Yes, only the majority.
I’m aware it wouldn’t solve my problem completely. Conjugal visits are apparently a turn-on in some circles, which was much funnier when I suggested that as the theme of a Razzle Dazzle movie to make my brother shut up after he won his Oscar.
“So if we’ve been talking on the internet for the past six months, that means we’ll know a lot about each other,” Begonia says as she dusts the bookshelves lining the fireplace. “Moby Dick? Really? Do you read it, or is it a conversation piece? There’s nothing wrong with reading commercial fiction instead of literary classics.”
She makes air quotes around classics, and I feel my face twitching. “The only story we need is that you find cranky assholes irresistibly charming.”
“That’s the plot of half the Razzle Dazzle films. No one’s going to believe it.”
“Quite frankly, Ms. Fairchild, I don’t need my mother to believe us. I merely need her to know I’ll make the family look bad in the press if she insists on presenting me with a parade of eligible women she’d like me to marry.”
She frowns again. “I don’t—oh. Oh. It’s not about telling your mom no, is it? It’s about the time and energy it takes every time she throws another woman at you. Or is it about disappointing your mother? Do you have mommy issues? I never thought I did until I announced I was divorcing Chad, and now I’m the disappointment.”
“Congratulations, Ms. Fairchild, you have confirmed that you do, in fact, listen three percent of the time.”
“My listening skills are fine. It’s your communication skills that need work. You had two options there, and you just said I listened. That’s not answering the question.” She waves the feather duster at me, sending particles floating into the shafts of light pouring in through the east-facing windows and making me flinch.
Billions of dollars in the bank, the majority of which I made on my own with wise investments as I took control of my trust fund, and then a bit of fun with bitcoin mining, and not a solution to be bought for basic environmental allergies. “One more thing you’ll be certain to tell my mother you find charming about me. Where the devil did you hide—”
The gate phone rings in the foyer before I can finish asking where she’s hidden fresh sheets. Begonia brightens, and her dog barks out on the screened-in porch, where he’s been locked away to cause minimal mischief.
“Oh, visitors!” Begonia tosses the duster onto the fireplace hearth and darts for the foyer. “Don’t worry, I’ll send them away. Unless they brought food. I definitely need to get over to town to get some food, since Marshmallow ruined everything in the fridge.”
“Don’t tell them—” I start, but she’s already answering the video intercom, which I haven’t upgraded to Bluetooth, because I like living in an old-fashioned world.
At least when I’m here.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Mayor Kristine Turner. We heard the owner’s back in residence. Just wanted to check and see if he needs anything?”
My shoulders creep up to my ears. “Tell her no,” I order softly, staying out of sight of the camera myself.
“Oh, no, we’re good,” Begonia chirps. “I’ll be coming into town in a little bit for supplies, but for now—”
“I can bring supplies,” the mayor interrupts. “Does Hayes need food? What about his favorite wine? My mom’s happy to make him her famous sponge cake. We know how much he loves that. Is he still allergic to strawberries and dogs?”
For god’s sake. I march into the foyer, stand to the side, and hit the button to hang up the connection. “I said, tell her no.”
“Hayes. That’s rude. Don’t hang up on people. How do I call her back?”
“You don’t. No one in town needs to know I’m here.”
“They already know you’re here. Also, you’re allergic to dogs? How does she know you’re…oh my god. Did she pretend to be your girlfriend another time when you were hiding from your mother here?”
The intercom buzzes again.
Begonia reaches for the button to answer, but I snag her hand—and then her other hand—before she can answer it. “Do. Not. Pick. Up. The. Intercom.”
She blinks up at me with bright green eyes under that glowing magenta hair. Her lips part, and her tongue darts out to sweep over her plump bottom lip. “Why?”
I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m holding onto her wrists, that her skin is smooth as silk, and she has three freckles—and only three—beneath the outer corner of her left eye. “Because I said so.”