Alpha Billionaire Series

CHARLES

“Pass the turkey, Charles.” Dad held his hand out, waiting for me to hand over the beloved main course. Thanksgiving with my family was never the same once I became an adult. It used to be this magical time when the entire extended family got together, and my cousins became my best friends for the week. We'd play board games and hang out, and when it was time to say goodbye, we'd all get moody and bicker, swearing we hated each other but deep down we just didn’t want to be separated again.

Now I was lucky if even one of my cousins came around. I could always count on Aunt Martha to show up. Her caramel cake with maple butter icing was my favorite, and she knew it. There was always a little plate with one slice saved back for me before anyone else got a chance to have their piece. And she'd make sure I knew right where she hid it so I could enjoy a slice with everyone else, then save that slice plated ahead of time for my midnight snack. “Charles, stop daydreaming and give your father the turkey before he has a heart attack.” Mom's nagging never helped. I sighed, picking up the plate and handing it over. It was just the three of us this year. Aunt Martha and Uncle John were getting too old to travel. My cousins were all married off, having dinners with their own families, and I was there alone with my parents, waiting on the uncomfortable discussions to start.

Mom tried to start in on me last night when I arrived, but I'd use the excuse of the long drive and being exhausted tc find my way to my old bedroom and crash. I stayed up well past midnight, I'd just been hiding so they didn’t bother me.

“Where is Willow?” Mom was direct as usual, not beating around the bush. She'd been too buried in the kitchen cooking and prepping the meal to badger me any sooner. I rolled my eyes at her, sighing. “Well, she’s your wife. Don" you think the press will wonder why she’s not with you on a national holiday?”

She had a point. It had been easy enough to explain her sudden departure. Peter lied to the press and told everyone that Willow was returning home to visit her family after a very long stressful year of campaigning. That, however, would only hold them off so long. I shrugged, not really knowing how to answer Mom. Dad handed the platter of turkey back to me and I set it on the table. Maybe not coming home to visit them at all would have been better than coming without Willow. I wasn't the expert, and Peter didn't really work for me anymore.

“Leave the boy alone, Chris. He's just had a hell of a year.” Dad raised his bite of food and plunged it in his mouth—a bit of turkey with a heap of mashed potatoes on it, topped with corn. The sight of it alone would have made Willow shudder. She was probably seated around her family table with a tofu turkey and Greek yogurt singing Kumbaya or something.

“Well, I just think it's proper that if he's going to play this game—"

“It's not a game, Mom. And it's over.” I pushed my mashed potatoes around on my plate. Telling my parents it was over with Willow the first time was hard enough. They lashed out about how awful she was and how she'd hurt me. I never told them that I had been the one to hurt her, and they blamed her. So, when I brought her back, my mom cautioned me strongly not to get hurt again. It had taken three days of intense conversation to convince her that the arrangement was just a contract, and I wasn't getting hurt.

If only I could convince myself of that now.

“What do you mean it's over?” Mom sat straighter, holding her spoon of mashed potatoes like a delicate flower. She looked like a wounded animal, her curly hair dangling in her eyes. “The contract is over now?”

I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. Dad didn’t say a thing. He probably knew better than to horn in on my love life. Last time had been disastrous. I ended up not talking to them for weeks. I wasn’t really wanting that to happen again, so I never told them when I started feeling things for her. Or when she left weeks ago.

“It's just over, Mom."

We ate in silence for a bit, the only sound in the room that of silverware scraping against China. I barely touched my food, my appetite gone. If I could have gotten up and left the room I would have, but they'd have just followed me. So, I made a mess of my plate, piling the corn on top of the potatoes, stirring it around and finally dropping my fork to the plate.

“Is the game on yet?” I turned to Dad, hoping for an out, but Mom frowned.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“You love her, Charles.” She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “I saw it. At every rally, at every event. When you showec me the pictures of that picnic, you glowed. She glowed. You shouldn't be here alone. You should be out finding her and bringing her home.”

“She doesn’t love me, Mom. She left because I hurt her. I hurt her last time; I hurt her this time. And she doesn’t wan to come back.” I stood, picking up my plate. “I'm going to watch the game.”

I left the room, carrying my plate to the kitchen where I cleaned the food off of it into the disposal and rinsed it. Mom followed me like I knew she would. She carried her own plate, setting it on the counter before pulling me in for a bear hug.

“Oh, Charles. I'm sorry your heart is broken. I think you're wrong about her. I think she loves you too. Did you two even talk about what happened in college?”

I shrugged, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. We'd done plenty of arguing, but the one thing we never discussed was what actually happened. I'd gathered facts that gave me understanding, and in my way, I had apologized to her, but we'd never actually sat down and discussed it.

“Not really.”

“You need to. And you should be out buying her a nice Christmas gift. Your Dad is going to be lonely when I head out for Black Friday deals. You should ask him to go with you.”

“I'm not shopping in that madness. Okay? Just let me watch the game in peace.” I tried to shoulder past her, but the woman was persistent. She grabbed my elbow and forced me to stop and turn back to her.

“Charles Perish, you listen to your mother. Now I know you're feeling prideful. Your ego is probably bruised because she put you in your place. I know how we misunderstood the way things went down last time, but I'm not misunderstanding a thing this time. She feels used. You and that damn campaign manager convinced her to come back into your life. She probably still had feelings for you then. What did you think was going to happen?”

Sighing, I kissed my mom on the cheek. There was no arguing with her. I knew she was right. She was usually right. “I'm going to watch the game with Dad, okay?”

I walked out of the kitchen feeling sorry for myself. What about me? Peter's scheme had worked, and that was what both Willow and I signed up for. Peter mailed her check to her, so she got what she agreed upon. Neither one of us wanted feelings to emerge again. And I, of all people, knew exactly what Willow was feeling, because I was feeling the exact same thing.

The couch wasn't as comfortable as I remembered it being. Dad wasn't as talkative either. He smoked a pipe and ate a piece of pumpkin pie and I stared at the screen. Lions versus the Jets, Detroit was favored to win. Football tried to be a distraction to me, but my mind was stuck on her. Her smile, her lips, her curves, her heart. I wanted Willow, but she had left making it very clear that she did not want me. There was no point in giving her the gift I'd already bought for her. I bought it in July, just after that picnic. I thought of giving it to her on Labor Day, but the brooch seemed more appropriate. Maybe she would have been ready then, or maybe I'd have ruined everything. Now I realized that my hesitation and procrastination was what had ruined everything.

She had given me every single sign that she was ready, and I had blown it because I couldn't read her language. The anger and jealousy—signs that she loved me and felt insecure. The flirtatious behavior and sex when drinking—signs she was struggling to maintain her desire for me as she wrestled with the thought that if she gave me her heart again, I could break it again.

When she had that shower, packed that bag, I thought it was just another sign. Some other thing she was doing to prove a point.

Well, she proved it. And I had been too stupid to see it coming. Now I wished I could take it all back. But I couldn't. And forcing her hand by following her around would only push her further away.