AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I've never had any luck trying to look like that. But today, I need to channel my inner crown prince and become as strong and impenetrable as my mother. I don't mean that she's cold and heartless. She knows how to school her expressions and her demeanor, that's all. I'm ruddy awful at that.
Clasping Sam's hand, I guide her away from the door and wave for Mum to follow us. We move into the living room.
The Lockharts grab their coats and hats and walk out the front door. A moment later, I hear two car engines growl to life. Soon, the noise fades into the distance.
Mum looks at me, then at Sam. She stares at my girlfriend for so long that I'm about to speak up about how rude she's being to Sam. But then Mum whirls on her heels, marches to the front door, and swings it open. She shouts, "Brakefield, get in here. You'll freeze to death out there, you daft fool."
Sam glances at me, her brows raised. She mouths, "Brakefield?"
I lean in to whisper in her ear, "My mother's favorite bodyguard. He goes everywhere with her."
She makes an "O" with her lips and nods.
Mum's right-hand man strides into the house and takes up a position near the kitchen island. The man stands straight and tall, his hands clasped behind his back, and surveys the surroundings without expression.
I'm used to my mother's bodyguards, but Sam seems a bit confused. Before Brakefield, there was Pendergast. Before him, it had been Standish. All of those blokes reminded me of the robot in that old science fiction movieThe Day the Earth Stood Still. They stand in one place and don't move unless their mistress commands it. They have no expression, and none of them ever spoke to me. When I was a boy, I'd been unsettled by Mum's bodyguards. I'd also wondered why she needed them. No one has ever threatened her life.
Eventually, I realized she uses her bodyguards more like a butler or a chauffeur. I don't think they even carry guns. Wouldn't real bodyguards do that? Not sure. I think Mum calls those gents bodyguards just for show. I've never asked her about that, though.
My mother walks over to the nearest armchair and settles onto it. She folds her hands on her lap, gazing directly at me.
Sam and I sit down on the sofa, side by side.
And Mum's gaze tracks my every movement.
I always start to feel itchy whenever she watches me like that. It means my mother is upset with me, though she will never admit to that. I hold Sam's hand, which makes Mum pucker her lips the faintest bit.
"Who is this girl?" Mum asks. "You never mentioned were dating anyone, and now this child claims to love you."
"I love her too, Mum. This is Samantha Lockhart, and we've been, ah, sort of dating."
"Sort of dating?" She narrows her gaze on me. "If you love her, shouldn't you be formally dating, not 'sort of'?"
Does anyone formally date? That sounds like something that involves chaperons and rules of etiquette. Not that the women Mum threw at me cared about any of that. The last one seemed on the verge of tearing my clothes off just to prove she can satisfy me.
Sam satisfies me in every way, not just with sex.
Mum puckers her lips again. "How long have you known this child?"
"Come off it, Mum. You know bloody well Sam is not a child, and neither am I. We're adults who can make our own decisions." I wrap both hands around Sam's. "We met about a week ago. And before you start telling me how disappointed you are in me, at least get to know Sam. She's a lovely person."
"The girl is American. Couldn't you at least have a fling with a British girl? That's almost Mithorian."
"Sam is not a fling. I am in love with her, Mum. Were you not listening when I said that before?"
"I heard you quite well, Bennett." Mum relaxes her lips, reasserting her cool, calm demeanor. "The jet is waiting for us at the airport. Say goodbye to your bit of skirt and retrieve your luggage. We're going home."
"No."
She jerks backward just a little, her chin tucked. "I must have misheard you. My son would never speak to me that way."
"What way? Oh, you mean the way where I say no instead of tucking my tail between my legs and obeying your commands." I sling an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling her close. "And she is not a 'bit of skirt.' I've told you I'm in love with her and I'm not leaving, so stop trying to bully me, Mum."
"Bully?" She freezes, her expression going blank.
I have never seen my mother like that. I think she might be…speechless. Maybe that's because I've refused to do what she wants, or maybe it's because I used the word bully. I didn't mean to upset her, but it's time she understood exactly how much I don't want to become the Prince of Mithoria. Not that I have a choice.
Do I?
