Page 24 of Prince of Wrath

Mother may be high as a kite most of the time, but nothing comes close to her intuition. Or sacred intuition, as she calls it. I do not know which one makes Nate laugh more. And yes, we are very much still immature on the topic of jokes aimed at our mother, and we would like this to remain, thank you very much.

“A few days ago, Ella was taken by Cole Vodianov. I had to find hundreds of millions in a few days so he wouldn’t kill her.” I deliver with no trace of emotion in my voice. “So…I did, and then got her out. She’s…she’s been harmed. She’s resting at home now.”

“Dear Lord.” She gasps. “I knew something terrible had happened. Angels never lie. They visit me at night. My therapist said it was about your father trying to tell me something.”

“Okay, and, um, and have you figured it out?”

“Not yet, but I’ll let you know, honey. So far it’s about people screaming without voices, so I don’t know. I’m not sure if that helps.” I clear my throat, her angels being perhaps more perceptive than I thought. I do have a silent princess at home who I believe is very much screaming inside a mental cage with no sound to let us hear the horror.

“How are you, love? How do you feel? How can I help?” Mom seems to have changed ever since I confessed to her my affection for Ella. More genuine, or natural, I guess motherly would be the most accurate description. I’m not sure how to feel about it, but it doesn’t make me want to hang up.

“I’m…” I swallow. “I don’t know, Mom.” The word leaves me, chanting too loud for both of us to ignore.

“Honey,” she murmurs, “tell me, talk to me.” It hits me that she is probably the only person besides Nate who can truly hear me. Not Tristan Ashford, CEO and heir of the Ashford empire. Tristan, her son. The same boy who used to play chess by himself over and over in the dark hours of the night, falling asleep on his board and then hearing her footsteps before she turned off the light after laying me down on my bed.

I take in my office, bright and lacking any frivolities that could cloud my clear mind. My fingers drift above my desk. A speck of dust. I have not let anyone in here since she left. I vacuumed it myself–which almost made Kathy choke on her coffee–because crumbs and paper cuts ruin everything, but it has been pretty much all.

“You know when you’re walking and the floor suddenly disappears?” I try, hand in my pocket, looking over the skyline as a plane pierces a cloud, the scent of leather and uncertainty permeating the air. “I’m walking, but I’m not sure if there will be ground later. I try not to look down, but…I don’t know.”

“You got scared, honey. It’s normal. It’s…human.” I was not scared, Mom. I was petrified. Strands of metal got under my cartilage until I had built a cage of my own, trapping me under. Not knowing if the sun would ever rise again.

“What if she’s a constant target? What if she ends up being afraid…of me?”

“The fact that this is a concern of yours says everything about you, Tristan. You won’t. You’ll try your best never to…”

“I don’t want to be like him,” I let out, admitting the truth. She releases a sigh, but it carries a tiredness only someone who has lived enough lives can hold.

“You won’t, Tristan. You’re nothing like him.”

“I’m told the opposite every day. In the media, it’s always just like his father. Hard to fight when we look like twins.”

“No. I mean deep down. Don’t make me say those things, please. You know how much I loved him.” I hear her tears over the line and wish I could hurt myself instead of her. “He wasn’t a perfect man. Far from it. But what he lacked, you overcame. Where he was weak, you became stronger. Where he failed, you…you repaired.” Her voice breaks softly. “I’m so proud of you, Tristan. So much.” A minute stretches, and perhaps the weight of unsaid words finally coming to the surface takes our breath away, but still opens up possibilities I did not know were there.

“I’m not sure, Mom. I’ve done things, things he would have praised me for, things that I will never be able to repair.”

“You did what you had to do for the woman you love. That’s all, Tristan. You’re being too hard on yourself…as always. Give it time,” she says. “On another note, I’ve decided to set my charity ball in two weeks so you can use it as a facade of strength and regain trust with the right pictures. You know, a good photo can speak louder than any number. It would be good for your image. Spin things around.”

“That we’re still running strong,” I remark.

“Exactly.”

“But money’s tight, Mother. I’m afraid I won’t be able to participate as much now that I have to ensure my employees are paid and find a way to mend our finances fast before it truly hurts us from within.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Tristan. That’s what you do best, after all. Fixing things.”

“Is two weeks doable for you?”

“Please. I could make an event for a king in under forty-eight hours. Don’t insult your mother.”

“Right. I forgot who I was talking to.”

“I’ll start with the preparation. It’ll be a masked event. Fairytale style. I think we all need a bit of magic in this dull world.” A ball? It could actually be the perfect setting to start over. “I’ll leave you to it then, honey. Don’t forget, I’m always here. Always.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Mom.” Perhaps that is a new beginning for her and me. The end of the distance I tried so hard to put between us. Why did I? And why does it seem that Ella is the reason I am letting her in? Without losing a beat, my phone vibrates as I end the call.

My sweet girl is stretching her arms in my sheets, our sheets, looking left and right before tugging at the covers as if she needs to hide. At the same moment, Matt texts me.

Matt: Heard a sound. Think she’s awake.