His To Love Part 5

"Mom..."

"You're getting older, and mostly because of your father's mistakes with you, which I allowed for too long...you haven't forged any close relationships. But I need you to consider this favor he's asking of you."

"Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like it?"

"Malik Rilotti is a good man. Older, but a kind man, and he's fair. He could be good to you."

"W-what?" Unease rolled through me and I stuttered before clamping my mouth shut. I took a quick mental check to see if I just missed vital parts of a conversation. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"That you marry the man who will someday succeed your father? The man who can provide for you, give you everything you need, and give you a family so you're not without one after I'm gone? Yes...I am."

Wow. I wiped my mouth with my fingertips and leaned back in the chair next to her bed. "You're manipulating me with this?"

"I don't want you to be alone." My mind flashed to a picture of Tyson in my head. It wasn't Technicolor or grainy pixels, either. He appeared in my mind's eye in high-definition, in my memory the way he was at my kitchen table that morning. I blinked it away.

"I won't be," I a.s.sured her. "But you can't mean this."

Her cool hand wrapped around mine and she squeezed. Her grip was no longer as strong as it used to be. "I want you to consider it. Consider the benefits and security, that's all I ask. For me."

I couldn't argue with her. Not when she was practically dying in front of me and I knew she wanted this for me.

It didn't mean I would go along with it by any means, but for her peace of mind, which was more important than the tumultuous emotions tightening in my stomach, I agreed.

"Thank you," she murmured, and her eyes closed. It was only moments before she fell asleep with her lips lightly parted while her chest rose and dipped slowly.

Chapter 4.

My feet trudged slowly down the large staircase after I left my mom's room. There wasn't a whole lot that had changed in this house over the years. The same photographs still lined the hallway walls, although there were a few additions. Some of the decorating had been updated, old couches replaced with new leather sectionals, artwork swapped out to change the feel of the sitting room, but other than that, most things remained the same.

If I closed my eyes, I imagined I would feel exactly like I did when I was a teenager. Trapped in a castle of a house that wasn't much of a home, and worrying about my mom.

"There she is. The princess has returned home."

I looked up and immediately smiled when I saw the elderly man at the bottom of the stairs. Claude had been my family's butler and driver for as long as I could remember. He was probably around before I was born. Looking at him waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, I picked up my speed. I skipped down the remaining steps until his fragile, older arms surrounded me.

His embrace wasn't as tight as it used to be and his skin was speckled with age spots. His bright white hair that used to be full and thick was now just a band that stretched from one ear around the back of his head to the other.

But his smile was still just as kind as his hug.

"It's good to see you, Claude," I whispered into his chest. He seemed to have shrunken in the last few years. Or maybe I had grown. It could be the three-inch heels I wore that made me tower over him.

"My bella, Gabriella."

I pulled back from Claude's arms and turned around, only to be quickly wrapped in thick arms that had held me more often than my own parents' had.

"Clarissa," I whispered and squeezed her tight. She was rounder than I remembered and her hair slightly grayer, but her arms were just as strong as she rocked us back and forth so quickly my heels slid on the tiled floor. "So good to see you."

"You are too grown up," she said with a wide smile and a thick Italian accent when she stepped away. "You are still little to me."

I swiped away tears that sprung in my eyes. My nanny and family chef had always been so good to me. Sneaking me cookies and cupcakes when I was supposed to live on a diet of vegetables and fruit. She tucked me in, sang me songs, and prayed with me when my parents were at one gala or fund-raiser or another. For the longest time, Clarissa was my best friend, despite the fact that she was old enough to be my grandmother. The woman was old and cranky and one of the few people who could talk back to my father. I grew up constantly listening to them bicker about small things, even if it was just the dinner meal. No one else had the b.a.l.l.s to do anything that Jimmy Galecki hadn't commanded besides her. I had always admired her for it, and seeing the fire in her eyes now, I knew that nothing had changed.

I kissed her on each of her cheeks once and smiled fondly. "I've missed you, Clarissa. So much."

She reached out and squeezed both of my hands inside hers. "We have all missed you. The house is thrilled you're home."

Based on my interaction with my father this morning, I doubted everyone was thrilled to see me. I flashed an indulgent smile anyway.

I loved her. She always saw the best in people, always wanted the best for me, even when it went against my parents' wishes. She even kept my relationship with Tyson a secret, and I never once suspected she was the one who told my dad. She wouldn't have broken my heart like that.

She grabbed my hand and began pulling me toward the kitchen. "Come with me, bella. I want to hear all about Colorado, how you've been doing, and if you're good, I might sneak you dessert while I finish up preparing lunch."

Eating desserts and getting to talk to Clarissa? I couldn't think of anything I would rather do. She had an uncanny ability to put everything into perspective, and given that she was one of the only people who I could speak to about Tyson a decade ago, I a.s.sumed not much had changed on that front either.

"Do you have chocolate?" I asked, feeling a skip in my step that I hadn't felt in years.

"Humph. Do I have chocolate?" She shot me a look and continued pulling me forward.

I grinned at her back. I should have known better than to ask the question. When it came to Clarissa, chocolate was always available.

- "Thank you for lunch, Clarissa." My father paused to wipe the edges of his lips with a cloth napkin. "It was delicious as always."

"My pleasure, sir. We're all so glad Gabriella is home."

"Thank you, Clarissa," I told her and turned to my father as he cleared his throat.

Setting down his white napkin, he dipped his chin in Clarissa's direction as she began clearing the table. Then he stood from his chair, and his serious gaze landed on me. "We should talk in my study."

Personally, I preferred to put off this conversation for a while. Like...forever.

Unfortunately, being in my old home was like switching on my obedience, and I felt myself nodding in agreement as I pushed away from the table as well.

I followed him to his study, a room that was lined with shelves filled with magnificent books I knew he never read. As a child with a thirst for knowledge, as well as cla.s.sical romance, I spent hours in this room, sneaking books off the shelves, only to sneak them back before he noticed them missing. He may not have read the books, but he had an impeccable eye and a sixth sense for anything out of place. I learned to read quickly.

I scanned his study, noting that nothing had changed in my absence except for the addition of a few baubles that held significant shelf s.p.a.ce. Considering my family has had union leaders and the automobile industry in their back pocket for generations, they were most likely gifts from politicians and business owners.

"How is Mom really doing?" I asked, hating the way my words tripped in my throat. I slid into a chair opposite my father at his desk and clasped my hands together.

"Dying," my father stated. My head jerked back and my jaw dropped. He shrugged at my shock, blowing it off, but that was how he was. It wasn't that he was completely unaffected by her cancer. He just had always been a blunt man.

If nothing else good could be said about him, at least it could be said he always loved his wife. I witnessed their pa.s.sion for years, their undying love and loyalty to each other. He indulged her whims and her laughter when everyone else was kept at arm's length. Despite my own conflicting emotions about the man, their love still inspired me to find something like that of my own. Someone I couldn't bear to live without.

"When?" I asked, feeling my throat close and my hands grow clammy.

He looked past me, over my shoulder, and his light blue eyes went blank. "Tomorrow, next week, a month from now. I have no idea, nor do the doctors."

"I'm sorry."

He blinked and licked his lips quickly. "It just means that when she pa.s.ses, I too will step down from the organization. Not because of that, but because it is time. The organization needs a new leader, one with fresh eyes. In order to do so though, I need to ensure that my family is secure and that things will remain unchanged. This is where you come in."

My spine straightened. I wasn't unaffected by the strength in his voice or his commands as his eyes met mine directly.

I already expected this. It had been impossible to forget after the brief conversation upstairs. Still, a part of me was stunned. I had never imagined my father willingly stepping away from being the head of the Detroit crime family. I figured he would either be incarcerated or dead long before he'd consider walking away.

I pushed that thought away and focused on my father's penetrating gaze.

"Malik Rilotti," I stated and watched his head jerk slightly in surprise. I grinned wryly. "Mom mentioned him."

"He's a good man."

"He's old and I don't know him." My fingers pressed into my palms until I felt the slight sting from my anger.

"He will take my place, and it makes sense that my successor is married to my heir."

"And yet you were allowed to marry for love and would withhold that from me." Again, I didn't say.

It wasn't my fault I fell in love with a cop's son when I was just a teenager.

Just like it wasn't my father's fault he fell in love with the daughter of a hippie goat farmer.

My father's hands pressed into the wood desk and his chin dipped, he narrowed blue eyes that looked like mine but were cold. His annoyance rolled off him until I had to force myself not to collapse under the pressure of his weighted stare. Unfortunately for him, being without him for ten years had made me less likely to bow to his wishes at the snap of his fingers.

"He's a good man, and your mother wants you to find someone."

"Yes." I nodded. "She's already given me the guilt-inducing, manipulative spiel upstairs."

"So you know why this is important to her."

Not to him. Because I was just a girl and I didn't matter. Not like a son would have. I brushed off the pain that followed that depressing and martyr-like thought.

d.a.m.n him. And her. And this whole family. I was still the little girl who craved her father's approval.

"When do I meet him?"

His head c.o.c.ked to the side. "I expected more of a fight from you."

"And this disappoints you?"

"Makes me curious," he admitted, "but pleased nonetheless. He's gone for the weekend, but I've given him your number, and he'll contact you when he's in town next week."

I rose from the chair, hoping I appeared more aloof and confident than I felt on my trembling ankles. "I told Mom I'd consider this, consider him. But this doesn't mean I'll go through with it."

He nodded once before I turned away from him. "Understood. Oh, and one more thing before you go."

"What?"

He opened a drawer in his desk and placed a set of keys on top of the desk before closing the drawer. I recognized them immediately. They were my old keys to the house and the Audi he'd bought me when I turned eighteen. It was ten years old, but I didn't care.

"Your mother insisted I keep the car. Claude has made sure it's been kept in good condition."

I swooped up the keys. "Thank you."

I needed air and freedom.

I needed someone who let me be myself without the pretense.

d.a.m.n the c.o.c.ky a.s.shole who made me laugh so hard last night that the sides of my stomach still hurt.

Because it was Tyson I thought about as I left my parents' mansion. Tyson I thought about as I put my old car into drive and pulled out of the long and winding private driveway.

And it was still Tyson I thought about when I got back to my hotel room, climbed into bed, and grabbed the pillow next to me, inhaling his scent which still clung to the sheets and pillowcase.

- Waking up after a restless nap, I groaned as I rolled over. Immediately I was. .h.i.t with the scent of Tyson still on the pillow next to me. It might have made me a freak, but I still pulled it closer, wrapping my arms underneath and pressing it tight to my cheek.

Tyson Blackwell.

Was it really just yesterday that I ran into him? Was it really just this morning when I woke up next to him? Even if nothing happened last night, and I believed him when he said it didn't, I couldn't help but feel the small sting of disappointment in my chest that I was waking up alone, still thinking about him.

I groaned again and stretched before getting out of bed. My stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten anything besides Clarissa's lunch. As my stomach rumbled again, I made a quick stop in the bathroom and refreshed my hair and made sure my clothes weren't too disheveled. Then I grabbed my purse and headed down to the hotel's bar.

What I really wanted was something more than just food in my stomach. I needed something stronger to take away the pain of seeing my father again.

I wished I could hate the man, but as hard as I tried, those emotions never came. He was evil and did despicable things for a living, but he was still my dad. My flesh and blood, and if nothing else had been drilled into me my entire life, it was that Galeckis were loyal to their family.

It was the only reason why I agreed to meet with Malik. To not consider my parents' proposal would cause more trouble than it was worth. While just the thought of going through with it, of being with a man fifteen years older than me simply because my dad wanted me to, made a vile taste rise in my throat, I figured one date, maybe two, would appease both of my parents enough. I could at least say I had tried.

"Tequila and a menu," I told the bartender when I walked up to the bar and slid into a seat. The room was close to empty. It was the tail end of dinner time, yet too early to really start drinking. At least for most people.

While the bartender went to get me a menu, I tried to stop my eyes from roaming the restaurant area, but like a beacon, I homed in on the far corner booth where Tyson and I had sat last night. Memories of the way his eyes seemed to sparkle when he laughed, or the way his perfect smile and perfect face stayed glued to me all night long a.s.saulted me.

As if I was important to him.

It was a foolish thought, one I quickly banished when the bartender placed that tequila shot in front of me. I chose to forgo the salt and the lime and tossed the alcohol down my throat, only cringing slightly.

"Another please," I said, and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. It was an uncla.s.sy move, but I didn't care. I just wanted to forget about what my life had become. "And water."

"You okay?" the guy asked me, and leaned his elbows onto the top of the glistening marble bar.

I met his eyes and nodded. "You bet."

His eyebrows rose and his eyes scanned my face, completely ferreting out my lie in a matter of seconds. He was young, probably my age, and his long blond hair made him seem more like a surfer than a bartender. Dressed in all black with a long-sleeved dress shirt and dress pants, he was cute.

Not as cute as Tyson, though.