Alexander

 

 

 

Mother had nixed every idea Aria had come up with so far. Aria and her friend, Tiffany, had been nice and accommodating but I could tell Aria was becoming frustrated. Not as frustrated as me, but I don’t think it’s humanly possible for anyone to get as frustrated as me.

“Mom, I appreciate your input. Maybe it would be easier for Aria if you told her what you would like to see on the wall.” I ran my fingers through my hair.

Being this close to Aria made my fingers want to curl and tense. I settled on scratching my nails on my scalp—the only acceptable tension relief I could do in front of company.

I thought the mural would be a great way to do something personal, for me. Not just that, but spend some time with Aria. It’s not that I got a lot of chances to hang out with sexy, talented women. It might be an excuse to have her near me, but now I wanted to tear everything down by hand.

My mom walked up to the wall and stood silently. I rubbed my face because I knew what she was doing. She didn’t want this mural. She hated that I went behind her back to do something she didn’t request personally.

Angry and humiliated, that as a twenty-six-year-old billionaire the only thing I was allowed to do without my mother getting involved was buy art. It’s the one thing that she knew I had taste in.

Plus, it added value. Art was an investment, and she preferred anything that would give her more money.

“I’m thinking we leave things the way they are. I love this wallpaper. It’s silk, you know.” She turned with a smile meant to impress the women in this room.

“Then why am I here?” Aria pointed to the wall with one hand and waved her small sketch pad in the other.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Dixon, but my son gets ideas sometimes. And while I think they are cute, he has to realize he isn’t eight anymore,” she said.

I gritted my teeth as she walked over to me, adjusting the collar on the blue button-up shirt I put on after everyone came into my bedroom.

“That’s right, Mother, I’m a grown man so I expect to be able to make a decision about my home without you or anyone taking over.” I pushed her hands away.

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth. I braced myself for the rainstorm of insults that always came. I knew she hated me standing up for myself. My mother still believed when we were in front of company I was expected to speak when spoken to and to do as I was told.

Despite the fact that every time I stood up for myself, ever since I was a kid, my mother ripped me apart, I did it anyway.

She’s talented. Like Aria with her artwork, my mother knew how to find your soul with her words and shake it until it was nothing more than a regret-filled mess.

But this time was different. These weren’t her friends, these were people I knew. People who came here specifically to see me, not her. I refused to let her hurt them or control them like she did everyone else in her life.

When she finally spoke, I was surprised by her words. What she said was strange, even for her.

“Alexander, you are right. It’s time I let you spread your wings. What harm could come from this artist,” she waved toward Aria but kept her eyes on me, “painting a wall? I’m sure whatever you two come up with will be lovely. I trust you, Alexander.”

My mother patted my shoulder before heading toward the door. As she was about to turn toward the hall she turned back. “Ms. Dixon. I will have my lawyers fax over the lease so you can find out what is not allowed to be done to the walls of this place.”

I stared at the door long after my mother disappeared.

“Are you okay, Alex?” Aria’s voice and her light touch on my arm broke me from my shock. A shiver ran up my body and I turned to stare at her beautiful red lips.

“She trusts me. You both heard her, right? She said she trusted me,” I said as I pointed to the empty doorframe.

“Yes, I heard it,” Tiffany said.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she trust you?” Aria said before she chuckled and shook her head.

Because my mother hated me.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t she trust me?” I tried to laugh too but it was a struggle.

“Mr. Hawthorne.” Tiffany took the sketch pad out of Aria’s hand and brought it to me. “Aria has come up with many designs this morning. Did you want to use any of them or do something else?”

I flipped through the pages and loved every single idea she had. There was one thing she drew that caught my eye but I wanted to change it slightly.

I glanced up to find two pair of eyes filled with anticipation staring at me.

“How about we discuss this over food? It’s already noon.”

“Actually, I have to go and get back to the hospital. I didn’t realize it was already lunchtime.” Tiffany gathered her coat from the bed.

“Which hospital?” I asked.

Aria glanced at Tiffany. They both went quiet and I wondered if I had said something wrong.

“The Children’s Hospital just off of Michigan Avenue,” Tiffany said as she shrugged on her thick black coat.

I smiled. “That’s interesting you work there because I donate to them every year.”

“Oh, I don’t work there. My son is a patient.”

Now I knew why they were silent. I felt terrible assuming she worked there.

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize you had a son.” I walked over to Tiffany.

“It’s all right.” She glanced up at me. Her deep brown eyes seemed to radiate sadness. It made me fear why he was in the hospital.

I recognized that pain in her eyes. It’s the same thing I saw in my mother’s eyes. Not so much anymore, but when I was young there were days she would lay in bed crying. I hated to see her like that but what was worse was how that sadness turned to hate.

I cupped Tiffany’s hand between both of mine. “I’m sorry he has to be in there. I don’t know him and I have only just met you, but I can tell you love him very much.”

She nodded, biting her lip. Tiffany lowered her head and I noticed a tear falling to the floor.

“No matter what happens, Tiffany. Whether your boy walks out of that hospital tomorrow or never does, know that the absolute best thing in the world for him is your love.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne,” Tiffany said as she raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Please, call me Alex.”

She nodded and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Alex. I’m glad you are getting your mural and that you aren’t a crazy recluse,” she whispered before letting me go.

I needed to look into finding a good PR company. Does everyone assume I’m crazy?

Once Tiffany left, I turned to find Aria staring at me. The way her arms were folded over her chest and her eyelids narrowed I thought she might be upset with me.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Maybe you want to elaborate so I can understand what is upsetting you.”

Aria shook her head and walked over to me. I noticed how her purple sweater seemed to cling to her curves. What I really focused on were her tits. I wondered if she was even wearing a bra. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that, but I kept imagining lifting that piece of cashmere and discovering only smooth skin underneath.

“Tiffany is a good person. She cares about her son very much, and I think it’s shitty what you want to do with her.”

“Where is this coming from?”

Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Again?

“You know exactly what I am talking about, Mr. Hawthorne.” Aria stuck her finger into my chest.

“No, I really don’t, Aria. And stop calling me Mr. Hawthorne. Mr. Hawthorne was my father. I asked you to call me Alex.”

She pushed her finger deeper into my chest and it was starting to hurt. “Do you always take advantage of women in pain? Don’t think I haven’t heard about you. About what happened to that young mother and her baby.”

Not this again. Why was it when the press did find out something about me they only focused on the negative?

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.” I grabbed her finger to pull it away from my chest, but I hadn’t let go.

“I didn’t, Alex. But from what I just witnessed, I’m starting to wonder if the article I read was right.”

I never cared about what anyone said about me or the lies they spread about my family. Ridiculous lies about my parents and even more crazy ones about me. It never hurt before because my mom and dad agreed on only one thing while I was growing up and that was that the press said anything to get people to buy their papers or watch their news show. Journalists were never to be trusted.

If both my parents agreed on something, then it must be true because they never agreed on anything.

“If you believe that, Aria, then you might as well believe all the other crazy things the papers have said about my family. Like how my mother has a secret love child with my uncle, and my grandfather got angry and had his own son killed. Or, maybe the one where I have a twin out there that I don’t know about. And the best one of all. The one where my mother had my father killed and is planning to take over the government. If Shakespeare were alive, he’d love to write a play based on those wild tales.”

She held up her hands but kept her eyes on the ground. “Look, I get it—”

“No, Aria, you really don’t get it. I may not know what it’s like to struggle to pay bills or worry if I have enough money to eat or pay rent or put gas in the car to get to work. I’m lucky in life. Real lucky, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t gone through things in life.”

I took a breath and grabbed her shoulders, forcing Aria to look at me. “And it doesn’t mean I’m some cold, spoiled monster ready to take a young mother in with her small child, only to have them booted from the country.”