XAVIER’S POV
I thought Sarah and I had a connection, but I guess I was wrong. My feet thumped on the marble floor while I made my way to my room. I slammed the door behind me, a loud thud echoing just like her words were echoing in my head at that moment. How could she say that to me? Why would she bring up my past? Her words hit me where it hurts. It shattered my heart into shreds as she made me recall how painful and depressing my life was back then.
Sarah was just a kid back then, so how the hell did she know I begged Andrea for a second chance after our messy divorce? It was a dark time in my life that I wasn’t proud of.
My jaw clenched in anger as I sighed through gritted teeth. My eyes scanned the room, searching for something to take my mind off Sarah.
A book was lying on the table at the far end of the room. That might serve as a good distraction. I sank into the chair, flipping the book open, my eyes lingering on the paper as if it were some kind of junk! I was too exasperated to read. How could I relieve my mind from wandering back to our conversation? How could she say that to me? It’s like she has no respect for me or my feelings. I clearly stated the sort of relationship that works between us, yet she keeps pressing on, going as far as…
I huffed, my mind drifting to the kiss.
Last night, I found myself submitting to her selfish deed. I felt captivated yet disgusted at the same time.
I was completely captured in her snare of unruly infatuation that left me spinning with unexplainable emotions surging within me.
I couldn’t understand why I didn’t push her away the moment our lips locked in forbidden lust.
I exhaled deeply, trying to suppress my frustration, but it kept building up despite my resolve to calm down. I couldn’t help but reflect on the nonsense she had sprouted.
Her defiance is provocative; her adamance and insistence on her juvenile love are suffocating. I just don’t get why she won’t listen to me!
I collapsed onto the bed, bouncing in a helpless flop, my body and mind exhausted from the weight of our argument and the secret she uncovered.
I shut my eyes and my mind tight, taking a deep breath to forget about everything daunting me.
Yet no matter how I tried, Sarah was still imprinted in my mind, and it stung in my gut that I would have to deal with her until she finished college. I was just a guardian to her, a responsibility I had taken on to protect her. Watching over her was harder than I expected. I sighed; I’ve been sighing for quite some time now due to my frustration. But come to think of it, how could she have feelings for me all these years, hoping for a sexual relationship despite our age difference? What kind of girl is she?
But as I thought about it more, I realized that maybe Sarah saw something in me that I didn’t. Maybe she saw a glimmer of hope, a chance for redemption. And maybe, just maybe, I was wrong to dismiss her feelings so easily.
SARAH’S POV
I slumped on the sofa, my heart heavy with remorse. “I messed up again!” I muttered under my breath, glancing at the stairs he ascended moments ago. My stupidity had ruined my friendship with him; my stubbornness had blemished my chance to make our broken relationship work out. My fingers steepled together, my nails digging into my flesh as my conscience continued berating me restlessly.
Just then, I heard faint sounds of footsteps approaching, and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a striking blue-eyed girl staring at me. “Erin…”
“Hey, why so blue?” she asked, her face lighting up in a warm smile as always.
I forced a wry smile, concealing my daunting emotions. “It’s nothing; you arrived early today,” I tried changing the subject. She chuckled and sat beside me, her smile reaching her ears.
“My mother died this morning.” My smile faded, my jaw dropping. “Oh… I’m sorry…” I sympathized but couldn’t help but wonder. Why is she smiling about it? Is it her way of being strong, concealing her grief? That feels absurd to me.
“Then why did you come to work today? You should be mourning.”
Her shoulders rose in a careless shrug. “Nah, it’s good; she died.”
“What?” My brow knitted in confusion.
She chortled, shaking her head. “I mean, she can rest now; she has suffered a lot.”
I nodded in understanding. “Oh… sorry for your loss. I’m impressed, Erin; you are all strong…”
I was contemplating whether to address her as a woman or a girl, but her next question interrupted my thoughts. “Where is Mr. Clinton? Has he left? I want to see him! Has he left?” she asked urgently, her eyes suddenly sparking with excitement.
Weird. I frowned but replied anyway, “N… o,” I drawled, my eyes wandering over her in wonder. “He is upstairs.”
“Okay!” She shot out of the sofa and ran upstairs.
That’s bizarre… Or is it the death of her mother that made the knot in her brain loose? No, that’s offensive for me to say. I got up and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. While I cooked, I tried shutting my mind off from my depressing thoughts and focus on the vegetarian dish I was preparing. No beef.
I will have to tell Erin to stock the refrigerator up before the end of today. While lost in thought, I heard a feminine voice call out from the living room.
“XAVIER!”
I turned off the cooker and sauntered to the door to take a peep. From the constricted space, I tried to look through the door, but my view was obscure.
“Xavier, where are you?” the woman called again, her sweet and smooth voice echoing throughout the whole place. “Xavier.”
My mind began racing with wild guesses. Could she be his lover? It couldn’t be; Mr. Clinton apparently doesn’t ‘do love’ ever since his divorce. Or maybe he finally decided to settle down with someone I was unaware of? Is that why he rejected me? Curiosity took the best of me, and I found myself walking out of the kitchen.
Behold the woman. I facepalmed myself when I saw her. She had an average height, a neatly tied-up bun with freckles of gray strands adorning her silky black hair. Her sharp jawline and impeccable nose outshined the meticulous wrinkles on her face.
She noticed my presence and glanced at me. When her eyes locked on mine, I quickly grasped the shimmering resemblance to someone familiar-specifically, the man I couldn’t stop drooling over.
“Good morning,” I greeted, approaching her with a welcoming smile. “You must be Mr. Clinton’s mother.” She turned to face me, the grip on her suitcase loosening, falling to the ground with a low thud.
“And you must be the housekeeper. Take my luggage to my room,” she said, her tone a bit commanding.
“Eh…” I drawled, my smile fading. “You’re mistaken; I am a guest here, not a housekeeper, but I don’t mind helping…”
“Mother,” I was interrupted by Mr. Clinton’s exclamation. He climbed down the stairs, his lips curved up in a warm smile.
He spread his arms for a hug, but she quickly slapped it away, her face scrunched up in playful scorn. “Now you know you have a mother, huh? Don’t you dare touch me…”
He chuckled, ignoring her comments. He wrapped his arms around her. This time she didn’t resist but hugged him, her hand stroking his back with a smile on her face.
I stood there watching their passionate embrace until Erin appeared out of nowhere, standing behind both of them with a thin, lipless smile that seemed to grow wider and wider like a crack in a mirror.
Is smiling her habit? I scoffed inwardly as I watched her eyes narrowing in a nosy peer. When the mother and son pulled apart from the hug, they caught sight of Erin’s creepy smile. “Who are you? Or perhaps you are also a guest?” Mr. Clinton’s mother asked, glancing at him.
“No, she is the housekeeper,” he replied, motioning for Erin to take her suitcase upstairs. Erin complied immediately with a slight bow, her smile not faltering for a second as she dragged the heavy suitcase through the mountain of stairs.
It seems his mother will be staying for quite a long time, seeing her loaded luggage. “Mother, how is-” Mr. Clinton was cut off abruptly.
“Hehe, hold your horses,” she said, tapping her belly. “Don’t ask me questions right now; I’m starving, and I need something to eat this instant.”
“The food is ready; let me go set the table,” I said, ready to make a beeline to the kitchen, but her sudden words made me halt.
“Oh, so you’re the cook…”
I exhaled, speechless. Why is she so insistent I’m some kind of servant? I wanted to refute, but Mr. Clinton explained instead, “She is a guest.” After he said that, I continued my journey to the kitchen until I heard her call me.