“Some people say that our attractions cannot be helped, for it’s a certain physical reaction dictated by our hormones.
I always found that notion stupid because don’t we all have certain criteria that people need to meet for us to be attracted to them?
The idea of some uncontrollable force ruling our bodies was unsettling and disturbing.
However, life has a way of proving us wrong.
As our heads can clash with our hormones and hearts, creating a desire where there should be none.
And the worst part about it?
Everything that intense tends to burn out at some point.
The key is not to let the fire consume you as well. Otherwise, you will never escape from the hole you dig up yourself.”
Diana
Diana
My eyes widen when we reach the dining table, heavy with various foods that could feed an entire army, and the smells make my stomach rumble. Placing my hand on it and hoping he didn’t hear a thing, I ask, “Do they always cook so much?”
The table sits horizontally, the massive oak structure glistening under the crystal chandelier, which highlights the little rose petals carved into the wood, hinting at its unique design. This level of attention to detail could only mean it was made specifically for them, and it’s a one-of-a-kind piece. Nobody else owns anything like it. It’s probably where the Wrights used to host their famous dinner parties that ended abruptly after Orion’s father’s death, but to my surprise, there are only two chairs.
One by the head of the table, and the one on the right of it. Where did they put the rest?
He grabs the back of the chair on the right and pushes it out, motioning with his head for me to sit, so I do, exhaling nervously in the stretched quietness. The wooden clock ticking in the left corner, mixed with the owls hooting outside, adds to the growing anxiety that eats at me and pushes me into my pattern of overthinking. I examine my every word and move under a microscope, trying to predict in advance what kind of reaction it would get from the people around me so I can prepare for the worst.
Silence is never a good sign because, in my experience, it’s where fury simmers. That usually has fatal consequences for me.
My father used it as a form of punishment that led to horrible things.
While I hated the idea of this dinner after my vivid reaction to this stranger, who’s my husband now, I thought we could atleast stay civil and pretend to have a normal conversation. We'll have to act as a couple in love, so shouldn't we at least get to know each other a little better?
“I wouldn’t know,” he replies, halting my thoughts, and I watch him take his seat as he picks up the napkin and puts it on his lap. I follow suit. My clumsy self would certainly leave a stain on this white dress otherwise, and maybe that would anger him. Angry men are unpredictable, a harsh lesson one must learn while growing up with brothers who see you as a threat to their status. “The last time I was forced to have dinner here was during my mother’s funeral. Conrad, a.k.a. Father dearest, decided to throw her a farewell party. He wanted to celebrate the fact with alcohol, drugs, and naked women giving lap dances to anyone willing.”
While his voice stays even, as if we’re discussing the weather, I hear traces of rage in it that speak about his true emotions on the matter, and my heart pangs at the thought of what he had to experience as a child. His father sounds horrible; no wonder the entire staff hates him. It’s one thing to be a cheating asshole, yet quite another to host a party during a funeral. Based on my limited knowledge, Orion was ten years old when his mother died, so his father’s cruelty is beyond my understanding. According to newspapers, she battled some kind of autoimmune disease for years before her body finally gave up. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I swallow. “It’s the kind of grief that never goes away, always shadowing you wherever you go and sneaking up on you when you least expect it.” Or wishing your parent was with you during the most crucial and horrible moments in your life so you could seek solace in their arms.
The child in us never stops yearning for the parent who's gone, but it learns to endure the sense of loss that aches forever.
Our eyes meet again, and my fingers curl on my lap at the intensity in his gaze. “You should know. You were six whenyour mother died. Your entire world must have crushed at that moment.”
Tearing my gaze away from him, I wrap my hand around the glass and take a small sip of water to bring relief to my dry throat because my mother’s death…it’s not something I like to talk about.
Or remember.
Mama laughs, applying more makeup on her already perfect skin, and once she’s done, she puts the brush away while fluffing her red hair a little to give it more volume. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her locks on her shoulders, and they stand out against her tan skin. Mama is very pretty, like a doll! “He loves it when my hair is down.” She twirls in her nightgown and winks at herself in the mirror before looking at me and cupping my cheeks while I hug my fluffy bear. “Mommy is going to take a bath now, darling. Call Daddy in fifteen minutes, okay? Tell him Mommy needs him.” She gives me a soft kiss on the cheek. “He broke it off and gave me money so we could move somewhere. I know it’s his wife talking and not him. He loves me. All he needs is a little push to show him he won’t be able to live without me.” She ushers me to the door, and right before she locks it, I see her grab the razor as she yells through the wood, “Call him, Diana.”
“My mother had a lot of pain in her heart, and unfortunately, she didn’t have people around her who could help her with her mental health struggles.” I force the last memory I have of my mother far away because it opens up a wound inside me that still bleeds to this day. “I was six and a half.”
“They brought you to the hospital with her, where social workers called your grandmother. Your mother listed her as your emergency contact.” My hold on the glass hardens. He knows what happened to my mom, although it shouldn’tsurprise me. A man like him doesn’t marry anyone without checking their background.
I take another sip that tastes like acid in my mouth and shift on the seat, hating the soft note in his tone that must be pity. “She was a loving mom and a good person. Everyone who came in contact with her adored her.” I’m not sure why I always need to bring up this fact whenever someone speaks about her death, as if trying to justify her in their eyes when she doesn’t need their understanding.
My mother was a broken soul betrayed time after time by the people in her life who promised her love and protection and instead gave her nothing but torment.
“I’m sorry for your loss as well, Diana.”
Before I can reply, Leon walks back into the dining room and sends a smile my way that disappears in a flash when he meets Orion’s gaze. “Bon appetit, sir.”
