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I sit on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around the boy who breathes evenly against my chest, staring into the distance but squeezing me hard whenever I make a move to get up. Besides hugging, the only thing he allowed me to do was change his clothes to clean ones and tend to his bruises.
Locking him in my embrace, I try to control the anger spiraling inside me at the reminder of his awful parents who were ready to sell him in order to pay their debts. And as much as the guy disgusted me…his mother disgusted me way more, and I wish I punched her before leaving.
How can you act this way when your child is being hurt? Is this what Octavius had to go through all these years?
He never shared any details. I made assumptions purely on all the rumors floating around over the years regarding them since their custody battle lasted months. She got a billion from him and, in exchange, signed off all her rights to her daughter.
“Shhh, little one,” I whisper, and he calms a little bit when Antonio enters the living room, holding a silver tray with two steaming cups and some cookies. “Everything is okay.” He lies still, although I feel wetness on my shirt, and my own tears form in my eyes when I think about how scared he must have been.
How isolated and alone.
Without having the chance to scream for help.
My precious baby boy, we’ve spent months together, so his pain hurts me on some deeper level, which just shows my attachment to him.
“The cook baked his signature chocolate chip cookies. He says it cures all the worries with jasmine tea,” Antonio says, placing the tray on a nearby table. Antonio catches the kid’s eyes and he lifts his head. “Would you like to try it?” He hugs me again after shooting a glance Florian’s way, who lounges on the opposite couch, scrolling through his phone. He studied him a lot on the way here and even when we got inside the house, although he never displayed any sign of fear in his presence. “Mr. Price¸ would you like something to drink?”
Florian waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, and Antonio rolls his lips, sighing and giving me one last glance as he leaves the room. “You’re very rude to him.” I noticed it earlier as well when he brought us home. He never speaks a word to the butler, and his stare is deadly whenever it lands on the old guy. “He’s old enough to be your grandfather, you know.” I grew up where they taught us to respect the elderly, so his behavior is very off-putting.
He chuckles, meeting my eyes. “I don’t care. I have no respect for those who hurt the people I love.”
“Who did he hurt?”
“Octavius.”
“What do you mean?” And if that’s the case, why is he still working here?
“Ask your husband.” Judging by his tone, this conversation is over, and I intend to do that for sure. Whatever happened, the old guy clearly regrets it, but I guess Florian made up his mind and won’t change it. “You’re handling it well.” He cocks his head to the side as I continue to rub my hand down the kid’s back, soothing him. “Marriage to my best friend.” He grins. “It suits you.”
“Well, I’m doing the best I can in my current situation.”
He clicks his tongue. “So dramatic. It’s okay to admit you’re happy.”
Praying for the patience slowly slipping away in his company, because sometimes it feels as if he just constantly makes fun of me with his sarcastic replies, I say, “It’s hard to be happy when life keeps throwing you surprises every single day and with you-know-who hunting us.”
He shrugs. “We deal with all kinds of shit every day. You’ll get used to it.” He points at the boy. “Now this is unusual.” He goes back to scrolling through his phone while I think about all this.
I’m not sure what Octavius intends to do with these men, nor do I care. However, as funny and tragic as it is…my biggest worry is not about the fact that Octavius is probably murdering people somewhere right now.
It’s about the kid’s mother and how she can still legally take him away, or he’ll be thrown into the system. God only knows what hell awaits him in either of these scenario. This sense of hopelessness consumes me and I hate it.
The sweet boy who never speaks but looks at me with so much trust deserves better than being anyone’s punching bag or for someone picking on him.
“Isla.” Florian’s voice pulls me out of my depressing thoughts. “You’re a Reed now.”
“So?”
He gets up and goes to the bar, pouring himself a glass of water. “So you have power. And a husband who comes with some great friends.” I roll my eyes when he toasts me and takes a sip. “Whatever worries your mind, relax. Octavius will handle it.”
“How do you know I worry?”
“It’s written all over your face.”
“And you think it’s fixable?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
