This was not unusual. Mother was not difficult simply to be difficult. When she wasn’t drinking, she was…apologetic. Docile. She always promised to do as Ari wanted and to stay away from alcohol and gambling.
In the past, when Ari had been a young child, these promises had sometimes lasted months. But as Ari had gotten older, spent more time at the boxing gym, lived her own life, Mother had backslid.
There was a guilt that lived inside of her because of that, but Ari supposed it matched her mother’s guilt for making life difficult.
A pair they were.
“I am not sure I want to go on a plane,” Maria said quietly as Ari double-checked her purse even though she knew she had everything. Zervou had said he would be here at nine, which was still fifteen minutes away, but they were both ready.
And clearly nervous.
“Well, I’m afraid you will be getting on one whether you want to or not.” Ari said this to her mother as much as she said it to herself. A reminder that, per usual, she had to be the adult in this situation and push them both forward.
“I do not know what this will do, Ari,” Mother said softly. “If it is a disease, perhaps it has taken hold so deep there is no cure.”
“Perhaps,” Ari agreed, because she had learned how to deal with her mother. Arguments did not work. Agreements did not work. Nothingreallyworked, but agreeing with her, placating her at least a little bit, often got them to the next step. “But it is worth a shot.”
“At the expense of selling your soul.” Maria did not say this bitterly, but Ari felt her bitterness all the same. Not at Ari but at the world.
“I am selling nothing, Mother,” Ari replied firmly.
“I would not be so sure.” Before Ari could say anything to that, Mother continued, “I know you can protect yourself, though. Keep your guard up.”
Ari swallowed down the boiling bitterness. At her mother. At everything. “I always do.” What choice did she have?
But the admonition brought back the memory of the way Zervou had kissed her. Was letting him kiss her like that keeping her guard up? Perhaps the kiss itself would have been fine, but she could not seem to stop thinking about it.
No one had ever kissed her like that. Not that she had much experience. She did not trust men enough to allow such access to her body, but when she’d been younger, softer, there had been times she’d allowed herself to be sweet-talked into a kiss.
Nothing like that. It was like her brain had simply ceased to work. She could think of nothing except the feelings in her body. The heat pumping off of him, the dark, rich taste of him. The way sensation had scattered through her, an explosion of something she did not know how to describe.
Except with one word.
Want.
She was too smart for this, and yet her body and flashes of physical memory did not seem to want to take that on board. She was walking a dangerous line, and usually she avoided dangers that weren’t strictly related to a boxing ring, but…
Her mother sat on the couch, purse still clutched in her hands. Nervous, worried, but Ari also saw the hope in her eyes. That somehow, someway, she might be…healed at this facility.
It was worth a million dangerous walks.
So Ari knelt next to her mother. Though this was spurred by vengeance, this opportunity to her mother was just as big, just as important. If she reminded herself of all she stood to gain from this, she could deal with everything else. Shewould.
“I want you to get better,” she told her mother earnestly. “This is a chance for that. If we both believe in it.”
Maria put her hand on Ari’s cheek. Ari’s heart throbbed with a terrible ache as her mother’s eyes filled. “I am sorry I can’t do it on my own,” Maria rasped.
Ari shook her head. “No. Do not be sorry.” They all knew where the true blame lay. “Be well.”
A brisk knock sounded at the door. No doubt Zervou or one of his staff. Ari had to pull herself together, focus on the goal. It had gotten her through. All these years, it had gotten her through.
She got to her feet, not able to meet her mother’s worried gaze.
She opened the door to Zervou himself. He was dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him. Still some kind of what she would call dress slacks with a loose button-down fit for Grecian beaches, she supposed.
It made her realize that whatever power he held, that confidence, that assured way he had of moving through life had nothing to do with his clothes or his money and had everything to do with the man he’d built himself into. She envied that. She could manage it in the boxing ring, she thought, but in life, she was always beat right back down again. Could this be the opportunity she’d been looking for, or was it just another step toward being beat down again?
“Are we ready to go?” he asked.
