Possessive Best Friend

“She went to California for school. I stayed here and worked for my dad. We were in two very, very different worlds.” I shake my head. “I never felt like I belonged.”

“Do you belong here, at the manor?” She doesn’t sound like she’s accusing me of anything.

“More than I ever have,” I say. “But not quite yet.”

“Yes, I think that’s right,” she says. I should be insulted, or even hurt, but I’m not. It’s just a statement of fact coming from her. “But you’re trying to fix that, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I say. “Helping her with this warehouse deal is a start.”

“Interesting.” She frowns. “And is that it, just… business?”

I clench my jaw for a moment. I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t know what to say. Yes, we’re fucking? Yes, I love touching her, kissing her, holding her? I don’t even know if we’re more than just friends with benefits right now. Things are confusing and strange, and we haven’t tried to define what we’re doing.

I still feel like I don’t belong in this world. It’s all so new to me, so different. But I’ve thrown myself into it, because I want Lora. And I’m going to have her, one way or another.

That’s what this is about. Her mother is testing me, wants to see if I can handle the pressure of all this. I can see it so clearly. The tea, the staff, pulling me out of the party in such a public way, this line of questioning. She’s doing it all deliberately to create an effect.

She wants to impress me. Or maybe to impress upon me something important.

“For now, it’s business,” I say. “For what it’s worth, my father hates your family, and I know that having something more with Lora will likely ruin my relationship with him.”

“Interesting,” she says.

“About my father?”

“Oh, no, I know how that man feels.” She waves her hand like she’s swatting away a fly. “No, I mean, about your relationship with him. You’re risking that just being here right now.”

“I am,” I say.

“And you quit your job.”

“I did.”

“To work with my daughter.”

“To build something with her. Something meaningful.”

“I see.” She picks up her tea and sips it. “Well then. I hope you succeed in making something meaningful then.”

I frown a little. “That’s, ah, thank you.”

“Of course.” She tilts her head. “You’re surprised. Did you think I wanted you to fail?”

“Truthfully Sylvia, I don’t know what you want.”

She smiles. “And that’s for the best. But I’ll tell you this, I want my children to be happy.” She puts her teacup down again. “None of them have made the choices that I would’ve made. None of them chose a partner than I would’ve chosen for myself or for them. But I never stood in their way, not directly at least. As hard as it may be to believe, I want my children to be happy. I want them in their place, in this family… but happy.”

“I understand,” I say.

“Oh, I doubt that. This family isn’t something you’ve ever experienced before and I suspect it will take you a long time to figure it out. When I say I want them to be happy, I don’t mean I want them to do what they like. It’s a balance, Dean, a balance between what’s right for the family, and what’s right for them. I never forget that balance, even if they do.”

I nod slowly. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Good. I hope it will sink in, even if it’s not clear yet.” She stands up. “Please stay here and finish your tea. I’ll have some sent to your home, if you’d like. I just got a shipment in today and I won’t drink it all before it begins to lose its flavor.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” I say.

“Correct answer. I’ll send some anyway.” She smiles and leaves the room again.

I sit back in my chair and stare down at my tea.

I feel like so much was just said, but I only heard a small bit of it. I wish I could bring her back here and get her to say just what she means, but I suspect Sylvia Lofthouse doesn’t do that. She speaks in parables, speaks at her meaning sideways, and it’s up to everyone else to figure it out.

The door opens and I look up. Lora steps into the room, frowning around. “Where’d my mother go?” she asks.

“Left.”

She walks over and sits down. She frowns at the tea. “She gave you the whole India thing?” she asks.

I cock my head. “Yeah.”

“It’s true,” she says, and pick up her mother’s cup. She sips it and smiles. “But she loves that trick.”

“Trick?”

“Gets people interested and relaxed. Then she says what she really wants to say, or at least says what she thinks you need to hear.”