Page 11 of The House Guest
He looked at me a few moments. “You’re definitely interesting, Primrose. I’ll give you that.”
“And you’re still a bit of a mystery to me, Dorian.”
“How so?”
“That first night, I thought you were a pompous prick. But then you softened. And now, I come to find out you have impeccable movie taste. So you can’t be all bad.”
“I’m glad you no longer think I’m a prick. I’m really not. I have dickish moments, but overall, I like to think I’m a good person.”
“Still lots to figure out when it comes to you, though.”
“Like what?” He crossed his arms and leaned back.
I hesitated, unsure whether to continue. “You never came to visit your dad, for one. You were always spoken of almost in whispers. I just don’t know what to make of you. Not really much of an opportunity to get to know you, either, since you’re never home. If you hadn’t walked in here tonight, I might’ve doubted whether you were still living here.”
He nodded. “I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to figure out the mess my father left behind. It’s easier to do that at his office. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say this house unnerves me. Too many memories here.” Dorian turned toward me. “I’m trying to keep busy outside the mansion so it never actually registers. I’m not sure if my father being gone has even truly hit me yet. Living in denial and throwing myself into work is pretty much how I’m handling things.”
He looked up at the recessed lighting. “Dad and I had our issues. But there was so much more I needed to learn from him, things I wish I could say, but I’ll never have a chance to. A lot was left unresolved. I feel like I’m still in shock.” He sighed. “Despite our differences, he was all I had.”
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My chest felt heavy with emotion as I absorbed his words. “I can relate to that feeling,” I said softly.
He brushed his thumb along the velvet of the armrest. “Your aunt, you mean?”
I shook my head. “No. My mother. I lost her a few years ago. She was allIhad. And my father was never in the picture. That’s why I moved in with Christina and your dad. Christina was my mom’s only sibling.”
“So, Christina was the closest relative you had left?”
I nodded. “Growing up, Christina and I weren’t that close. She was always traveling. She was my mom’s younger, wilder sister—the dreamer. I always wished to know her better. But she was never in one place. When my mother died, Christina made an effort for the first time to be a part of my life. And I appreciated that.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry. I know I minimalized her when we first met. I don’t know if she was a gold digger. I never tried to get to know her. It was easier to believe my father was being used than to consider that he had a genuine, loving relationship with someone who wasn’t my mother.”
“I get that.” I nodded. “And look…” I chuckled. “She might’ve been a gold digger. I don’t know, either. Like you, I believe what’s easiest to digest.”
He looked away. “I guess we’ll never know now, will we?”
I thought we might need a new subject. “What is it that your father’s company does? I’ve been afraid to ask because I feel like I should know.”
“It’s okay.” Dorian smiled. “Dad started out as a physicist. He developed many products over the years. I can’t talk about anything currently in development because of intellectual property issues. But in the past, he created solar-powered orbital devices and synapse glass that responds to brainwave sequences. He sold his inventions to huge corporations over the years. And there are many more still in the process of being sold.”
“Wow.” I nodded. “What did you study in school?”
“Well, I wasn’t given much of a choice. My father essentially told me that if I didn’t follow in his footsteps, I would lose my inheritance. He insisted that I study physics for undergrad and get my master’s in business. So that’s what I did. The plan was always for me to take over.”
“That wasn’t what you wanted?”
“If I’d had my way, I probably would’ve majored in music, so no.”
“Really…”
“Yeah. I was in a band when I was younger, much to my father’s chagrin.”
“What did you play?”
“Bass.”
“Do you still play?”
“I dabble in it when I’m alone. But nothing on the regular.” He stared down at his hands. “I envy you for pursuing what you love.”
