I know what happens when people look at me. I see it in their eyes. The questions. The concern.
The pity.
I don’t appreciate their lingering stares, but I can deal with it. What I can’t handle is the memories their looks drag out from where I try to keep them contained in the darkest corners of my mind.
But the woman’s gaze doesn’t carry any of the usual emotions. There’s no confusion. No concern. Certainly no pity. Even if she could see me, I doubt those are what I’d see playing over her pretty features.
Because she’s annoyed.
It’s in the narrowing of her eyes. The slight flare of her nostrils. The set of her jaw.
And for some stupid reason, that makes me smile.
I reach out to switch on the sound so I can hear their conversation. The first words my mother says wipe the smile right off my face.
“This is where you’ll be staying.”
I can’t see where she’s going, but I can make a guess. It’s theonly part of the house I don’t have eyes on. The en suite and sitting room my mother insisted on furnishing a few weeks ago ‘in case family ever comes to town and needs a place to stay.’
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve been set up.
My mother’s alone when she comes back out into the hallway. She’s alone as she descends the stairs. And she’s alone when she gets into her side-by-side and pulls away.
Leaving me with the strange woman occupying my ‘guest rooms.’
I grab my cell from where it’s charging, dialing my mother’s number as I start to pace across the room, kicking shit out of my way as I go.
She sounds chipper as hell when she answers. “Hello, son. How are you doing today?”
“Why in the hell is there a strange blonde woman in my house?” Movement on the camera feed catches my eye and I turn back to the screens, watching as the woman goes down the stairs and out to the SUV parked in my driveway. Opening the back hatch, she pulls out a box and heads for my front door. “And why in the hell does it look like she’s moving in?”
“Mariah is your new private chef. It’s time for you to consume more than cereal, protein bars, and energy drinks.”
My eyes drop to the evidence of her accuracy strewn across the floor at my feet. “I don’t need a private chef.”
“You need way more than a private chef, Titus, but that was the easiest position to fill.” My mother continues on, the engine of her UTV humming through the line. “It’s been more difficult to find you a housekeeper.”
“I don’t need a housekeeper either.” I like being alone. Like the peace and quiet that comes with solitude. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“I was just in your house, Ty. I’m pretty sure you haven’t taken out the trash in a year. You’re not doingjust fine.” Her voice softens. “It’s time to start living again, sweetheart. I know it’s beena struggle to move on, and I’m not asking you to do that. I just want you to stop punishing yourself.”
I should be listening to my mother—just so I know how to argue with her—but the woman—Mariah—is a distraction. It’s difficult to focus on anything but the sight of her moving through my house.Intomy house. A place no one but my family has ever been inside, let alone occupied.
“Titus.” My mother’s voice sharpens, stealing my attention from Mariah as she passes my rooms, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I didn’t, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. My mother is one of the most determined people I know. Arguing with her is pointless—even if I occasionally indulge. Convincing her to get this woman out of my house will be impossible.
That task will be up to me.
“I’ll talk to you later.” Mom is still rambling—possibly ranting—through the line, but I end the call anyway. I’ll deal with the fallout from it later.
Setting my phone down, I lean forward as Mariah closes the hatch on her SUV and makes her final trip into my house. Her lips are moving as she kicks the front door closed, shooting my pile of shoes and boots a glare before going to the stairs. The feed on my screen changes automatically as her motion activates each camera, and I follow her mumbling path until she goes out of sight. Then, even though I have a million things I need to be doing, I wait, barely blinking, for her to come back into view.
I must be fucking starved for human interaction or something. Not that we are interacting. It’s just the first time I’ve seen someone besides my family in…
Fuck. Maybe years.
The closest I get to conversing with anyone outside of my immediate circle is the emails and phone calls I exchange with my staff and clients. I’m sure it’s not a healthy way to live, but being healthy isn’t really one of my priorities.
