Blush was on her cheeks, complementing her red hair that was held in a ponytail. He assessed her attire and was satisfied she hadn”t dressed up nicely for Martin. She was in gray pants and a black shirt–typical workday clothes. “I didn”t think I”d see you here.”
“Neither did I?” James grimaced and returned his gaze to his brother. Martin sighed and uncoiled like a cat and rose to his feet. His eyes trained on James.
“How rude of you, little brother to barge in like that?” Martin’s stress on the word ‘little’ didn”t go unnoticed by James. “Mariah and I were just getting to know each other better. Weren”t we, Mariah?”
All eyes shifted to Mariah, and she gave them a weak smile and squirmed a bit but said nothing. James could see she was uncomfortable.
“And she was having a lovely time, too,” Martin continued. “She isn”t yours, by chance, is she?”
James gritted his teeth. Martin never had much respect for women and always treated them like property, but Mariah would be the exception. “Gather your things,” James said to Mariah, ignoring Martin’s question. “We’re leaving.”
“We are?” she asked him with wide eyes but did as he asked. She grabbed her satchel and hung it across her shoulders before looking up at James again.
Martin scoffed and sneered, “If you had told me she was yours, I might have looked away. It would have been hard though,” his eyes raked Mariah’s body. “She is one fine wine.”
James’s hand curled into a fist, ready to strike, but Mariah’s presence and the consciousness that they were in public stopped him.
“Shall we?” he managed to say to Mariah. He turned on his heels and left, Mariah in tow. He walked quickly away from Martin and his prodding for a fight.
She followed him quietly until they got to the car. Turning to her, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, letting go of her hand. “I’m sorry for barging in like that. I’m also sorry for my brother, for the things he said.”
Mariah pursed her lips and brushed her hair from her face. “I… a lot was going on back there, wasn”t there?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he lowered his eyes. “Huh, I see. So, I may or may not have made a mistake in accepting his invitation to dinner to discuss his ideas of how he could help design the orphanage.”
“Mariah, it’s a—” He groaned in frustration, feeling as helpless as he had on the day many years ago when Martin’s friends held him down so he had not been able to protect Anastasia.
“Ah ah,” she protested, lifting her hands to shush him. “If you plan on explaining, I intend on hearing everything. Maybe it’s some manly thing, but he was all sweet until just now and then you came. When he saw you, he recoiled with all the subtlety of a snake ready to strike! Why did he change so fast? You two seemed almost at loggerheads,” her eyes pleaded for him to answer her questions.
James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. She deserved an explanation, but it wasn”t going to be easy to give. He and Martin had been at each other’s necks for as long as he could remember. He had never fully forgiven his brother for scaring Anastasia that night years ago and driving her into the woods.
He and his brother had fought and competed over almost everything, which could be why Martin had asked Mariah out to dinner under the guise of wanting to help design the orphanage.
To Martin, she was likely another object to be fought over. If James wanted to protect her from his brother, he had to be truthful. He motioned for them to sit in his car and hoped she wouldn”t see him as any less of a good person after he explained what was going on between himself and his brother.