Page 86 of Knox's Boy

"It’s my mother," I said, my voice sounding rough. "She’s… not well. I need to go there."

Florian was at my side in a heartbeat, his small hands gripping my arm, grounding me. "Is she okay? What do you need? Do you need me to call the driver? Maybe we could take the Jaguar? I can drive."

I looked down at him. He was so young, so vibrant, a splash of chaotic color in my monochrome world. The thought of facing the cold, echoing halls of my childhood home alone made my chest ache.

"I need…" I hesitated. It was a selfish request. He was terrified of meeting my family, terrified of being judged for his background, for our age gap, for everything that made usus. But I couldn't do this alone. "Would you come with me?"

Florian froze. I saw the flash of panic in his blue eyes, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He knew what this meant. Meeting the matriarch. But then he looked deeper, searching my gaze, and he must have seen the raw need I couldn't hide.

"Yes," he said immediately, his voice fierce. "Yes, of course. Let me just… put on shoes. I’m ready."

***

The Aston Martin ate up the miles of highway. I kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Florian’s thigh. Florian sat rigidly, his fingers playing with the top button of his shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning it.

He pulled the visor down to check his reflection for the tenth time. "Is this shirt okay? It’s not too… too little? I should have worn a tie. Do people wear ties to emergencies? God, I look like I’m twelve."

"Florian," I said, reaching over to capture his restless hand. His skin was cold, damp with sweat. "You look perfect. Stop."

"But she’s… she’syourmom," he whispered, staring out the window at the passing countryside. "She’s going to take one look at me and call security."

"She will do no such thing," I said firmly, giving his hand a squeeze. I brought his knuckles to my lips, kissing them briefly. "She will see what I see. A brilliant, compassionate, beautiful young man who makes her difficult son incredibly happy."

“You're not difficult!” he protested, and I chuckled.

“See what I mean?”

He looked at me then, his expression crumbling into something soft and vulnerable. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I promised. "She’ll adore you, little one. Because I do."

He took a shaky breath and nodded, lacing his fingers through mine. We drove on, two frightened men holding onto each other.

***

We passed through the iron gates, ancient and rusted, and began the ascent up the winding gravel drive. Oaks that had stood since before the Civil War lined the path, their branches reaching across the road to interlock like fingers.

I felt Florian stiffen beside me. My own home was modern, glass, steel, clean lines. But this place was different. It was the heavy, suffocating weight of legacy.

"Jesus," Florian breathed, his nose almost touching the passenger window. "You grew up here? It’s… it’s a castle. I didn't even know this existed here in America."

"It’s a museum," I corrected dryly, parking the car at the base of the wide stone steps. "Don't let it intimidate you. The plumbing is terrible."

But I knew it did. I saw the way he smoothed his shirt again, his movements jerky, as we climbed the steps. When the heavy oak doors swung open, a uniformed housekeeper named Maria appeared, Florian practically tucked himself behind my shoulder.

"Mr. Knox," Maria murmured, stepping aside. "She’s in the conservatory. The light is better for her there."

We walked through the grand foyer, our footsteps echoing on the black-and-white marble tiles. Florian’s eyes darted around, taking in the oil paintings and the crystal chandelier that hung above us.

The conservatory was at the back of the house, a glass-walled room that trapped the heat and the suffocating scent of roses. My mother sat in her high-backed velvet wing chair, positioned to overlook the rose gardens. She was wrapped in a cashmere shawl, her silver hair coiffed into a perfect, immovable wave.

She looked smaller than I remembered. Frailer. The skin over her hands was translucent, revealing a map of blue veins, and her breathing was audible in the quiet room.

"Mom," I said softly, stepping into her line of sight.

She turned her head slowly. Her eyes, usually a piercing gray, were clouded, but as they landed on me, a spark of herself returned. Then, her gaze shifted past me, locking onto Florian.

I stepped aside, bringing him forward, my hand resting protectively on his back. I could feel him vibrating with tension.