by Amber Nation
A glimmer of gold picture frames caught my attention. There were four of them perched on the distressed solid oak mantle.
All of them held a picture of a couple holding onto one another, and it looked as if they were each standing in front of the staircase in the entryway. The men were donned in their tuxedos and the women in what appeared to be wedding dresses. I stepped forward to take a closer look. The photos were old and worn, the first one so old it was in black and white. Nothing was out of the ordinary in any of the frames except when I came upon the fourth and final frame. It was empty. It didn’t even hold the stock photo that it came with when the frame was purchased.
Why was the last one blank?
“Here,” Marlee said coming up behind me and passing off a mug of hot chocolate when I angled my body toward her.
I looked down into the steaming mug and noticed small white bits floating around on the top of the brown liquid.
“It’s my own recipe topped with mini marshmallows, even though my best friend claims it.” She boasted with confidence and seemed entirely proud of herself and her special recipe. As she should. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that no one in my lifetime had ever made me hot chocolate, especially that being topped with mini marshmallows.
“Thanks,” I muttered, bringing the mug to my lips and turning back toward the fireplace and took my first sip.
I had to immediately school my expression or risk her seeing all my emotions. I wasn’t used to all these niceties because I didn’t deserve them. I wasn’t a nice person, but for Marlee, I wanted to be.
“This is fantastic.” I knew telling her the truth was the right thing to do when her face broke out into a smile. She was the most breathtaking then, at this moment. I always wanted her to look this way, to be the one putting the smile on her face.
“The trick is to use more than one kind of chocolate. My favorite is semi-sweet and dark; the bitterness of the dark chocolate balances out the semi-sweet.”
Under normal circumstances and if it was any other woman, I would’ve already tuned her out in my head. But with Marlee, I never knew what was going to come out of her mouth and actually found that I anticipated her next statements.
I nodded my head, took another sip, then pointed to the frames on the mantle. “What’s with the pictures?”
She directed her attention toward the mantle and took a sip of her own hot chocolate before responding. “Gosh that’s good stuff,” she said in regards to her special concoction. She turned and walked toward the couch putting one foot under her as she sat down. “My great grandfather built Tate Manor. He took a dream along with a whole lotta blood, sweat, and tears and not to mention the hours he put in. Once it was finished, my great-grandma, who was just his girlfriend at the time, said she would marry him, but it had to be in the ballroom.
“My great-grandpa was sweet on her, but she was always on the fence about her feelings for him. It wasn’t until she saw his hard work and dedication with this place that she finally jumped all in. Her reasoning was that she saw that once he had his heart set on something he didn’t rest until he got it. She saw him struggle to build the Manor, but no matter how tough the times got he would never give up. She knew whatever rough patches they would face that they would endure them together because neither one would give up. She guarded her heart until she was entirely certain that he would handle it with care.”
Marlee said all of this never taking her eyes from that first picture frame. I settled my weight down on the couch opposite from her and only then did she look at me.
“So they were married here at Tate Manor and had their reception in the ballroom. My grandma loved that story so much that she insisted she and my grandpa would follow in their footsteps. Same goes for my mom and dad. The empty picture frame…”
“Is for you.”
She nodded in agreement before shifting to where her body was turned toward mine and rested her mug on her flannel-clad knee.
“Yup, it’s for me and whenever the most eligible suitor wins my heart.” The sarcastic tone she loved using appeared again and was entirely unmistakable.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask just how many suitors came knocking on her door on the regular. But I bit back my asshole comment. Things were going pretty well, and I hadn’t been referred to a one-named person in almost an hour; no need to rock that boat.
“What was the dumbest thing you’ve ever broke up with someone over?”
My eyebrows rose. Of all the questions I’m sure she had at her disposal, she started with one that was borderline lame and entirely out of left field.
“What? It wasn’t like you were beating down any doors to ask a question. Conversation doesn’t exactly seem to be your strong suit. I thought I’d break down your defenses with something a bit simpler before I really show off my glowing personality.” Her smile was so big and bright that there really was no way I could argue with her.
“You’re adorable.” Again, when I actually spoke, out tumbled the things I didn’t wish for her to know. Things that could be used as fuel against me.
Her foot stretched out quick as lightning as it connected to my thigh. I had to grasp my mug with both hands just to steady the contents, but not without the hot liquid splashing on my fingers. “What the fuck was that for?”
I leaned forward and placed the mug on the coffee table in front of me and ran my hands down my thighs trying to wipe the hot chocolate off onto my jeans.
“Take it back!” she screeched.
“Take back the fact that you’re adorable? Not a chance, but I will actually amend that statement to add especially when you’re riled up.” I smirked, and she glowered at me.
Her leg began to move, and I flinched throwing my hands up in front of me in surrender.
“I’m not twelve.”
“Really, you could’ve fooled me with the way you’re reacting.”
“Women my age don’t like to be called adorable.”
“Well, it wasn’t meant as an insult I assure you. Now, what makes you think that I’ve actually been in a relationship?” I could hold a conversation just like everyone else, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. What was the fun in that? I felt at ease with Marlee which was something I haven’t felt in such a long time.
“I don’t. Perhaps it was a friendship lost or a lover. Or maybe if those aren’t your style then a fuck buddy,” she challenged. “The question was meant for a broad variety.” The way she threw out the term fuck buddy was intriguing and had so many different thoughts and scenarios running through my head. Various stages of undress and all the different ways I wanted to make her come, if only she was my fuck buddy.
She looked at me, assessing the situation and more than likely wondering if I was going to answer the question. If she only really knew what was going on in my mind. She’d probably slug me and throw me out to fend for myself in this ridiculous weather.
“Fair enough,” I said through a smile. “Okay I began before I resituated myself back on the couch. She asked, and I was going to deliver. I couldn’t even contain the laugh that was begging to erupt. “So there was this woman, whom I will neither confirm nor deny that she was just a fuck buddy. To her, I was obviously more.”
“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “because I’m sure every woman who falls at your feet is looking for you to put a ring on their finger.”
“Quiet, it’s my turn to talk,” I shushed her. “You’ll get your turn in a minute. Anyway, she couldn’t, for the life of her, pronounce the word supposedly correctly. It was ‘supposebly.’ Gave me the freaking chills every time she said it, and not in a good way. Which, come to think of it, ended up being quite a bit. I don’t know why, though, it isn’t really a word you overuse.”
It took her a minute as if she was processing what I had said, but then she threw her head back and busted out laughing. She continued to laugh for a bit before cutting all laughter off abruptly. She glared at me with a pointed stare.
“I can’t say it either…”
Oh shit.
After waiting a few beats, she confessed, “I’m just kidding. Gosh, you’re a pig. That poor woman thought she was winning over the heart of Holden whatever your last name is while all along you were making fun of her speech.”
“Yeah, she dodged a real bullet with me when I ended it, believe me. But you’re going to have to do me a favor…”
“And what’s that?”
“You need to actually say supposedly so I know you aren’t lying.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Oh, I never kid when it comes to the mispronunciation of words. And I’m not a fan of liars.” I shifted to the edge of the cushion acutely aware that I was more or less lying to Marlee at this very moment, along with every other moment I withheld information about myself. Information that would make up her mind about me once and for all, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of a look of pure disgust on Marlee’s face regarding my real identity. “Come, pixie, let’s hear it. Four syllables and strictly no b’s.”
She didn’t haul off and kick me so I counted that as a good sign.
Her mouth moved at an agonizingly slow pace, making certain that she annunciated every vowel and consonant correctly. “Supposedly.”
A smile spread across my entire face at her exasperated tone, and not to mention the pure sarcasm dripping off of every single letter. I wanted to kiss that unruly mouth. Actually thinking twice before going in for the kill. “Thank you. Now your turn, same question.”
Without even batting an eye she dove in regaling her tale. “I once broke up with a boy in the eighth grade after only two hours because he smelled like…” She paused for effect which lead me to believe that this was going to be good. “Olives.”
What the? “Olives?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head showing no ounce of remorse and scrunched her nose, which was the most adorable thing ever. You didn’t have to say it, I knew I had it bad. The more time I spent with Marlee, the more my sensitive side was showing. Who knew that I even had a sensitive side, I sure as shit didn’t. Anyway, she went on, “I hate olives. And I still to this day associate those nasty green things to Quincy Stone.”
“Forget the olives, a name like that is enough to dump someone over.”
Her sarcasm hadn’t subsided but was rather out in full force. “I hear he is a multi-million-dollar philanthropist. Dodged a real bullet there.”
I felt my heart freeze in my chest, had I been misreading her all along? I felt my temper flare but tried my best to remain calm. Instead, I decided to try something new and use my words instead. Dr. Hensley would be so proud. “Would you have suffered through his putrid stench knowing he would one day be able to make all of your hopes and dreams come true with his money?”
I held my breath waiting for her response. “Whoever said that money makes dreams come true was a liar, because it doesn’t. Sure it can contribute and buy all the things your heart desires, but it doesn’t necessarily buy happiness, and it can’t buy love. When I marry the man that I’m meant to be with, it’ll be because I love him and can’t imagine spending another day without him next to me.” When she spoke, her eyes lit up with such passion. I wanted to be the source of all that devotion. The feeling was so foreign that I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Then the sparkle in her eyes took an unexpected turn as she clenched her teeth and ground out, “It won’t be because of his bottom line.”
Damn. Forget being adorable, she was fucking beautiful when she was pissed. The flare of her nostrils and her eyes narrowing into slits. What should be off-putting was quickly becoming the source of a wet dream.
I must be even more guarded than I thought.
This conversation needed to fast forward into a more lighthearted, suitable direction.
“Have you always wanted to follow in your family’s footsteps and run a Bed & Breakfast?”
I took a moment to mull over the question as I glanced around the room. Purposely averting my eyes from Holden because they held all of the truth. This place was my entire life, what was expected of me. It was on the tip of my tongue to say yes, to be the people pleaser that I was. But was I truly happy? What did I want? Bringing my knees up to my chest, I hid behind my mug as I softly said, “No. I never wanted to run Tate Manor. I love this place, but it was never my dream.” I swallowed past the thick lump that formed in my throat as I felt the tears well up in my eyes. “As you know, Tate Manor was passed down from my great grandpa to my grandpa, and then to my dad. This has been my life and my future since the day that I was born. I grew up learning the tricks of the business all for when it was time to be passed down to me. It broke my father’s heart the day I told him I was moving to California to go to college to pursue a double major for Graphic Design and Marketing.” I remembered the devastated look on his face during our fight when I said I was moving away to go to school. The one and only time I’ve ever stood up for what I wanted in life. Parents were supposed to support their children in whatever they wanted to make out of themselves, right? I wasn’t saying that my father didn’t love me, quite the contrary. He loved me fiercely. He also loved Tate Manor and wanted to see the hard work that had been passed down for generations continue on. I got that.
“I don’t understand, if you got your degree then why are you back here?”
I stared down into my almost empty mug to answer his question. I didn’t want to see the look on his face if he knew that I was a coward. “I’m here because my father needed me, and this is my home. I can do graphic design from anywhere, and I do freelance for my old PR firm from time to time. My dad has congestive heart failure which makes him more susceptible to pneumonia. He’s been in and out of the hospital three times already this year for pneumonia, but I’m sure he’s had it more than that. He’s set in his ways, and we have to trick him to go to the doctor. He should really be in the hospital now, but he thinks he can cure all ailments with a little rest and relaxation.”
“And he doesn’t rest, does he?”
I finally look up from my cup and right into those blue eyes that were shining with concern. “Not a chance. If he did his high blood pressure wouldn’t have led him to where he is now.”
“The stress of this place is killing him,” he said point blank, hitting the nail on the frigging head.
“Bingo! These past few years have been hard on him dealing with everything that has to be done here. I keep thinking that if I would’ve just stayed, then he wouldn’t be so sick. Because then the world wouldn’t have been solely on his shoulders.”
Holden’s finger pressed on the underside of my chin tilting my head to where I was looking back at him. “Hey, you can’t blame yourself for wanting to live your life. What about your mom?”
“She doesn’t understand the importance of Tate Manor. She’s never really wanted to be a part of it. She’s a seamstress so she has her own business to worry about. With everything that’s going on, she’s trying to push Dad into selling this place.”
“Seems to me like that would solve a lot of problems.”
I nod, agreeing with his statement. “Yes, but I’m afraid it would send Dad right over the edge. To lose the biggest piece of his family history would devastate him. So, I’m here for as long as I need to be to help relieve some of the pressure.”
“You’re a good daughter, Marlee Tate.”
I released a small harrumph and rolled my eyes. “That’s what I try telling myself. But if I was a good daughter then I wouldn’t have left in the first place.”
My dad’s sickness might have always been knocking on his door, but I felt that if I had never left then maybe it would’ve been delayed a bit. But the truth is that we will never really know. I released a resigned sigh. “The damage is done. I’ll continue to help run the Manor and take my place as the rightful owner when that time comes. I’m content in this life; it won’t be extraordinary, but I think I could still be happy.”
“You deserve extr
aordinary and shouldn’t settle for anything less.”
I had an inkling that I could talk until I was blue in the face and her answer would never waver. She believed in her heart that her dad’s sickness was all her fault.
Several minutes had passed, and among the heavy silence, I knew that there was a question that she was dying to ask. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, wanting to turn the tables toward me. I got the feeling that she didn’t like being in the spotlight, that laying low in the background has always seemed to work for her. So I was going to give her an in. Ever since she saw it I could tell that she wanted to know, I just had to give her the option to discuss it. As much as I didn’t want to delve into the reasoning, I needed to open myself up just as she had done. I needed to show her that despite my closed off attitude, for her, I would lower my guard.
I rested my head on the back of the couch. “Go ahead, ask me…”
She accepted the invitation freely, wasting no time at all. “Why a fallen angel?” she asked, referring to the tattoo that took up the entire expanse of my back. The etched man down on his knees with his arms spread wide tethered in chains. And his once beautiful wings now tinged with darkness and battered, with many feathers discarded and scattered around on the ground. Atoning for his sins and awaiting his final judgment day.
The explanation I gave needed to be done so in a way that wouldn’t scare her off. I couldn’t handle those eyes of hers seeing me as a beast as well. “I have committed many sins in my life, made rash decisions that only hindered my advancement in all aspects. This tattoo is my reminder, and my chain as to always remember those bad decisions until my judgment day.” It wasn’t until that very moment did I realize what damage I had done in my life and continued to do every time I allowed my anger to win. I didn’t want to be that man any longer. Frankly, it was exhausting. I deserved better than the life I was allowing myself to live.
