19. Marcus
Chapter nineteen
Marcus
“Wow.” My eyes scan slowly from left to right when we walk to the top of the outside staircase.
“It sure is something, huh?”
The white marble stairs split to either side with three separate pools cascading down the middle. It opens to a white cement runway of sorts leading to a long pergola draped in ivy curtains and orange flower bouquets. The rest of the area is covered by perfectly manicured bright green grass and the edge of the property is lined by tall forest green trees.
I’m not in denial about the amount of money I have, and I could very easily belong to a club like this, or have a house as extravagant. Despite not wanting people to know I’m well-off, I don’t have any desire for it. Regardless, there’s no denying this property is extraordinary.
I follow Brooke down the right side of the staircase, her hand trailing along the marbled railing. I’d be concerned about whether or not it’s sanitary, but the entire structure looks clean enough to eat from.
“There you are!” A woman directing a man with an absurdly large flower centerpiece yells toward us .
Not missing the way Brooke is paralyzed by the moment, I gently encourage her forward with a hand on her lower back. “It’ll be okay,” I whisper behind her.
“Don’t leave me,” she begs.
I have never seen someone so anxious about a parent. It feels a little over the top until I watch the lady with a perfectly styled short bob and a classic rich older woman’s navy dress appraise the girl in front of me. She unashamedly drags her eyes over Brooke, the look of disgust deepening with each second.
We come to a halt in front of her, and I swear Brooke reaches back for my hand before thinking better of it and dropping it to her side. “Hi, Mom.”
“Darling. What are you wearing?”
I thought she hadn't seen her mom in three years. Not even a hug? It’s nowhere near the greeting she shared with her dad.
“It’s not like I’m attending this wedding, Mother. We’re just here for lunch,” Brooke tries, but it’s no use.
“You still have a status to uphold.”
“I don’t even belong to this club.” I was curious how we’d get in since I was under the impression it was members only, but the second the older woman at the front desk spotted Brooke, she wrapped her in a hug like a grandmother holding her favorite grandchild.
“So, you have no respect for the image I must maintain? I worked hard to gain the reputation I have here.”
I clear my throat and reach out my hand. “Hello, Mrs. Fields. I’m Marcus Cole.”
She ignores my gesture, scanning me with almost as much disdain as she did with her daughter. “Who are you? ”
Brooke groans. “Mom. This is my boyfriend.” She says the word more easily than I expected. “I told you about him.”
“Oh, right. Your boss.”
“And boyfriend,” she reiterates.
“Well that’s one way to get to the top,” she mutters under her breath.
“Brooke is the best assistant I’ve ever had,” I’m compelled to add, feeling guilty as hell for thinking she may have been exaggerating about how bad her mom is.
“See, Brooke, I told you that you needed that degree.”
“You sure did, Mom. Thanks. Ready for lunch?”
We follow her mom to the on-site restaurant, stopping multiple times for her to demand a wedding task from a worker. When we get to our rectangle white linen-lined table near a window overlooking the courtyard, I pull the chair out for Brooke’s mom. She hardly acknowledges me, but Brooke whispers a thank you with a look of “I’m sorry my mom is a bitch” in her eyes when I help her settle in her chair.
Brooke unfolds the napkin from its triangle shape on the table and places it on her lap. Her fingers don’t leave the fabric, though. Instead, she pinches one end of the fabric between her fingers and runs the fingers of her other hand over the seam repeatedly. I reach over, covering her knee with my hand firmly and running my thumb back and forth over her jeans.
She sends me a quick appreciative glance and to my surprise, slips her fidgeting hand under mine, linking our fingers.
Her mom eyes us like we’re doing something wrong. “So, tell me, Marcus. How did you manage to afford free time at work when your assistant isn’t home to cover for you. ”
I clear my throat. “That’s the beauty of owning your own business. You can do whatever you want. And lucky for me, I was able to bring some work with me.”
“Mhmm. I see.” She straightens her fork in its place on the table. “I read an article the other day stating that twenty percent of small businesses fail in the first year.”
“And what are the odds of someone making it if they’ve been pulling a profit since they were nineteen?”
She stares, bored. “Entrepreneurship is not a reliable career. It could fail at any time with even a small shift of the market.”
“Some people work hard to make a living, Mom. And figure it out if something goes wrong. Most people aren’t given trust funds and contacts at prestigious law firms even though they’re shitty lawyers.”
I lick my lip to cover my smile. I shouldn’t be amused in the first place. She thinks she’s defending me, but what’s going to happen when she realizes I likely have more money than Beau does? There’s a chance my net worth is higher than his entire family. Still, I worked for every penny of it.
“I’m just looking out for you, darling,” she says, almost robotically, as she scans the menu.
“No, you’re looking out for you ,” Brooke mutters under her breath, and I squeeze her hand, torn between believing she should respect her mom regardless while also wishing Brooke never had to spend another second with her.
Her mom glances up, locking her stare on Brooke. Her gaze shifts to me before landing back on her daughter. “Marriage is not something to take lightly, you know.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Brooke snaps. “I’m twenty-four. ”
“Exactly, and if you don’t find someone now, you won’t even be young enough to be someone’s second wife.” She glances back at her menu like she didn’t just fire a loaded gun.
This lady is way past losing her marbles. I mindlessly rub my thumb over Brooke’s in an attempt to lessen the impact of the bomb I’m about to drop. “I don’t want to get married.” Both their attentions snap to me. I shrug, squeezing Brooke’s hand. “I want to wake up next to the woman I love because I want to, not because I’m supposed to.”
Her mom’s mouth drops.
A small smile slips from Brooke. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
I wonder if she knows I mean the sentiment or if she thinks it was meant to piss off her mom. It doesn’t matter either way, but I tack on an added thought. “A man I met in Greece said it to me once. It stuck.”
“I like it,” Brooke says, and now I’m wondering if she means that or if she’s trying to piss off her mom.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” her mom mutters, reminding me we aren’t alone in a bubble. “You two are delusional.”
“Mrs. Fields,” I address her, pulling her attention from the current conversation, knowing it’s not a battle we could ever win with her. “Tell me about you. It’s a beautiful place you’ve maintained here.”
The compliment distracts her for now, and we spend the next hour over lunch hearing about all her life “accomplishments.” None of which, I note only to myself, have to do with raising the beautiful girl beside me.