Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (25 page)

“Do you think they’ll like it?” I smile as I walk down the hall.

My child is trying to emulate her “brothers”. No matter how many times I explain to the six-year-old, she refuses to say Whitt is her uncle.

“It’s perfect.” I croon and place a kiss to the top of her blonde head. I hover for a moment enjoying the feather-soft feel of her wispy hair against my lips and her little girl scent. She smells like strawberries. Her father said we had enough blonde, blue-eyed Whittenhowers. The genetic lottery gave us another miniature replica of Grant. It’s a shot to the heart every time I look at her angelic face- bittersweet. 

I pour a gigantic mug of coffee, and sit next to my daughter and her guest. Ade has kept her part of our bargain: I’ve had no contact with my son or his uncle and she brings us fresh information. She quietly tucks this week’s photographs into the album Ella decorated with the year in huge, glittery-pink numerals. I haven’t glanced at a single picture. Ella, however, is obsessed. She and Ade scour the pictures for similarities. The reason I don’t look is that I know Whitt looks just like Grant and I can’t do it. Adelaide always adds past pictures of Grant so that Ella will feel connected to him too. 

While they do their weekly ritual, I devour the comics and drawings that Ade delivers as well. I’d rather know them, hear their stories,
see their accomplishments. I don’t need to know what they look like; I’d recognize them out of a sea of billions.

While Ella knows everything about them- favorite foods, colors, friends, and school subjects, they don’t know she exists. Every week she makes her own version of comic book, scrawled words on her best coloring book pages. Ade tells the boys they have a fan. In a way they know her too. They exchange their art and Ade relays their tales.

“Niel looks different in this picture than the one from January,” Ade explains how he has grown stockier and his voice is deepening.

I know he’ll go through puberty early, just as I had. He’s almost eleven and won’t be a child for long. I haven’t seen him since he was a naughty four-year-old.

I rub the torturous ache in my chest. I have a hollow spot where my parents used to be and added to that emptiness is an agonizing pain that represents the four men I’ve given up for their sake’s: Roman: I don’t even know if he is still on this earth, but the pain isn’t hollow so I know he is still with us. Grant: he left this earthly plane, but his ache isn’t as hollowing as my parent’s. I’ve never truly accepted his absence; no matter what, I feel him with me. And my boys, my sunshine and my monkey: I can’t be with them because the alternative is my demise at the hands of the Whittenhower patriarch.

“Whitt has a new fascination with tattoos,” Ade says amused. “I think he started out to annoy Daddy, but he has a real talent for it. Of course, now Niel is begging for some ink.” Her throaty chuckle strengthens the ache in my chest.

“That boy is going to be trouble. Mommy and Daddy are planning his birthday party. You’d think he was a King or something.” She shakes her head in dismay and I know she isn’t exaggerating. A big party to Ade would have more than five-hundred honored guests. The first Daniel sees his grandson- the heir of the Whittenhowers- as a king. I’ve no doubt he is despicably indulged. I just hope it doesn’t ruin him.

“And what does Niel think of this affair?” The words flow from my lips unbidden.

Ade turns to me with huge, blue eyes- eyes the same as everyone in the family, except Niel and myself. They are the color of the Caribbean Sea. She gasps when I hold her gaze. I haven’t looked at her since my final moments at Whittenhower Estates, with the agony of her soul shining brightly from their depths; an agony I placed there. I never wanted to see their brilliance again unless it shined from Grant’s face.

She’s shocked for another reason: even though I’m starved for information, I’ve never once asked a single question about the boys. My addiction was fed when Ella was old enough for curiosity. I’ve always prayed she’d ask the questions I was dying to know. My six-year-old wouldn’t think to ask of indulgence.

“Is… is he… does he enjoy the attention?” My words stumble out because asking of him feels so foreign. I break my gaze from hers when it turns to pity. I stare into my coffee mug, tightening my fingers on the handle in a death-grip.

A gentle touch to my cheek brings my gaze back up to Ade. She smiles at me an
d tucks my hair behind my ear.

“No,” she says so softly I can barely hear her. I lean towards her. “I would have soaked the attention up like a sponge. But he’s patient and quiet while they dote on him. He reminds me a lot of you. He isn’t uncomfortable and he just rolls with it. But when he’s alone or with Whitt he turns into another person. He’s like,” she breaks off and turns her face from me.

“Who?” I breathe, leaning in closer. I have to know.

“Grant,” she says with a wince and a stab flares through my chest. “When he and Whitt are together he comes alive. They feed off of each other and become mischievous, snarky, and downright naughty. Even with the age-gap they’re the best of friends, either laughing and hugging or beating the crap out of each other. It’s amazing to watch if they’ll let you, but it hurts because they’re both very Grant-like.”

My eyes seek the solace of the oily surface of my coffee. I watch it swirl around trying to ignore the longing wracking my body. No matter how hard I try, I can see the pictures in my peripheral. I don’t want to caress the images, I want to touch their skin, smell their scent, and hear the timbre of their voices. I want to compare it to the scents, sounds, and sensations locked away in my memories. I want to know if they are Grant-like in every fashion. I’m starved.

I pull this week’s comic across the table and leaf through it. As soon as I’m done, Ade will put it in plastic sleeves so that Ella can read it all week without ruining its quality. It’s exceptional, but I wouldn’t expect less than perfect from Whitt. He’s a genius with art. Niel, gaining the talents of his father, is the storyteller. The two of them create masterpieces and I’m not saying that because I love them. I smile at the style of the artistry. When I was last with Whitt, he was infatuated with
Manga
and it is evident in his work. I wonder if he’s fluent in Japanese now.

I hand it over to Ade for safekeeping and look at my daughter’s artwork. I chuckle under my breath. She’s her mother’s daughter- not a lick of artistic talent; at least not with drawing or writing. It’s even bad for a six-year-old. Her written words are perfect, but the wording is clumsy and awkward. The princess is colored resembling a street-person. A laugh bubbles up my throat. 

“Have you put any more thought into
Our Lady of Mercy
?” I shake my head no. “Regina, you have to at least think about it. She isn’t getting the education she needs.”

I grip our company-logo mug harder. My blunt nails go to work etching off the paint.
Empowerment… powering your future.

“I need to find a better vendor. This one is shoddy. Promoting our business with shit is a bad practice.” I avoid her by changing the subject. Ella’s registered for second grade at the local public elementary school. It’s a fabulous school since we live in an affluent neighborhood. It’s nothing like the scary environment that I endured. I don’t want Ella to fall into the trap that the rest of her family is ensnared in. The only issue is that Ella isn’t flourishing. Her IQ was tested last week and it was over one-sixty-five. The faculty politely requested I move her to a school that would fit her needs. Adelaide, of course, wants her to go to the school she attended.

I work my nails until the mug screams out:
own your future
. I smile as I remove the letters that would have made it
men own your future
.

“Regina, foc
us!” Ade snaps. I blink at her.

If I’m not working or mothering, I have a propensity to leave reality. Reality sucks. But I’m always working- always mothering- always bombarded by reality.

“What?” I growl at her with no shame.

“When was the last time you took a break?” She asks in concern, already knowing the answer. I didn’t even take time off for Ella’s birth. We were in the middle of launching our business. I gave birth and convalesced with my laptop on my lap and Ella at my breast.

My eyes water remembering the last time I put pleasure above work. It was at Grant’s request and it was our last moments together.

“Excuse me; I have an eyelash in my eye.” I stride from the room knowing Ade saw through my lie.

I lean my forehead against the glass wall that overlooks the back-lawn and guesthouse. I try to ignore my reflection and focus on Kristal sucking down a cigarette while Fate’s thumbs tap away on her
Blackberry
. Kris sticks her tongue out at me, teasing, because I make her sit outside to smoke.

I roll my leaking eyes, twist around, and slide down the glass until I’m sitting on my heels. Sometimes that lawn isn’t big enough to distance me from my ladies. There are always too many eyes assessing my emotional climate. It’s a miracle if Ade goes home at the end of the night. Screaming would be an excellen
t release if I had the energy.

I close my ey
es for just a moment and sigh.

“I put Ella to bed. I need to talk to you about something, Regina. It’s important and you need it.” Ade’s voice breaks me from my meditation.

I straighten up and groan. Darkness has fallen. How long was I crouched by the window?

“I’ll enroll her for the fall semester. Never fear, Ade, both of my children will be properly indoctrinated into your culture of greed and indulgence.” My v
oice holds a hopeless quality.

“This said by the richest woman in the state and it’s a rich damned sta
te.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“I don’t keep my money, Ade. That’s the difference. I give more money away each year than your family’s net worth. But Ella is what she is, whether she goes to private or public school, it won’t change her personality. It will, however, change her intelligence level. I do agree with you. I worry though. The next step is Hillbrook and Niel will be a senior when she enrolls. We can’t do that to either of them.”  

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She pulls my hand and drags me to my bedroom. Her bony hand is surprisingly strong, as is her willowy frame.

Chapter Two

I shuffle to my room. It’s everything I could possible need or want and absolutely nothing more. I don’t believe in indulgence, but quality is a priority. Pale lavender walls bordered by smoky gray wainscoting showcase the floor-to-ceiling French doors that lead out to a private patio. The floors are white-washed hardwood, as is all the furnishings. I gaze longingly at my purple, plush bedding. We haven’t been acquainted in several days. The last sleep I had was almost an entire day ago. My body had demanded my brain to shut down and I’d awaken with my keyboard leaving an impression on my cheek.

“We need to talk,” Ade forcefully shoves me onto the bed and I groan with pleasure. My eyes instantly flutter shut. Bed equals sleepy-time- blissful reprieve from reality. 

“Obviously not tonight, I see. You need a break and I need help. It’s a mutually beneficial proposition. Tomorrow afternoon you and I have a date to talk. And don’t pull any
I have to work
bullshit. I’m starting to think you’re coding nukes in your spare time. The girls said you complete projects faster than you get clients and that you’re now doing their jobs. They’re bored. A bored Kristal and Fate equates trouble. You have to knock that shit out.”

“Yes, Mommy,” I tease and roll around in my blanket moaning. “It’s like a fucking cloud. And to think, I slept on a couch until ten years ago.”

I smile dreamily at her. I feel like an addict who just got a hit after weeks of withdrawal. I’ve lived on caffeine and no sleep for the past month. Yeah, I need a damned break.

“You’re incorrigible,” Ade says in an irritated voice, but her face shows how amusing I am.

I stretch out, flexing my arms over my head and she closes her eyes and turns away. I sigh- shit.

“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath. I crawl under the cloud and say
a silent thanks that I’m wearing yoga capris and a tank- no need for jammies. I should bathe, but sleep is more enticing.

I close my eyes and even my breathing, preparing for sleep. I feel a flutter to my lips and open to her. I started it with my stretching, and moaning and groaning. It’s my fault and it’s all I can give her.  

I allow her to kiss me softly. A moan flows from my mouth to Ade’s when the tip of her tongue seeks mine out. The kiss is warm, pleasant, and connecting, but not overtly sexual. At least it isn’t for me anyway. It’s pleasurable and I will take that where I can get it. She wants more than I can give, so I won’t allow it to go any farther than a kiss. I’m sure I would enjoy it, but her feelings don’t mesh with mine.

Her teeth nip my bottom lip and my legs scissor under the sheets. She takes my enthusiasm as invitation. Her fragile hand envelopes my breast through the thin barrier of my tank-top. We both whimper when her palm rubs a slow circle against my eager nipple. My sex pulses, and then
dampens my panties. It’s been heading on seven years since a hand touched my breast. Other than a few stolen kisses with Ade, I’ve been untouched.