Page 110 of Darling
He gives me a soft smile. “4pm. But you don’t have to be nervous, darling. I promise you. They’re lovely, and even if they don’t like you, they’ll be very polite about it.”
“Well, that helps. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He brings his cup of tea over and sits next to me at the table, reaching out to take my hand. His are still cold, but I don’t mind it. “We’ve spoken to them on video calls, you know what they’re about. What are you scared of?”
I can’t answer that because I don’t know. Rejection, again. I don’t want to think about my own parents, but it’s impossible not to. Impossible, too, not to think of the day I went back to Logan, Christian by my side, to tell them I was getting married. I thought, hoped, that my mother might have missed me, might have worried about me. I didn’t expect much from my father since he was barely ever that present with us anyway, always more interested in being Jeremiah’s faithful servant than in being a father or a husband. My mom had been the one at home, making sure we said our devotions before bed, making sure we were clean and our clothes were pressed for church, looking after us when we were ill with soup and prayers.
I thought there might have been some innate part of her that couldn’t help but love and miss me, but the day we’d gone back to Logan and I’d announced myself at the house, asking to see Lynne Lisowski—Christian standing tall and handsome and steady right next to me—it had been Jeremiah who’d come to greet me instead.
“Thomas, my child, how blessed it is to see you. He still spoke in that same righteous tone, and it sent a chill down my spine, freezing me in place. Turning to level a long, considering look at Christian, he said, “And who might this be you’ve brought to us?”
“Christian,” Christian said in a deep, authoritative voice.He’d reached out a hand. “Christian Darling, I’m a… friend of Asher’s. Thomas’s.” We’d discussed in the car that I’d wait until I saw my mother to announce who he was. Now I hated how the word ‘friend’ sounded on his tongue.
“He’s my fiancé,” I’d said. “Where’s my mom, Jeremiah? I asked to see her.”
“You did, Thomas, you did,” he said easily, eyes lingering with sinister interest on Christian. He dragged them back to me. “Lynne asked that I come in her place, and I’m glad that I did. Won’t you come and sit?” He gestured toward the main reception room of the old house, which, from what I could tell, looked exactly like it did the day I last stood in it. “I can have some refreshments brought out, some tea. Was your journey out here long?”
“I don’t want fucking tea,” I hissed, emotion swelling in my chest. I had felt Christian tense beside me. “I want to see my mom. Let her see me.”
Jeremiah’s face melted into something so gentle, so harmless, that it almost took my breath away. He tutted. “My doubting Thomas, you think I’d prevent her from coming out here to see you? Surely you’re living proof that messengers come and go as they please here.” He cut a glance at Christian, conspiratorial, mouth quirked in amusement. He looked back at me. “I can’t force anyone to do anything they don’t wish to do; you’re proof of that.”
I swallowed. She didn’t want to see me. I knew he could lie and lie well, but the pain in my chest told me he wasn’t lying about this. I wouldn’t cry here, not in front of him. Never again.
“What sort of place do you run here, Mr Simmons?” Christian asked. I glanced behind Jeremiah, wondering if I could make a run for it. Through the house to the kitchen and out into the complex proper. She’d be in the schoolroom at thistime, or maybe the lunch hall. She’d have to see me then, have to say something.
“A place of God, Mr Darling. A place of worship.”
“But not of acceptance,” Christian replied. “Or of love.”
Jeremiah inclined his head. “We accept those who accept the word of the Lord, sir. And the Lord loves those who accept his love.” Here, he looked at me. “And even those who don’t. The Lord loves even those who turn their back on him and choose a path of sin.”
“Tell my mother I’m getting married,” I announce angrily as I take Christian’s hand in mine. “Tell her I’m loved, and I’m safe, and I’m happy. Tell her I love her, even if she… she can’t love me back.” I turn my back on him for the last time. I’ll never come here again. It was done.
“Thomas,” Jeremiah called out when we were almost at the door. I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
“You’re not my Lord or my God, Jeremiah,” I said, and left.
I shake the memory from my head, swallowing. “I’m not scared… not of your parents… I just…” I look down into my coffee cup.
“Nothing willeverchange how I feel about you, Asher,” Christian says. “Not my parents, or your parents, or anything else. I love you, and I happen to think my parents will love you, too.”
I squeeze his hand. “I love you, too.”
??
“Oh my god,” Amata says when I turn around. “That is… fucking hell, Aksel,you are good.” Her eyes are wide, her mouth morphed into the biggest smile. Then it drops. “Wait, Christianis literally going to have another heart attack when he sees you in that. Should we… fuck, I don’t know if maybe you should wear something else.”
Aksel is fussing with the hem of the jacket, pinning something, I think. Then he goes to his knees and does the same with the hem of the pants. “What shoes were you wearing at the last fitting? Have you gotten taller?”
“I was barefoot. You told me I needed to be.”
“Hmm,” he grumps.
“Ash, babe, it’s fucking magical.” Amata gets up from the bed and comes toward me. “Even I want to fuck you in this.”
“Well, that’s what I was going for.” I look down at Aksel. “Can I look yet?”
“Un instant,” he says. I’m itching to see it. I hadn’t seen it since I’d picked out the lace, before that it had been in some cheap working fabric Aksel had used to get the style and cut how I wanted it, then he’d remade it in silk and lace. Six months ago, I’d done the briefest of sketches and sent it to him by text, asking if he could make it for me for my wedding, and he’d agreed.