Chapter 6: Hard Decision
1154 Words
I felt frustrated by his insistence instead of relief. “Why do you care?” I asked, my brown eyes searching his steel-blue ones. “You are Richard Jones; you have a merger, an engagement, a life of affluence, while I’m a scandal waiting to happen, don’t you get? We don’t belong to the same circle.”
"You know what? I actually care Oma, because for the first time in twenty-eight years, I met someone who looked at me and didn't see a bank account," Richard said. "And because I don't believe in coincidences. I think I found you again for a reason."
I was deeply touched by this gesture within me but I still tried to put up a fight because of shame, a sob escaped my throat as I reflected again on what my life has become.
My father threw me out Richard; he said I was a disgrace. I came here to start over, to cut off from everyone, begin anew and struggle for survival, to be a lawyer like you, but... I’m just a girl in a basement now.
Richard reached out, and this time, he didn't hesitate. He took my hand in his with a warm skin and a steady grip. "You are not a disgrace, you are definitely not going back to the basement and as for being a lawyer – it’s possible if you mean to." He stated.
An hour later, Richard was signing the discharge papers. He had already made a call to his close friend Ned.
"Ned, have the guest suite at my penthouse prepared. Fresh linens, high-protein groceries, and get a stylist to drop off some comfortable clothes; simple, soft clothes and nothing corporate." He demanded.
"Richie," Ned said, leaning against the hospital’s granite pillar. "You need to think seriously about this, Nora is already suspicious and your father is monitoring your every move. Bringing a pregnant waitress into your home is like throwing a grenade into a glass house, the result will not be pleasant for either party."
Richard turned to his friend, his jaw set in the "pointed jawline" the tabloids loved to photograph. "Then let the glass break, Ned. I’ve spent my life being the perfect son and I’m done. She’s alone, she’s carrying a child, and she’s the only person who has made me feel alive in a decade. I’m not letting her go."
As Richard walked back to Oma’s hospital room to help her into the wheelchair, he felt a strange sense of peace. He knew the war was coming, that Nora and his father would do anything and everything to destroy him. But as he looked at Oma’s fragile but fierce figure, a weak girl who had fought to survive a new city on her own, he realized she was the strongest person he had ever met.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
I looked at him, my heart fluttering with a mix feeling of fear and hope. “Where are we going?” I whispered.
"Home," Richard said.
He didn't say my home. He said home. And as he wheeled me out toward the waiting car, I felt the first true warmth of a Californian summer.
The drive to Richard’s estate was spent in a comfortable, albeit silence. I watched the city skyscrapers melt into the lush, rolling greenery of the suburbs.
When the massive wrought iron gates swung open to reveal a winding drive way lined with ancient oaks, I felt a familiar pang of intimidation because the environment in front of me represented the world I had spent some time serving from the outside.
As the car pulled up to the front of the limestone manor, Richard climbed out and hurried to the side where I was, to open the door for me before the driver could even switch off the engine.
When the private elevator chimed and the doors opened directly into the living room, I froze. I felt so small, my thrift-store sneakers leaving faint marks on the polished white floors.
“Welcome home Oma,” he said softly.
“This is too much,” I whispered, my voice reverberating in the vast space.
Richard noticing my reaction said "It’s just a house, Oma,” and stepping behind me, he gently took the small backpack that contained all my worldly possessions. He put it aside and held my hand, his thumb grazing my knuckles “And for now” he continued, “it’s your safe space; no one comes in here without my permission. Not the press, not my parents, and certainly not your 'friends' from Oakhaven."
He led me to the guest suite on the second floor that overlooked the gardens. It was a room draped in shades of soft cream and sage green; calming, grounded and expensive with a large family-sized bed and floor-to-ceiling windows. On the center of the bed was a small beautifully wrapped box as well as a row of high-end prenatal vitamins, organic skincare products, and a stack of new, soft cashmere loungewear neatly arranged on the bedside table.
“What are all these?” I asked sounding overwhelmed with what I saw.
"I asked Ned to handle a few basics," Richard said, looking slightly awkward. "I didn't know your size, so he guessed; I hope you don’t mind. And the small box, you can open it”
The small box contained a pair of hand-knitted wool baby booties and a key. I looked at him as I realized the content without saying a word.
Richard hurried to explain. “The booties are because I passed a shop near the hospital while you were sleeping; I saw it and figured that you may need it. And the key is to the terrace. I know you would love the fresh air. I want you to know that you are not a prisoner here, you are the mistress of this house.”
I turned to him, my eyes glassy. Why are you doing this, Richard? You barely know me. In your world, people don't do things for free. What’s the catch?.
Richard walked toward me, stopping just a foot away. The "Ice Prince" persona had completely liquefied and was replaced by something raw and searching.
"The catch is that I’m selfish, Oma. My life has been a series of choreographed moves. Corporate meetings, mergers, closing contract deals, Nora, and the likes… it’s all fake. But with you, the world feels real. I’m not protecting you because I am obliged to do so. Instead, I am doing it because, for the first time, I want to."
I felt a flutter in my chest, not the baby, but a spark of something I hadn’t felt in a long time, it was hope that after all there may be light at the end of the tunnel.
“Thank you Richard” I said.
“For what?” he asked and kissed my forehead.
- Writer
