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22
3 March
Xavier Hall
Rowan looked up from the mat on the floor. He ran through his final stretch and then pushed into a sitting position and studied his mother. She was resplendent in a pantsuit, perfectly tailored to her body. Like she often was. Her dark skin was unlined despite her fifty years. He knew he had gotten his eyes from the duke, but every other feature came from his mother. Her sharp cheekbones and the hollows below, along with the shape of her mouth, a slightly larger bottom lip, and a straight nose were a mirror image of his own. He smiled at her automatically. Despite her plotting to get him here, he couldn’t help the outpouring of love he had for her. No one in his life would believe he was a mama’s boy, but he so totally was.
He made to stand, but she patted his head before she bent to kiss him. “Don’t get up.”
He was once again covered with the sweat of his rehab. The aches of his body ever present. There hadn’t been a day yet where he woke up and didn’t feel the loss of his mobility. His phone calls earlier had made him feel both better and worse. He missed his friends, his little community of footballers. He hoped he would be able to get over his jealousy of them soon, or he feared he would have to make new friends. But the wounds were raw and it remained painful to watch his team competing without him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I wanted to check on you.” The lilt of her accent washed over him and soothed his troubles, but it didn’t stop him from looking down at his withered legs.
Years of honing his body, and in mere weeks, his thick muscles had atrophied into skinny pegs. The scar on his left leg creeped him out. But all things considered, he was in better spirits than he’d been in last week, so progress.
“I’m …” He started to say good, but that wasn’t really true so he settled. “Better.”
She gave him another loving pat on his head, and he bristled, ducking.
She laughed lightly.
“And when do I get to meet Juliana?”
Just like that, Rowan pictured Juliana’s mouth on him and his fingers inside of her. Fucking Pavlov. She hadn’t been by today, and he wondered what she was thinking about their encounter. There had been one point when she looked up at him, and her eyes glittered with unleashed power. It was a look he was familiar with. A sexual game face. And he had been intrigued. Yet her absence today made him wonder if she was avoiding him.
His mother didn’t do formal events, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet Juliana. And he was thankful for it. He would have preferred an impersonal tête-à-tête in the middle of a swirling party rather than a one-on-one sit-down. He didn’t know what scared him more. His mother loving Juliana or hating her. Hell, his own feelings were quite contradictory. There was so much about her he didn’t like, but there was a lot he did.
“We’ll have to work something out.”
“Make sure you do.”
“I will.”
“She’s quite lovely, the princess.”
For some reason, her calling Juliana the princess bothered him. Maybe because he knew it was her position that had forced him to turn to her. For someone who’d fought against his own legacy, he found it ironic he had to depend on someone because of theirs. Over the summer, he’d been assured she relished her title and her life. He didn’t think she didn’t like it now, but he was positive it didn’t mean as much to her as he’d once thought. But her family, he knew she’d go to any lengths for them. He admired that about her.
“She is. Some might argue she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world.”
“Oh, yes,” his mother said with a gleam in her eye, “some might.” She paused, and he knew she had something to add. “A little young for you perhaps?”
He smiled tightly. “Everyone else was too old,” he reminded her.
He found himself thinking about it though. He’d operated under this founding principle about older women being more mature, probably from his experience with Meena. It seemed less drama. Yet it hadn’t always worked out that way. And his mother had always had a comment.
He rolled over and gingerly got to his feet. He grabbed for his crutches and swung though the kitchen for some water. He was getting quite adept at getting around. He felt his mom tracking him, and when he dropped into a chair, he studied her right back. She looked a little stressed.
“You’re all sweaty,” she admonished as she watched him get comfortable.
She left the drawing room and reappeared a moment later with a towel. Rolling his eyes, Rowan stood and let her put a towel on the leather chair. He situated himself and waited for her to speak. There was obviously more on her mind than she was letting on.
She reached up and turned the earring in her ear. “Did you speak with the orthopedic surgeon today?”
Ah, he should have known. “I did. As you already know.”
She shrugged. “What did he say?”
“The MRI confirmed what he’d thought. An ACL and MCL tear. We have scheduled surgery.”
“I knew he feared that would be the case, but I was hoping it wasn’t.”
“Me too.”
“And nerve damage?”
“We won’t know for a while. It could take months for me to regain the feeling, or I could never.”
She deflated. “I wanted better news.” She looked away from him. “I imagine you’ll be leaving here.”
“Yes.”
“Who will take care of you?”
