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My brow shoots up at his, and I wonder why we need so much food, but I still manage to snatch a small sandwich from a tray, munching on it and groaning in pleasure when the cheese hits my taste buds.
It might not be true for everyone, but for me, there is no better food than that at home.
A hallway leads to several arch-like doors leading to the dining, living, and terrace rooms. My parents prefer to have assigned spaces for different activities so no one would ever wander somewhere they shouldn’t and disturb our peace.
Expensive oak furniture made by famous designers fills the place, while the golden chandelier hanging in the living room has been the talk of town for decades. Rumor has it that Dad bought it on the black market because Mom loved it so much.
And to my endless frustration, he never confirmed nor denied the said rumors, so we don’t even know if it’s the truth or a lie. Either way, we wouldn’t have been surprised.
Dad is obsessed with Mom with a capital O, so there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
The mansion should have been forbidden for how luxurious it is, yet oddly enough, our house has a peaceful energy around it, not imposing on you with its wealth. Rather, it invites you in, allowing you to slowly peel back the veil and peek in our life.
Only peek, though, because my parents rarely grant anyone such a privilege. This house has been a soulless museum for almost twenty-four years.
No one was more shocked than me when they decided to host their anniversary party and invite almost fifty people to celebrate with them.
I guess time heals everyone’s wounds but mine.
I can add ‘sounding pathetic on a permanent basis’ as one of my character traits.
“Drop the dramatics, Jimena,” I mutter under my breath.
Dusting off my hands as I finish my sandwich, I hear hushed voices in the living room and walk into it, spotting my parents sitting on the red velvet couch.
As always, Dad has his arms wrapped around Mom as she leans on his chest, flipping through her notebook. He runs his fingers through her purple hair, rubs his chin over her shoulder, and she laughs a little. “Stop it, Lucian,” she says without much heat in her words and sighs when he kisses her neck. Looking at them makes me groan inwardly because these two need to constantly touch each other.
And while it’s great to have two parents who are in love, their public affection grates on my brother’s nerves and mine because it reminds us of how we came into this world.
An image no child wants to think about—just saying.
It doesn’t help that both my parents are considered insanely hot by everyone, and I wince, remembering how women still throw themselves at Dad whenever they have the chance even though he always pushes them away.
He finds any attention except Mom’s annoying, and his possessive side shines through whenever men think they have a shot with Mom. I’ve lost count of how many men hightailed their ass, fearing Dad’s wrath after they tried to get a bit too close to her.
And by that, I mean breathing anywhere near her.
What can I say?
Dad is a bit of a psycho where Mom is concerned. Maybe that’s why he kidnapped Mom from New York and kept her in Chicago until she agreed to marry him.
Another rumor my parents didn’t confirm nor deny.
Mom spots me first, her blue eyes widening in surprise, and she jumps up, her long flowery dress skirting over her slender form while she exclaims, “Jimena.” Her long hair billows in different directions as she reaches me in three short strides and hugs me so close, it’s hard to breathe. Her lavender scent surrounds me while her love and affection practically pours from her, calming some of my earlier nerves. “My baby is home!” She leans back, cupping my cheeks while a broad smile curves her lips, and happiness settles on her features. “I’ve missed you so much, baby.” She kisses me on the cheek and hugs me again.
“Hi, Mama,” I greet her, returning the embrace. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“I’m so happy. I was worried you’d find another reason to delay your arrival.” Shame washes over me at the barely audible quiver in her tone, announcing how my recent behavior has hurt her.
We’ve always had a special bond—well, as special as one might get with a mother whose heart always cries for a child she lost. My brother might have come back…but in a way, he’s forever lost to them.
Still, after my epic fail a year ago, even my love for Mom couldn’t have brought me back here.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I needed…time,” I finish lamely and force an even brighter smile on my face.
If she digs hard enough, she’ll find the answer, and that will be even worse.
My shame should be only mine.
