Standing in the hall, my hands are twisting over each other at my waist. I can't stop moving. My foot is tapping, my leg is shaking, and I keep chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“I'll let you get settled in,” my mother says. “Dinner is at six, sharp. I hope you brought something presentable in that thing you call a suitcase.” Her eyes lower and her nose goes up.
Mark looks down at his suitcase. The black is faded to light gray, there are small rips and tears around the edges and the zipper is rusted all the way around. One wheel is missing, and another is broken in half.
I can feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. I don't know why, it's not like I really care what my mother thinks of him. And yet, in the same breath, I do. She's my mother. A child always looks for some sort of approval from their parent, regardless of how ridiculous and stuck up they might be.
“Siobhan, a word,” she barks, grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me away.
Mark is holding the door, staring at me as she yanks me along. My eyes soften as I mouth ‘sorry’ to him.
I'll make this up to him somehow. He took me by surprise, and I love it. But he also put himself in the lion's den. He has no idea what he just walked into. But I'll do what I can to show him how much I appreciate this.
I just have to figure out how.
7
Mark
Closing the door, I lay back and rest my head against the wood.
What the hell did I do?
When Jenna told me that Siobhan's family was fussy, with expensive taste and a bold opinion, this isn't what I pictured at all. I came here with the intentions of sweeping her off her feet, filling our time with hot sex and romantic dinners.
I didn't know she actually lived with them. I think I fucked up royally. The thought sparks in my head, causing me to close my eyes and groan.
If looks could kill, I'd be dead. The way her mother looked at me makes my skin crawl. So much instant hate and disgust, and she doesn't even know me from a hole in the wall. They say don't judge a book by its cover, but obviously this woman does the opposite.
And the look on Sia's face was even worse. I thought she was going to throw up. There was so much happiness in her eyes until her mother's voice ruined it all. Then her expression changed, from happy to mortified. The only problem I'm having is figuring out which way it was pointed, at me or at her mother.
My heart tears slightly as I picture her face. The shade of embarrassment came in four colors. I might be reading her all wrong. There's a chance that I misinterpreted our phone call the other night, and all she wants is to be friends.
Despite this harsh reality, I can't ignore what I feel inside for her. She makes me feel things I've never felt before. That's what I'm going on. Not words, but feelings. Feelings that hit so hard and heavy I can't just ignore them. I need to follow them where they take me.
They led me here.
Running both hands over my head, I open my eyes and look around.
The room is so white, it seems sterile, like an operating room. There's a white rug under the bed with dark blue swirls. The bed posts are light wood like the birch trees that salt the forests back home, and the blanket is bleached clean silk. Running my hand over the fabric, I half expect to see dirt streaks from my touch.
The floor is marble, white with gray swirls, and all the furniture is the same colorless shade. There are small pops of color, the blue in the rug, the gray in the tile, a giant flowerpot in the corner filled with soft peach Juliet roses.
A wall of windows creates the far right wall to the bed, giving an amazing view of the city. I can hear all the noise below. The cars, the horns, the sound of people as they move like a herd through the city.
Leaning over, I look down, watching everyone mill about like ants. They all seem to move in one direction, then quickly shift to another. It's strange to see so many people in one place.
Pulling back, I turn around to see my own reflection in the floor length mirror opposite me. I'm out of place in this room. Wearing an old shirt I found in my closet, the nicest pair of jeans I own, and giving in to buy these dumb ass shoes that have a little shine. I'm a bruise on flawless skin, something so ugly on the surface of perfection.