Page 12 of Claiming His Wife
"Thank you, Bates, and so do you." She smiled up at her parents’ butler. He was an older Caucasian gentleman who towered over her by a couple of feet. His hair was greying at the sides and contained a bald spot in the middle. She used to be friendly with him, sometimes venting her frustrations about her parents to him like he was an uncle or even a friend.
"They are waiting for you in the dining room," he announced.
"So soon." She groaned inwardly. She had been hoping for some time to rest and regroup.
"I think you're not to be given a single respite," he informed her.
"Then it’s a good thing I am prepared," she smiled back.
"Very good, Miss," he replied and led her in the direction of the dining room.
"Please, Bates," Kalilah called before he continued on his path. "I can find my way."
"Very well, Miss, and good luck." Kalilah smiled and walked on. She was going to need it. Her session with Finn was intense, but he was nothing compared to the joint force of her parents.
They were the real power behind her marriage five years ago.
***
Kalilah’s dad was seated at the head of the table, and her mom was seated on his right. Both of their gazes were stuck on her as she approached the dining room. Kalilah did well to slide into her seat without baring any form of weakness in her demeanor. Kalilah looked from her father to her mother. She had been looking forward to reuniting with her sister and wondered why Kaiya wasn’t at dinner.
“Hello Father. Mother.” After they acknowledged her greeting, she asked, “Where is Kaiya?”
They both exchanged looks before her mother replied that she was at a therapist appointment, in a tone that let her know that she wouldn’t answer any more questions about Kaiya.
Therapist?She wasn’t even surprised that her sister visited a therapist. Growing up in this loveless house could surely push someone to receive therapy.
Supper kicked off without personal enquiries. No words were spoken that were not completely polite, expertly neutral, and full of surface sentiments. They didn’t ask about what she had been doing; she was fine. They didn't ask her about work; their family would not tolerate such feminist tendencies. They didn't ask about her five years of self-imposed exile; that was water under the bridge and already long forgotten.
In fact, her moment of rebellion was over, and the consensus was that she had come to her senses to take her place beside her husband, as it should have been all along. The thoughts of their expectations had caused her stomach to tighten in knots. She had mulled over it for hours, before deciding that she couldn’t allow them too much power over her life. She had already proven to herself that she could live a happy and full life without them.
Vibrating in anticipation of the battle to come, she surveyed her opponents: Richard Anderson was a man in his prime and, with the aid of good living, that prime was going to last forever. A tall, dark man with touches of silver on his temple gave him a distinguished air. Not that he needed it; he was a clearly a dominant man who ruled his own world. He spooned into his hearty meal with elegant manners that belied his big size. He used to be a God in her eyes, but now, not so much anymore.
Katherine Anderson returned her water goblet to the table with studied grace and signaled the servant to refill her glass. She lifted her glass with her perfectly manicured nails and tilted it at her lips. The motions were languid but assured, backed by the confidence of several years of having her every desire answered. She was beautiful the way a Monet was beautiful.
Mysterious, perfect, evoking strong emotions, but untouchable. One did not hug a Monet; it was a statement of status and class. The perfect accessory. Kalilah had inherited her mother’s brown skin and curly hair, but that was where their similarities ended. Her mom seemed to have only two emotions – annoyance and anger. Kalilah had never hugged her mother. Not even when she was a child, or when she had broken her arm after falling from a tree in the backyard. It was her nanny that comforted her, not her mother.
The subdued clink of silver cutlery on fine bone china filled the air, and the soft tread of servants moving in with new dishes and out with the last course was all familiar, but distant.
Kalilah looked down at her untouched meal; the apprehension rolling in her belly had killed her appetite. Besides, she didn't want to be lulled by the false sense of normalcy the room evoked.
Her parents may look benign now, but she knew how fast they would lose those looks if she said or did something that threatened their control or social standing. Divorce being high among those threats.
Her mother signaled and the last course was whisked away. It was time for dessert, and time for the discussion she had been putting off for as long as she could. No more.
"Compliments of the cook, Miss." Kalilah looked down into a generous slice of double chocolate cake. Clear across the room she felt the disapproving stare of her mother. Fraternizing with the hired help was no good for her status. She was barely home and falling from grace already. Not that it mattered; her parents would probably disown her before the night was out.
"Have you seen Finn?" For the first time since the meal began, Katherine Anderson gave her first child her undivided attention.
"I stopped by his office briefly," she returned airily.
"I am sure you two had a lot to talk about," her mother replied.
"We did in fact," she muttered as she dug into her desert, the decadent taste filling her mouth.
"When will you be moving in with him?" The question was harmless enough, if one discounted the glint in her mother's eyes. One could see the fete she planned to throw to commemorate the event.
"I thought I could have a few days at home to recuperate," she finally answered as she swallowed down the confection in her mouth.
