Page 86 of Broken Pieces
“Mom,” Aria warns.
She looks at Aria innocently. “What? Can't I be concerned? I’m your mother after all.”
My eyes want to roll hard listening to this woman speak. As a businessman myself, I’ve learned to read people over the years and uncover their intentions with one look. And her intentions don’t come from the right place, that much I can tell. I’ll be a gentleman though, because the last thing I want to do is make Aria more uncomfortable. I will fake a smile if that’s what will make her feelbetter.
“I own multiple businesses, hotels, and restaurants,” I wave my hand around, dismissively, “I actually co-own this restaurant with my cousin. But I mostly work in the art industry. I have a gallery.”
“A gallery?” she sneers. “Can’t imagine an art gallery bringing you that much income.”
Oh, this woman is insufferable.
I shrug. “It brings me enough. It’s how I became a billionaire after all.” I smile coldly.
She nods, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Wow, that’s surprising. Probably with your family’s help, huh?”
“Mom, stop,” Aria says.
“My father’s dead and my mother has always been a homemaker,” I deadpan.
Two can play at this game.
“Oh.” Her demeanor changes, clearing her throat, embarrassed. “Sorry to hear that.”
Before I can respond, the waiter comes to our table and takes our drink and food orders at the same time per my request, because the last thing I want is to delay this insufferable lunch any longer.
The food arrives quickly and while they’re talking about her hometown, and what random jobs she’s been doing for a living to survive, talking about her new—and unemployed—boyfriend, I mostly remain quiet, watching how their dynamic works. Eleanor just sneers, comments, and critiques about anything she can think of, or acts a martyrthe whole time. Talking about how the world has wronged her, complaining most of the time while Aria puts on a brave face and doesn’t falter, trying her best to change the topic toward a more positive subject. I’m this close to giving this woman a piece of my mind, but Aria doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so I’ve been holding back.
“So, how did you two meet?”
Aria shifts in her seat. “At work.”
She frowns. “The Institute?”
Aria shakes her head. “I quit a while ago. I’m a curator for Damian’s gallery, actually.”
“So he’s yourboss?” Her tone is condescending, dripping with disgust. “How old are you?” she asks me.
The question makes my left eye twitch. I won’t lie… I haven't considered the age gap between us. Ten years may be a huge gap for a lot of people, but we’re both consenting adults.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Aria says to me, glaring at her mother.
“I consider her my partner more than anything. She has a really good eye and has been taking creative control over the gallery,” I manage to say in a cool tone. “As far as my age goes, I’m 35. Not sure how it matters in this conversation, though, considering your daughter and I are both consenting adults.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Age is very much important. I don’t want my daughter to be taken advantage of.”
“Pft, that’s funny coming from you,” Aria says barely above a whisper, and I bite the inside of my cheek trying to hold my laugh back.
It seems that her mother didn’t hear her, because she continues by saying, “I’ve always told Aria art is a waste of time. Well, I guess there’s exceptions, you being one of them.” She looks at Aria. “And honey, you have a business degree. Put it to use.”
The realization comes at me like a strong wave. Now I understand why she was so uncomfortable this morning when I was in her studio, admiring her art. How she quickly dismissed it as a hobby and nothing else, when in my years of experience there are a few artists I can say are actually talented. She’s amazing, and I don’t say it because I’ve developed feelings for her. This woman has created so much insecurity in Aria, that she can’t see her worth. I wish she could see herself through my eyes. I admire her talents, how strong she is, and beautiful, and witty. This woman, the one that calls herself amother,has no filter, and no regard for her own daughter. Aria had told me on the way to the restaurant she hadn’t seen her in about four years, and now is crystal clear why.
“I am putting it to use, in my own way. Just drop it, Mom, okay?” Aria says, her voice trembling slightly.
Eleanor sighs. “Fine. I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
Aria’s shoulders tense as she nods, letting her mom continue.
“Me and John are trying to buy a house, since you know, your father left me with nothing. But our credits aren’t that good, so we need a co-borrower. That’s actually why I’m here, to ask you if you’d be willing to help us out? Put the loan in your name too. Please?”
