Page 10 of Broken Desires
Ethan whistles, Cole being volatile again seems to surprise him. I’m not sure why though—it seems to be a constant with Cole as far as Eva is concerned.
“Okay, Mr. Romance Psycho, I’ll make her buy the most expensive thing there is and have her pick shoes to go with it.”
Cole nods, a hint of approval in his expression, his beast calming down. “And get the dress in red; it really suits her,” he says before disappearing into his room, leaving Ethan and me in a moment of silence.
I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing into the kitchen. Ethan looks up, spotting me leaning against the doorframe. “Now I need to find someone for Morticia.”
“Don’t…” I sigh. “She’s a pretty thing; it shouldn’t be that hard,” I remark, a playful tone in my voice, and yet I can’t help but feel a hint of jealousy at the idea of one of the idiot players taking her to the party. She’ll get bored with them, they would not know how to handle her.
“She’s dangerous,” Ethan counters.
Yes, she is—in ways you will never comprehend.
“Like a slow loris?” I ask, one eyebrow raised in amusement to deflect.
“A what?”
“You know, slow loris,” I explain. “Those little guys are about the size of a teddy bear and look like a miniature Ewok, but they’re venomous. They bite when threatened, and their bites carry a deadly, fast-acting poison.”
“Yeah, something like that,” Ethan muses. He looks at me, puzzled. “How do you even know this kind of stuff?”
I pause for a moment, realizing that I can’t pass my chance this time. My mother always said when something is supposed to happen it would not pass you by. “I’ll be her date.”
Ethan’s mouth hangs open, clearly stunned. It’s no secret that I don’t date students, a rule I’ve made abundantly clear to everyone, but I don’t feel like explaining. I can’t explain because I’m not even sure myself. This pull is all but rational.
“You don’t have to,” he finally manages to say.
“I know,” I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting in a secretive, almost mischievous smile. With that, I retreat back to my room, leaving Ethan to process this unexpected turn of events.
I know perfectly well this is stupid; there’s no denying it, and yet I can’t help but feel a thrill at breaking my own rules for once, at not being the “perfect” son. I can understand now why my little brother is addicted to chaos. It’s far more exhilarating.
The phone’s ring slices through the silence of my room, the word “Family” glaring up at me from the screen. Drawing a deep breath, I answer, bracing myself.
“Hello?”
“Son, how are you?” It’s my mother’s voice, unusually direct, bypassing the usual formalities of her secretary.
I frown, a mix of surprise and suspicion stirring inside me. “Mother? Is everything alright?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” Her tone is brisk, almost dismissive.
“I—you rarely call.” My words hang in the air, a reminder of the distance that’s grown between us, filled more with duty than affection.
“Well, I don’t have much time. I’m sorry.” Her apology sounds hollow, a perfunctory nod to maternal duty.
Aren’t we all? “What can I do for you?”
“As you know, there will be the jubilee soon, and we were wondering if you would be in attendance or if you are still planning to play commoner.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the weight of her words—resisting the urge to remind her that, technically, she is a commoner. “I still have until June, Mother. It’s what was agreed, and I highly doubt I’ll make it to the jubilee.” I try to keep my voice calm, but there’s an underlying current of frustration, a silent scream against the golden cage I’ve been living in.
“I see…” She sighs heavily, and I can almost see her, poised and elegant yet laden with unspoken demands.
“It’s an annual event, Mother, and this would be my first miss. It’s not the end of the world.” My attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, swallowed by the gulf between expectation and reality.
“No, I suppose it isn’t, but your presence would be nice.” There’s a softness in her voice now, a rare glimpse of the maternal affection buried beneath layers of aristocratic duty.
“You have Henrick and Annika. It’s fine.”