Chapter 19

Adonis left out early start the next morning. As much as he wanted to hole up in his apartment, the visit couldn’t wait. He’d been putting this off long enough. Eleven years to be exact.

He swallowed thickly, forcing down the knot of emotion balling in his throat.

When his father first broke the news, his first instinct had been to call Tess. She was the only person privy to his complicated relationship with his mother. Unsure of where exactly they stood, he decided against it.

He sped-punched Cameron’s number instead. Although he’d held out hope, it didn’t come as a surprise when he didn’t respond to his voicemail or texts.

Adonis knew he was guilty on all counts of abusing their friendship. He didn’t think it warranted blatant disregard during one of the darkest chapters of his life. The feckless little shit. His mother was about to lie in a refrigerated box and Cameron couldn’t let bygones be bygones for two fucking days.

Burying the hurt beneath festering resentment, he made the journey upstate solo.

Adonis held no misconception of what his father had really been after all these years. Shortly following his grandfather’s death, his grandmother had taken ill and wasted away, leaving all of their assets, properties, brokerage accounts to their only child, his mother.

Bound by miles of red tape and legal safeguards, Lionel only had access to a relatively small portion of her inheritance. In a bout of either absolute clarity or raging paranoia, his mother had sealed the bulk of her legacy in an ironclad will, well out of reach of her philandering husband. The real kicker was her appointment of a close friend as her health care power of attorney.

Unable to pull the plug, unable to divorce her for fear of losing out on his share of the fortune, and unable to marry his mistress, Lionel had been forced to vacillate in limbo for over a decade, the very definition of impotent.

No wonder he bore such a grudge against him.

But in lieu of her impending mortality, Lionel’s years of patient waiting were finally going to pay off.

Fury lit Adonis’s blood at the thought of his father becoming successor. Lionel knew absolutely nothing about ships. So he owned a few yachts. Yachts were tugboats, children’s playthings, compared to the massive, thousand ton behemoths that dominated his grandfather’s shipyard.

Papu would kill himself all over again if he knew his good for nothing son-in-law becoming heir to the Argyros empire.

Adonis looked out of the window as the driver turned onto a paved, single-lane road.

Beyond salt-crusted embankments of blackened slush and ice flanking the street, acres of snowfall stretched for as far as the eye could see. The picturesque landscape resembled a page taken from a child’s storybook, a veritable winter wonderland. He had to squint to distinguish the separation of earth and sky. Everything was so crisp, so glitteringly white that only groves of barren trees, their boughs heavy with ice, broke up the space.

After checking in, the receptionist wrote down his mother’s suite number and offered him sympathetic smile.

Nausea pipelined to his esophagus as he shuffled to her room. His feet were leaden weights. The muscles in his legs contracted, longing to flee. Was the hallway narrowing or was it his vision?

His hands clammed as he came to her door.

Time to nut up or shut up.

Taking a deep breath, he twisted the knob and stepped inside.

The room was large, spacious. Goldenrod drapes bordered the windows. The plush carpet silenced his footfalls. It was obvious no expense had been spared, not that his mother cared.

Slowly he approached the twin-sized bed, his gaze skimming everything but the figure lying in its center. An armchair faced her bed. Adonis made a beeline for it, eyes still downcast.

A dainty hand lying prone on the sheets entered his line of vision first. His stomach cramped. Her frame wasn’t as bony and wasted as it’d been before the accident, during the pique of her career. His gaze moved up her neck and finally to her face.

The breath rushed out of him.

Eleven years had passed and yet she looked the same, as if they’d cryogenically frozen her, encapsulating her youth and beauty.

Tears stabbed him. Her complexion glowed with health and vitality and if it hadn’t been for the crisscross of tubes, intravenous drips and the mechanical respiration machine bleeping steadily alongside the bed, her condition could’ve been mistaken for sleep.

“Mom.” The verbalization of a name he hadn’t pronounced for so long shattered him. Without reserve, he picked up her hand, relishing in its familiarity. If he really concentrated he could feel the faint flutter of her pulse. She was alive, not dead, not gone, not yet. Hot tears paved silent tracks over his cheekbones and he gripped her hand harder.

It was easier to hate her when she was just a fading memory, a yellowing snapshot he desperately wanted to keep buried.

Laid out in front of him, so helpless and vulnerable, he couldn’t demonize her. He didn’t see the woman whose capricious mood swings taught him early on how to tread lightly. Who didn’t care enough about their family to get better, to hold it together. Who would disappear for weeks on end without a word. Who would yell and shriek at him for no reason. Who would crash to her knees in tears and yank him into her arms when she realized what she did.

Despite the ugly truth, she was still his mother.

“Here Adonis. You try.” Her smile was blinding, beautiful as she handed him the paintbrush, the slick-tipped bristles already primed. “It’s easy.”

“Painting is stupid.”

“It’s only stupid because you suck at it.” His brother cackled.

He hurled the paintbrush at his forehead.

If only she would wake up, he could forgive her. They could be a family again. They could leave the country and move to Greece. He’d take over the shipping business and she could go back to painting. He would even show her the things he’d dabbled in during her lengthy absence.

He huddled near the base of the staircase, knees pulled tight to his chest as she screamed. He shrunk back as a plate shattered against the wall.

Someone sitting next to him. “Adonis, what’re you doing?”

“Why is she acting like this?”

“It’ll be over soon.” His brother’s thin arm cradling his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s paint something for her. It’ll make her feel better tomorrow.”

She tried so hard to get him involved with art as a child. Petulant as he was, he refused to become involved.

But not this time. This time, things would be different. They would be different. They could seek therapy together and coach one another to take their meds.

And all she had to do was open her eyes.

“Look Mom. I made something for you.” Tentatively presenting the picture.

Her lying face up on the sofa, her eyes vacantly fixated on the ceiling.

“Please, Mom.” Pushing her shoulder. His stomach bloating with anguish, anger. Why couldn’t she be normal? “Say something.”

Her head rotating. Tears spiking her lashes. They fell harder the longer she stared at him. “I’m sorry.”

He mentally willed her to do so, pleaded to her. He was tired of being alone. Tired of struggling to find a reason to live every day.

The longer he stared, the harder the tears began to fall.

Fuck. This was exactly why he’d never come to see her. What use was it sitting by her bedside hoping that she’d magically awaken? Adonis had saved himself years of agony. He didn’t understand how people could do this, wishing and praying day after day.

“No matter what, I’ll never stop loving you.”

He was tired of hearing that. It made his tummy hurt when she forgot or left them. “I don’t need you! Just go away and stay away!”

Her arms falling around him. He put up on a show of shaking her off, but in reality, he couldn’t get enough of her warmth. “Whatever happens just know that. I’ll always be with you.”

Why did she always have to lie?

Selfish as he was, perhaps this was the best course of action. She needed to be released from machines that pissed, ate, and breathed for her; unbind her from this miserable excuse of a life, hooked up to plastic and steel and dwelling in some never-ending void non-being.

Forcing saliva past the sandpapery walls of his throat, Adonis wet his chapped lips. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see you, Mom,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t see you like this. It was just, I couldn’t.” He lowered his head. “I want you to know that I forgive you. For everything. Tell Nikolai I miss him. I miss you both.” His voice chipped off. “Give Yaya and Papu my love too. And tell Papu I’ll take care of his ships. I won’t let your husband fuck everything up.” He rose abruptly from the chair, the searing pain in his chest becoming unbearable. “I love you, Mom. Good-bye.”

Adonis gazed down at her, believing that any moment she’d open her eyes and profess her love for him.

But she didn’t.

His presence had changed nothing.

He leaned over the bed and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek, the last kiss he’d ever give to her alive. His eyes squeezed shut as the distinct scent of her skin invaded his nostrils. God, she even smelled the same; the smell he associated with the word mother. Adonis buried his face in her neck and fought to keep a stranglehold on tears and emotion bucking in his chest.

And when Adonis finally managed to pull himself away, he didn’t look at her again. He couldn’t, because if he didn’t go now, he would hold on to her and never let go.

________________

For a woman who’d spent the last decade in a coma, the turnout to Selene Argyros’ funeral was impressive.

Shock couldn’t begin to describe her emotions when she tuned into the nightly news and saw the segment on Selene Argyro’s scheduled funeral. When had they taken her off life support? Why hadn’t Adonis told her?

But Tess recognized why he kept mum. Cameron, on the other hand, could have at least shot her a text, not that they were exactly on speaking terms.

Despite her dubious standing with Adonis, Tess figured she would pay her respects. She couldn’t remember the last funeral she attended, but she was positive there hadn’t been a guest list.

More than prepared to be turned away at the cathedral’s massive doors, her brows jumped when the attendant checked her name off.

So he had been expecting her.

Spotting an aisle seat near the back, Tess slid into the pew. Her gaze automatically searched the sanctuary. She found him at the very front, accepting handshakes and condolences from fellow mourners. Dressed in a dark, double-breasted suit jacket, his posture was relaxed, almost careless. A pair of darkly tinted aviators shielded his eyes. His usually reckless hair preserved some semblance of order.

Tess knew better. The stiff, barely perceptible jerk of his motions and the wrinkled bulge between his shoulder blades telegraphed his tension, his anxiety.

As more people filed to the front, she lost sight of him in a mourning sea of black.

Overall, the service was well orchestrated. Humorous anecdotes blended seamlessly with tearful recollections. Tess noticed no one directly referenced her struggle with bipolar disorder.

She didn’t see him again until the service concluded. Tess watched as he trailed behind the pallbearers. Like a magnet, his gaze found hers unerringly. Her heart tripped as he stopped at her row, disrupting the procession.

Expression inscrutable, he offered his hand.

She didn’t hesitate to accept.

Adonis steered her to a limousine as the pallbearers loaded the casket into the hearse.

They didn’t exchange a word on the way to the burial site. Thirty minutes elapsed before the limo turned into a gated cemetery. They alighted when the driver opened the door and hiked to the white silk tent at the top of a grassy knoll. Remnants of a mid-morning shower dewed the earth. Tess wobbled as her heels she’d swiped from her mother’s closet sunk into the waterlogged ground.

Seeing her struggle, Adonis lent her an arm for balance. She shot him a grateful smile, but his eyes were trained ahead.

Someone had beaten them to the chase. A black-suited, middle-aged man stood near the headstone.

Tess did a double take. It was the man from the portrait.

His father.

Lionel Benoit.

He gave them a fatigued smile. “Adonis. Who might this lovely young lady be?” he asked, his voice betraying the barest hint of a melodic accent.

“She’s none of your business.” She winced at the venom in his tone. Definitely no love lost between father and son.

“Don’t be like this,” the older man said quietly as people filling out the tent. “Not today. Haven’t we lost enough?”

His features lifted into a snarl. “Don’t fucking pretend you care.”

“You know I do. You’re my son.”

“’I’m also my mother’s son, isn’t that right?” he hissed. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably outlive me and cash in on my death too.”

“Is everything alright?”

Tess glanced at the owner of the lyrical, French-cadenced voice coming to stand near Lionel’s side. The petit woman could’ve been mistaken for Lydia’s twin. The same unblemished, ageless skin, the dark splash of sepia-hued hair, and the vibrant azure eyes.

It was her mother.

White rage washed the color from Adonis’s face as his gaze cut accusingly to his father. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Lower your voice,” Lionel admonished lowly, cognizant of onlookers. “And she’s here because I need her to be here.”

He bared his teeth in an expression that was more evocative of a snarl than a smile. “Had to have the last fuck you to Mom. Shit’s low even for you. Don’t you have any respect for my mother?”

“Of course I did. I do.”

Adonis spun in her direction. “Tess, I’d like to introduce you to Sylvie Rousseu, the woman who’s been fucking my father before, during, and after his marriage to my mother.”

Tess blinked. Well. She supposed a pleased-to-meet-you would be wildly inappropriate.

“Stop this,” Lionel snapped, angling his body as buffer for the woman. “If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me.”

“For what, Dad? Being so caught up with your main squeeze you neglected to see your wife’s deteriorating mental state? Or is that what you wanted all along? Because if we’re both being honest, you only married Mom for her money.”

The older man’s slap cracked across Adonis’s face. Face angled away, a red imprint gradually overtook the lower half of his jaw.

“Don’t ever disrespect Nicole or Selene like that, ever again.” Lionel’s voice had deepened to a sonorous bass. “Yes, my marriage to your mother was arranged by our parents. Yes, I was involved with Nicole before we were married, but I dedicated myself to my marriage for 11 years. I loved Selene. I always will.”

Adonis gave him a thin, watery smile. “You were married 22 years. But I guess these last 11 didn’t count, did they?” His hand found hers. Tess didn’t look back as he dragged her to the furthest side of the tent.

She squeezed reassurance into his grasp. He didn’t return the gesture.

Neither did he drop her hand.

If any of the guests overheard the exchange, they politely made no mention of it.

The burial service lasted for ten minutes. Adonis tensed next to her as the casket was lowered into the ground.

He moved forward and crouched to scoop up a fistful of earth. Her eyes filmed as he strewed dirt over the hollowed ground.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his father approach him sans Nicole. His attempt proved futile as Adonis sidestepped him.

Tess offered the older man a consoling smile and started to chase after his son when he grabbed her wrist.

“Please, take care of him. He’s been hurting for a long time. I fear there’s nothing left I can do for him without inciting rage.” He swallowed. “I just don’t want him to turn out like Selene.”

Tess stared at the dry-eyed man. Even cloaked in grief, he possessed a lordly bearing, aware of his worth and conscious that others should be too. His expression was effortlessly sincere. Perhaps this was where Lydia inherited her acting skills.

She draped a hand over his. “I will. He deserves to come first in someone’s book.” Shaking him off, Tess returned to their limousine.

Tess wasn’t surprised to find Adonis agitatedly pacing its length, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His head snapped up as she arrived, his gaze neither questioning nor condemning. Without a word, he opened the door. She scrambled inside as he spoke with the chauffeur before clambering in after her.

He slumped back.

A thousand banalities coalesced and disintegrated. None seemed capable of bridging the widening gulf that separated their realities. So she said nothing.

Neither did she inquire about their destination.

The ragged horizon of bleak skyscrapers collapsed in the rearview mirror and birthed miles of carpeted green.

A touch of panic stirred as the limousine exited the Long Island Expressway.

Massive houses blurred past. Each seemed to grow larger and more imposing than the last. Where the hell were they going?

Eventually the limo reduced speed and coasted into a secluded drive, its perimeter fenced by wrought iron and an ornate, yet no less formidable gate. They pulled alongside the guard shack. Moments later, the gate retracted and the limo crept forward. Pine and oak trees cradled the winding drive, their thick canopy blocking the austere sky.

Her breath caught when they broke free of the arboreal tunnel.

Ensconced by acres of lush plains and the Long Island Sound sprawled a majestic mansion. A crossbreed between a rustic French chateau and a Mediterranean villa, its distinguished mien captivated the surrounding landscape. Tennis courts and a viewing gazebo sat to its left, a six-door garage at its right.

“What is this place?” She didn’t realize the question had launched from her mouth until it hung in the space between them.

Chin resting on his palm, Adonis murmured, “Home.”

Instead of pulling into the roundabout, they turned off at a narrow junction that forked to a pier. Anchored to the dock bobbed sailboats and catamarans.

Adonis barely waited for the car to stop before forcing the door open. Tess scrambled after him.

Although only inches separated their respective heights, she had to skip to match his stride. He led them to a sturdy, fifty-foot vessel at the end of the quay. The hull was painted a sleek, midnight blue. Jagged, white boot stripes slashed the keel like the aftermath of a tiger mauling.

She didn’t even want to ask why they were here. As soon as he helped her aboard, Adonis unmoored the lines and swung himself aboard. With one short tug, he released the sails. The pristine sheets tumbled down and flapped outward like formidable white wings, ready to take flight.

Tess gripped the stainless steel railing for support as a strong gust pushed the boat off to a swinging start. The deck rocked and rolled underfoot. Tess greened as her stomach pitched to the polished planks.

"Is it supposed to be this shaky?" she croaked, teetering to the cushioned bench.

His mouth lifted marginally. “It'll even out once we're past the tides.” Adonis fiddled with sails, beams, and cables. Boat and man seemed one as he coaxed the vessel faster, further away from land.

Soon the peninsula became little more than pancaked lump wedged between sky and water.

It was breathtaking.

It was unnerving.

In quick succession, Adonis freed all three sheets from their cleats, depowering the sails and drawing the boat to a standstill.

All too aware of just how alone they were, Tess tucked herself deeper within her coat.

If Adonis thought the same, he didn’t show it. He moved to the railing, his unseeing gaze projected in the distance. The only sign of discontent was the slight pull of his mouth.

She stared wordlessly with him. The sun was a pale disk, its brilliance muted by wintry gray clouds. Just as he promised, the water was tranquil, its glassy color the same storm-ridden hue as the sky.

“Coming out here is only way I can think sometimes. Breathe."

"It’s definitely far away enough from everything," she ceded.

His eyes grew distant. “You can never be too far from everything."

"I'm sure that's what you to say to all the girls you take out here," she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"You’re the first." His tone was bland, matter-of-fact. “This isn’t some shit you’d share with some random bimbo who’s only good for sucking you off.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for that colorful imagery.”

He plunged a hand through the dark richness of his hair. “Shipping, boats, anything that could move across water meant a lot—means a lot to my family. For my grandparents, it was a way of life, you know? Their hearts went into this business,” he said, thumping a fist over his own, “and being at sea is a way to get closer to them.”

The fact that he chose to share this with her, this secret, innermost part of him, spoke more to her than words ever could.

“My mother hated the water though,” he said, smiling wryly. “She never did earn her sea legs. My grandfather was happy when she gave him grandsons to pass on his trade to.”

“I’m sure.” Her lips curled as she imagined a pint-sized Adonis struggling with the sails under the careful tutelage of his grandfather.

“Do you think she’d forgive me for hating her for so long?”

The unexpectedness of the question startled her from thought. “Of course she would. How could you have understood what she went through before now? You had to grow up first.”

“No, I had to experience it first,” he said wryly. “I’m becoming her.”

“No, you’re not.” Tess touched his wrist. “She was diagnosed late in life. She was too set in her ways to change. You have a chance, Adonis.”

“A chance at what?” He ripped the aviators off. “Biding my time until I go bat shit crazy and drive myself off a cliff or hang myself in a fucking psych ward?”

“Don’t trivialize your family’s issues,” she batted back, moderating her temper at his naiveté.

“Don’t fucking tell me how to feel,” he snapped. “Tell me Tess, what’s the point of living a life like that? Waiting for the day you’re going to snap.”

“The point is you’re alive, with people around who care about you. Learn from your family’s mistakes and make a life for yourself. So deal with it. End the pity party. Stop acting as if the world is out to get you.” Nostrils flaring, she looked ready to pry off the helm and smash it over his head.

For some reason it made something stir behind his breastbone.

His mother would’ve loved her.

Grief tore into him with the realization. He would never bring someone special home to meet her. She wouldn’t be there when he graduated. Or when he married. Of if he decided to have a kid.

She was really gone.

He had remained detached throughout the funeral. His brain hadn’t put two and two together.

Not when she laid there in the casket as if she were sleeping peaceful.

Not when they closed the lid and carried her out.

Not when the coffin sunk into the ground.

The anguish must have tipped into his expression because Tess’s arms banded around his waist. “It’ll be ok, Adonis.”

A tremor worked through his body, but part of it had nothing to do with grief. How had they come to this? How had the person who he insulted and reviled for so long come to mean so much to him?

His life had become a running comedy. Forgiving the woman who had pseudo-raised him on a protean plateau of materfamilias. Falling for a woman that he’d persecuted for years and who would later become his savior.

It was a cruel twist of fate.

However there was no pretending Tess hadn’t replaced the one other person in his life whom he trusted without reservation. Unlike Cameron, he felt her heart in her endeavors.

She wanted him to get better. Not for her own selfish motivations or some altruistic ideal, but because she genuinely cared about him. She made him feel less alone, less isolated.

She got him.

And it shook him. Really shook him, that he could be this open with her. This real, without pretense or sarcasm or defense. She’d witnessed his absolute worst and hadn’t batted an eyelash.

He was scared of how well she knew him, of how much she knew about him.

Of how rapidly his feelings for her were spinning beyond his control.

Feeling as though he’d just gotten the wind knocked out of him, his hands moved of their own accord and fisted her coat’s lapels. Her lips parted as he dragged her close. Her clean scent, carried by a brisk headwind, wrapped around his senses. His hands moved higher, grazing the skin of her neck, her warmth stinging his cold fingertips. He tilted her head back.

Her eyes had never seemed brighter, clearer. A wealth of emotions brimmed within their depths. But there was one that made him catch his breath; one he feared would change everything.

She was right.

He needed to stop running away from the truth.

He let his mouth speak for him. Adonis swallowed her shocked gasp. Her lips were butter soft and dissolved against his tongue like cubed sugar. He should feel guilty for this, for robbing his best friend blind. But if they were both being completely honest, Cameron never had her in the first place.

The instant her mouth opened for him, new life breathed into him. It inflated his lungs, pushing out ugly resin and replacing it with something far sweeter.

Her nails dug his arm as her taste melted in his mouth. Adonis knew she could feel this, knew it unhinged her as much as it did him. She trembled, her fear and excitement amplifying his own. His hands slid upward into her hair. The strands parted like water, warm and silken in their homecoming.

Hunger chased gentleness as their tongues danced around one another before mingling. Months of pretending and playing down the sexual tension seemed to surge from him, fueling their appetites.

He wanted to possess her. He wanted to consume and be consumed. Adonis pulled her closer. Yet, it wasn’t enough. She’d done him in. He was a goner. The ache coiled so tight within his chest there was hardly room for oxygen.

He broke the kiss. “Are you in love with him?” There was no need to ask whom.

Her eyes rounded with panic. “O—of course I love him.”

“That wasn’t the question. Are you in love with him?” he repeated, unfazed.

“I’m not answering that,” she said, determined to fight him tooth and nail.

“You don’t have to.” He already knew the answer.

“Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?”

And then some. But he was beyond caring; beyond pretending this thing between them didn’t exist. The urgency to have her overrode any sense of self-preservation. “I want you, Tess,” he growled into her mouth, his jackhammering heart threatening to hurtle through bone and tissue to reach her. “All of you. Now. Tomorrow. Until I don’t give a fuck.”

She didn’t respond immediately.

For a second, the fear of delusion fisted his lungs. Then her fingers curled into the tail of his shirt. Sweet aching relief exploded as her tongue sought his.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16