Seventeen - Serena

“Mumtaz Mahal.”

 

 

 

From the front steps of my house, I poke my head around one of the giant columns for about the hundredth time. I’m checking for an Uber. An Uber with Kholton Sharpe in it.

Due to an unexpected week-long business trip I had to take, I missed a couple of studies with him. I only got back last night and was supposed pick him up after work this afternoon, but he had an emergency meeting and chose to take an Uber here afterward.

It’s kind of stupid to have him commute all this way for an hour or two of studies, but it’s Aaron Bentley’s way or the highway.

“I’m so not leaving until I see this ‘tutor’ who’s got you so twisted up. You’re so bouncy right now I could pop you.”

With an annoyed eye-roll, I turn to my long-time friend slash neighbor, Natalie. We grew up together and she’s the “first kiss” I told Kholton about. The friend who asked me to be her girlfriend then decided she liked boys.

Natalie has always been a little dark and mysterious. Still is. She’s psychological thriller kind of beautiful, with lush dark hair and a killer body.

Our friendship waned when she began disappearing for weeks, even months at a time. No one knows where she goes or what she does. I had to find camaraderie elsewhere. But whenever she resurfaces—usually for a couple of days tops—she comes over every evening to play chess with Aaron and poke her nose around in my life. And then it’s like no time has passed between us.

“I’m not bouncy,” I deny.

“You’re right, you’re not,” she says as she eats from a handful of grapes, her sinuous body propped against one of the columns. “You’re giddy.”

Again, I childishly roll my eyes and duck my head. “I’m not!”

She smirks at me.

“Didn’t you say you had to head into the city?” I ask, irked.

“Yep.” She grins around a juicy grape. “But I have to see this tutor first. Maybe he could ‘tutor’ me, too.”

I glare and jab a finger at her. “Not a chance. He’s mine for the year.”

“Ah,” she says with a ‘gotcha’ smile. “So something is going on between you two.”

“No. Yes.” I sigh. “I don’t know. We kissed.”

“And?” she prods.

“And nothing.” I jerk my shoulders and look down at my pink, fluffy house-slippers. “He’s kind of a playboy. The sexy, heartthrob type. You know, girls tripping all over themselves as soon as he walks into a room.”

“Hmm…” she hums contemplatively. “So, what is it that you want from him?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

She eats her last two grapes. “I know you, Serena. You snuff guys like that. I mean, you snuff all guys period, but those playboy ones? You scorn and criticize them. So what’s so special about this one? Unless you want something from him…”

“Yeah, I do want something from him,” I say defensively. “His tutoring lessons.”

No one but Alaric and Naan knows of my intentions with Kholton. I love Natalie, but I’m not sure if I can admit something like this to her. But she’s not a fool. She’s always been quick, perceptive and freakishly all-knowing. How she could easily guess the truth out of nothing is astounding.

The sarcasm is strong as she hums, “Uh-huh.”

Mercifully, a beep echoes from the front gate, which is quite a distance off. He’s here.

Marlon, the gate guard knows to expect him, so I peek my head around the column and watch as Kholton exits the Uber and is allowed through the gates. Marlon motions for him to climb into one of the two stationed golf carts and up the long, cobblestoned driveway they come. Manicured shrubs line both sides, fancy garden lamp posts illuminating the path.

As they grow closer, Natalie asks in a notably odd tone, “He’s your tutor?”

“Yep.” I straighten from the column, composing myself. “I know, he looks young, right? He’s only twenty-nine and his credentials are insane.”

Natalie’s expression grows more incredulous the closer the cart gets. Kholton does that to women. “Who referred you to him?”

“Long story.”

She scoffs. “I bet.”

The cart circles our water fountain and comes to a stop at the foot of the steps. Kholton swings out, brown leather satchel slung across his body.

His meeting must have been formal, because he’s wearing a suit—a full navy pinstripe, fitted to perfection. With his hair slicked back with a dramatic and uncharacteristic side part, he’s an amalgamation of corporate, GQ cover model, and wealthy playboy tonight.

Straightening his jacket, he tips his head up. Our eyes meet. I smile, fireflies dancing in my belly.

Natalie pushes off from the column and Kholton’s eyes shift to her. An expression I can’t quite identify flits across his features, right before it goes blank.

Confused and on the verge of panic that I might lose my potential baby daddy to my movie-star-beautiful childhood friend, whom men never seem to be able to resist, I jump into action and wave Kholton up the steps. “Come on up. You’re already late.”

Kholton ascends the steps, his gaze flicking to Natalie twice more before he hits the landing. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was shit.”

“Figured,” I say. “I used the time to prepare dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” His attention flickers to Natalie again. “Who’s your friend?”

I feel a vein throb in my head. What? Look at me. Not her! “Oh, this is my neighbor, Natalie. She was just leaving.” I emphasize the word “leaving” as a mental nudge to Natalie for her to get gone. This boy is mine until I’m knocked-up, so as much as I adore her, I’ll fight her for him if I have to.

She doesn’t leave. Instead, she draws closer to him. “So, you’re the tutor, huh?”

“That’s me.” He slants her a half smile. “Name’s Kholton. Kholton Sharpe. But you can call me Khol.”

“I hear you live in the city,” she says, running her fingers through her long black tresses. “Quite a long drive for a one-hour tutoring session.”

Kholton shrugs and gives her a prince charming, mega-watt smile. How come I never get any of those? “Bills have to be paid, yes? Can’t be whiny. Have to go where the money is.”

As Natalie opens her mouth to speak again, I reach for Kholton’s hand and give it a slight tug, encouraging him toward the double doors. “It was nice having you over, Natalie. But Mr. Sharpe and I need to start our session.”

“Can I talk—”

“See you tomorrow!”

“Serena—”

“Tomorrow, hun. Love you.” I jerk open the door and tug Kholton in, locking Natalie out before she can utter another word. 

Kholton looks down at me.

“What?” I ask with attitude, peeved that he’d flirted with Natalie right in front of me.

He shakes his head. “Gate guards and golf carts? Who are you, The Queen of Long Island?”

“No. But unauthorized vehicles aren’t allowed on the compound,” I reply. “Daddy’s rules. Not mine.”

“Hmm. How close are you with Natalie?”

“Who?”

He laughs. “Okay. Where will we be studying? Or will I be getting a tour of the palace first?”

“Well…” I sweep my hair back from my face. “You can’t get a tour unless Daddy approves of you. If he doesn’t, I can’t take you past the tea room, which is right off the foyer in here.” I gesture to the French doors off the left staircase.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s go to the tea room.”

“You don’t want him to approve?” 

“I don’t really care.” He rolls his shoulders in a blasé shrug. “Just here to do my job.”

“Well, I do.” I cross my arms. “It will make life so much easier for us if he’s not suspicious of you. You’re a decent guy and I want him to see that.”

“Why? I’m not your boyfriend. I’m your tutor.”

Good point. “I know but…just trust me. It’ll be better if you two are on good terms.”

“Okay…” He expels an impatient sigh and lifts his satchel over his head. “Tell me. What do you want me to do, Serena?”

I clap my hands with glee and he shakes his head. “Have dinner with us. Now.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed past the tea room.”

“That’s if you decline to have dinner. It’s Daddy’s idea.” I cup one hand around my mouth and lower my voice as I say, “To feel you out.”

He makes a mini eye-roll. “I’m tired and hungry as shit so, whatever.”

“Great!” I grab his arm and tug him along with me. “I made garden vegetable soup, honey-garlic leg quarters with spinach quinoa, and sugar-free apple tart for dessert.”

“You cooked?” he asks. “With a place like this I’m surprised you don’t have a personal chef.”

“Nah.” I turn into the hall which leads to the dining room. “Daddy is kinda funny about certain stuff. He’ll eat out, yes, but he won’t let anyone but me cook for him otherwise. Plus, I prefer it this way, because he needs to eat healthy and I don’t trust anyone else to make sure he sticks to his diet.”

He grunts in response.

I lead him into our elaborate all-white dining room. A twinkling chandelier hangs from a crown-molded ceiling over our twelve-seater dining table, set with monogrammed dishware, silverware, table runner, and napkins. “You can sit here, and I’ll sit across from you,” I tell him. “Let me go get Daddy.”

Kholton brushes his thumb over the hand-stitched calligraphic B on a napkin. “Okay, princess.”

My father is already getting up from his desk when I push open the door to his study.

I meet his eyes. “You were watching and listening, weren’t you?” It’s what he does. There are cameras covering every inch of this place, and as long as he doesn’t trust Kholton, he will always be watching and listening.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “You told him the dinner is my idea.”

I wince. “He wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Daddy, you need to see that he’s not what you think.”

“I seriously doubt I’ll change my opinion of him, but,” he breathes out a reluctant sigh, “if you insist.”

 

 

 

 

Dinner is stiff and borderline uncomfortable. Neither men attempt to initiate a conversation with the other.

I keep breaking the ice, only for them to allow it to freeze over again. I’m like an icepick, stab, stab, stabbing at an impregnable iceberg.

I start to lose hope. This was a stupid idea. Aaron has already made his mind up about Kholton, and Kholton couldn’t care less either way.

I can feel my father’s eyes on me, but I ignore him and shove my food around with my fork. I want him to feel awful for not making an effort.

As far as Kholton is concerned, he’s just my tutor. He doesn’t need to make an effort. He gets paid either way. But my father knows I’m interested in Kholton as more than a tutor. Granted, he doesn't know the real reason I’m interested, but still. What if I really was interested in him as a boyfriend? When I was MIA on Sunday, after Alaric, Kholton was the next person he called. Why? Because he knows. He knows where my focus is.

A voice clears. Aaron’s.

My heart leaps in triumph.

“So, Kholton, where are you originally from?” he asks, making the effort. “You’re obviously not a native New Yorker.”

Kholton sets his fork down, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and makes eye contact with Aaron, giving him his undivided attention. “California. Belvedere. In later years, Hidden Hills.”

“Belvedere,” Aaron muses. “That’s one of the more expensive areas of California, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re from a decent family then?”

“Actually, I grew up in a home similar to this one,” he replies, making a circular motion with his index finger to indicate our house.

This isn’t supposed to surprise me. After all, he did tell me he’s a stripped trust-fund baby. I guess I’m more indignant about his hypocrisy in judging me for being well-off when he’s pretty much cut from the same cloth.

“Really?” Aaron murmurs. I detect both intrigue and skepticism in his tone. “How so?”

Kholton jerks up one shoulder. “My father is CEO and proprietor of a multi-billion-dollar company.”

“What company is this?”

“I’d rather not say, sir.”

Aaron’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why not? I mean, if what you’re saying is true…”

Kholton picks up his wine, takes a sip, and leans back in his chair. “I was disinherited and disowned.”

“Really?” Aaron sets his fork down and sits up in attention. I suppose he thinks he’s found a legit reason to prove he’s been right about him all along. “Why on earth would a father disown his son?”

“Because he’s a controlling asshole,” Kholton replies without a care in the world. “Don’t follow his orders and you’ll end up with the bottom of his boot printed on your ass.”

My father’s gaze shifts to me in quiet reproof.  “This is what you want?” his eyes shout at me. “Over my dead body.”

Ignoring him, I ask Kholton, “What did you do, Khol?”

Aaron needs to hear. I know how he is. He will purposely avoid asking the reason just so he can stick to his decision to hate Kholton.

“It’s more what I didn’t do,” he answers. “I was the heir to the company. Like a good little boy, I was supposed to finish my studies and meld into the business so he could retire early and I take over.” He pauses to make eye contact with Aaron. “But that’s not what I wanted. I had no interest in taking over the company. I wanted to carve my own path. I wanted to teach.

“He didn’t respect or care for what I wanted, even though I have an older brother who’s more than willing to take over. So, he stripped me of everything, disowned and ostracized me from the family. He said by refusing the business I was refusing the family.”

Aaron sits back in his chair, eying Kholton with an indescribable expression. It seems almost…sympathetic. “You’re separated from your family?”

Kholton nods. “Everyone’s either afraid of him or doesn’t want to lose his financial support, so they obey.”

Except Naan? What’s the story behind Naan?

“Tell me, Mr. Bentley,” Kholton says, never breaking eye contact with Aaron, “if Serena suddenly decides she no longer wants to take over Maeve, would you disown her?”

My father looks to me and his eyes soften. He reaches for my hand on the table and squeezes. “I’d rather watch it burn to the ground than lose my baby girl.” He glances at Kholton again with righteous anger on his behalf. “You’re right. Your father is an asshole.”

Kholton chuckles.

Aaron frowns in thought as he asks, “Kholton is not your birth name then, is it?”

Kholton tips his head to the side and makes a face as if to say, ‘obviously.’

Aaron laughs and shakes his head. “Now that explain it…”

Indeed it does. We came up with zilch in regards to family or origin when we ran background checks on him.

And then I remember…Collin! That’s what Naan calls him. It all makes sense now. Collin is his real name. Collin Sharpe.

I hold on to that tidbit. I’d rather my father not know his real name. Who knows what he’ll do if he gets into his background. Kholton’s life is for me to poke around in. After all, I’m going to be bearing a child from his lineage.

The iceberg melts from there. Aaron might be distrustful and skeptical, but he’s big on family. The story of a child being ostracized by his own family is probably the only thing that could have thawed his distrust.

They gab about California and Aaron asks about a number of families and moguls, all of whom Kholton surprisingly not only knows, but grew up with. Now that they’ve discovered they both speak the same language, conversation between the men flows easily.

During dessert, Aaron speaks around a mouthful of pie. “What’s the most awe-inspiring, perspective-altering story you’ve ever heard, Kholton?”

Kholton doesn’t even hesitate. “Mumtaz Mahal.”

Aaron frowns. “I don’t follow.”

“Shan Jahal was a Mughal Emperor who ruled in India in the sixteen-hundreds. At fourteen, he was betrothed to a young girl named Arjumand Banu Begum, daughter of a Persian nobleman. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and Shan Jahal fell instantly in love with her. However, she was too young to be married, so he took another wife before her for the sake of political duties.”

He pauses to take a sip of his wine as his gaze finds mine. “When she turned nineteen, he finally married her and they became inseparable. She was the love of his life, his best friend, the one person he trusted above anyone else. He sought her advice on matters and even gave her his seal.”

His eyes roam over my face, lingering on my lips, dipping to my neck. “She was such a rare beauty that poets wrote about her. And he was so crazy about her, he renamed her, Mumtaz Mahal, which means ‘beloved jewel of the palace’.”

My skin prickles with heat as my chest rise and falls. Why is he looking at me like…like I’m a beloved jewel?

“She died giving birth to their fourteenth child,” he continues. “Shan Jahan was so paralyzed with grief that he ordered the entire country to mourn her for two years, while he refused to be seen by the public for one whole year.

“When he emerged a year later, he set about building a tomb for her—a monument that would be a tribute to their love. It took over twenty years to complete, but that tomb is what we now know today as the Taj Mahal.”

My heart is like a pillow in this moment. This story, he told it for me. He knew it would melt me. The history, the trueness of it.

He smirks at me, pleased with himself. He doesn’t care to impress Aaron. I’m his target. Quit playing games with me, playboy.

Aaron glances between us and clears his throat. “I never looked into the history of the Taj Mahal before. That’s a beautiful story.”

“It is,” Kholton concurs, never taking his eyes off me.

“But that poor first wife, though,” I comment.

“Everyone before The One is a ‘poor’ one,” he replies. “But every ‘poor’ one also eventually finds their The One.”

I have to repeat the words in my head to make sense of them. When I do, my pillow heart bursts open, spurting feathers everywhere.

“I’m glad we did this, Kholton,” Aaron says. “You can come over for dinner anytime.”

This breaks me out of my lust-filled haze. Figures. He’s such a big softie on the inside that only a heart-breaking, soul-melting love story would shatter his ice wall of incertitude.

He stands and comes around to my chair, planting a kiss on top of my head. In a quiet whisper, “I love you, sweetheart. All I want is for you to be happy. But just…stay awake.” 

With a courteous nod to Kholton, he leaves us.

Stay awake? What does that even mean? Does he see something else in Kholton that I don’t? Wait, does he like him or not?

Kholton breaks through my running thoughts. “You cook like this everyday?”

“Not everyday. Sometimes we eat out. But I cook at least four times a week.”

“You’re really good at it,” he compliments. “Your mom taught you?”

“Nope. I’m like that fourteenth child. My mother died giving birth to me.” I poke fork holes into my apple pie. “I had a nanny up until I was thirteen. She taught me most of everything.”

“Had no idea about your mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I stand and start to clear the dishes. “It’s not like I knew her.”

He stands, too. “Let me help.”

“No, no, you don’t have to.”

He insists, “I want to.”

In companionable silence, we clear the table in two trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, which are separated by swinging double doors.

In the kitchen, he dumps the leftovers and rinses the dishes before passing them to me one by one to load into the dishwasher. It feels easy, like we’re at the soup kitchen all over again, working together. Like we do this everyday.

I pour dish-washing liquid in and start the washer, then make a display of dusting my hands. “This usually takes me a lot longer when—”

I’m broken off when Kholton hooks a finger through one of my belt loops and tugs me to him.

He sweeps flyaway wisps from my face. “How do you do that?” he asks. “You and your dad.”

I’m breathless from being flush up against him, breast to chest. Soft to hard. Red to white. Still I manage to get out, “What do you mean?”

“You get me to tell you shit.”

“So, you don’t normally tell people ‘shit’?”

“Hell no.” This is said with complete vehemence.

“No one?”

“No one,” he confirms.

I’m reluctant to believe him. “But that first night, you were so open…”

“It was you.”

“And tonight?”

“Your father.” He stops and ponders a bit before continuing, “He’s got this honest softness to him—although he tries to appear hard on the outside. It’s like…I dunno. I just couldn’t lie to him.”

I press one palm to his chest and feel the steady beat of his heart. “It’s not us,” I say softly. “I think you’re just tired of holding it all in.”

“Maybe.” He takes my chin between two fingers and tilts my face up to him. “What is it about you, Serena Bentley?”

“It’s not me—”

He kisses me. No warning. No time to prepare. He just takes what he wants.

I snake my arms around his neck and moan into his mouth, tipping up on my toes so I can kiss him deeper. At this, he groans and slides his fingers into my hair, curling at the back of my head.

This kiss is different from the first. This kiss is fervent. Urgent. Unrestrained.

He wants me. It’s not only evident in the bulge against my stomach, but in the little sounds he’s making, as though he can’t get enough. In the way he keeps changing angles, as though he can’t get deep enough.

My stomach is tight. My knees weak. My nipples throbbing.

I want to climb his body, wrap my legs around him, lick his—”

“Ahem.”

We break apart, and I whip my head in the direction of the interruption. Max, head security and my ex, is standing inside the kitchen doors, black T-shirt stretched tight across his bulging muscles.

He glowers at Kholton.

I roll my eyes. “What, Max?”

He looks at me with a cloud of accusation. “Just thought you’d like to know Natalie was escorted home safely.”

What? Since when does anyone escort anyone anywhere? And since when does he hunt me down to make a simple report like that? “Um, okay. Thanks?”

He stares at me.

I stare back. “Anything else, Max?”

His face is stony, pissed. “No, that’s all.” He levels Kholton with a threatening glare before leaving. The doors swing wildly back and forth in his wake.

“You fucking that guy?”

I jerk my head back from the bluntness of his words.

“Excuse me?”

“Babe,” he begins, “a man doesn’t look at a woman like that unless he’s been inside her, claimed her, and thinks he owns her. Either he’s screwing you or he used to screw you. Which is it?”

“My God.” I press my palms to his chest to shove him away. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Which is it, Serena?” His tone is stark, slightly nettled, as though he really needs to know.

I stuff my hands into my back pockets. “Used to.”

“How long ago?”

“We broke up three years ago.”

“You still love him?”

“Who said I loved him to begin with?”

His gaze is so deeply focused on me, reading my soul. “Because you’re too intense for casual. If you’re in, you’re in, and you apply the full force of who you are. You know what you want. If you were with him, you loved him.”

What? I’m intense? Too intense for casual? What does that even mean? And where the hell does he get off reading me like that? You don’t know me, Kholton Sharpe!

“No, I don’t love him…anymore.” I’m surly. I mean, who does he think he is? Demanding answers from me like that.

“Good.”

He pushes off from the counter and reseals the distance between us. The pad of his thumb sweeps across my lower lip. His fingertips skim along my shoulder. His teeth nip at my earlobe. “Now, will I be getting that tour or not?”