Light filters in through the blinds, casting shadows on the wall opposite the window. Ava nudges her glasses up her nose, a patient smile on her lips. The brown-skinned lady has been all smiles since my arrival. Her thick locs cascading down her shoulders give me the impression she’s better suited as a palm reader than this. A con artist who robs people of their hard earned money with fake, empty promises. I hope she proves me right so I can walk out of this room with a stronger conviction that therapy is shit.
We assess each other silently. The ceiling fan continues rolling undisturbed, she pulls her jacket around her, I frown at her increasing smiles. Joshua didn’t inform me she smiled this much. To be fair, I didn’t tell him I would contact his therapist. Hell, I didn’t know I would be here until I found myself in front of the building. El sounded hopeful when I mentioned therapy, it’s largely why I am here. For someone who is having an unexpected client, Ava is too happy. Is this where Joshua gets the positivity vibes?
“I am not sure why I’m here,” I say after seconds of uncomfortable silence. She reaches for her desk holding a jotter and a cup of pens and pencils. I stretch my hand to stop her. “Please, don’t take notes.” A nod follows, she lowers the notepad to the table and sits up straight on the single sofa. “Thank you.”
I drum my fingers on the armrest, I should have taken the seat across instead of this directly opposite her so she doesn’t have a chance to stare at me like she sees beneath the surface. A long minute of silence rolls by, I get up and pick my suit jacket draped on the sofa. Alright, I am done here. This is shit.
“We have forty minutes for the first session, you have only spent five,” she murmurs. I sink into the seat, pushing the jacket far away from me and she clasps her tiny hands on her knee. “Brandon Stark?” I nod, rolling my sleeves to my elbows to appear busy. “Your brother, Josh, said you might be coming.”
“Don’t tell him I was here,” I blurt. He will find out eventually but for now, we can keep him in the dark. That smile appears on her lips again, I cringe. “Why do you smile so much?” My hand sweeps across the room, the desk at one corner, the cushions pushed together to form a semicircle. “What’s in the air?”
She shrugs. Her lips twitch, for my sake, she doesn’t smile. “Have you been to therapy before?” I shake my head, this might be my first and last time. “What do you hope to achieve by coming here today?”
“I wish I knew,” I murmur and slouch on the soft couch. She nods twice. On the bright side, this place is good for something. Soft cushions, lots of smiles, positive aura. My gaze trails the hand crossed on her belly, my heart lurches at the sight of her ring finger. I haven’t worn mine in years. “Are you married?”
The tag on the door bore only her first name, no titles. Her infamous smile finally comes, she twirls her gold wedding band, staring at her hand with a fondness only someone who has been happily married can muster. Her head bobs, a gleam creeps into her eyes when she lifts them to me. I readjust on the couch, I am not sure what she has but I want it too. I want El’s smile to be this big at the mention of my name.
“Yes. Forty years.”
Time stops, I close my mouth and open it again without uttering a word. Forty years. Shaking myself out of my trance, I spare the room another glance. There is nothing to support her statement. “How?”
“How?” She chuckles, her eyes gleam with mirth. “I don’t know either but we take it one day at a time and here we are.” Her gaze flickers to my hand, I shove it into my pocket. “Are you married, Mr Stark?”
“Brandon. Please call me Brandon.” We share a fleeting glance, I wonder briefly if she has heard about me or my achievements. I don’t want it to influence today’s session or her view of me. Ava nods, I push the thought to the back of my mind. I am in a complicated relationship with my wife. “It’s complicated.”
Uncrossing her legs, she leans back and her face takes on a pensive look. I squirm in my seat under her watchful eyes, why does she have to look at me that way? Like she knows my darkest secret and doesn’t care about it. In a way, she reminds me of Lydia, the calm aura surrounding her, the kind smiles. Her face doesn’t tell her age, if I had to guess, I would have assumed she was in her early forties.
“Is that why you are here?” she asks.
We hold each other’s gaze. “I think so.”
Falling into our silence routine, my fingers run over the beige sofa. “Do you have kids?”
The mention of those conniving mini versions of me lightens my face, I offer her my first genuine smile. “Two.” Slapping a hand on my forehead, I correct myself, “Three.” It is harder to remember Brianna is part of the family when she lays there, barely moving. Ava’s brows furrow. “It’s really complicated.”
She stands to close the blinds. Resting on the wall by the window, she folds her arm across her chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” Her earnest gaze banishes all thoughts of lying, I ruffle my hair and heave a sigh. I am not sure. Returning to her seat, she says, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“No. Not yet.” The quotes on the white walls call my attention, a small smile lifts my lips.
Identify your wounds, pains and trauma. Commit to seeing where you are hurt so you can heal.
So easy for them to say. How can I commit to healing when I can’t identify the source of my pain? Is it the separation? His death? Our childhood? The questions come with a flood of images I do not wish to identify, there is no point lingering on the past, I can’t change it. But the future appears too bleak.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ava tilts her head with a careful smile forming on her lips as she appraises me. She can be rest assured I won’t ask anything too personal. Her head jerks in approval, I cross one leg over the other and my hand circles my ankle. “Why this?” I motion to the frames on the wall. “Why therapy?”
“It pays the bills,” she says with a deep throaty laugh and my head falls back with laughter. At least, she is honest. “In here, everyone is allowed to be themselves. The titles, money, degrees can wait at the front door. You can pick them up when leaving but for as long as you are in here, I want this to be your safe space.” Her words form a protective shawl around me, the knots in my joints melt. “With the world so set on tearing each other apart, providing a safe space for people is the least I can do.”
A long pause ensues, her words swirl in my head. The initial guilt resurfaces, I shouldn’t have fired Ed. I have always known I was in the wrong but the guilt hits more after hearing her speak with such gentleness. One of my guiding principles is revenge. Hit back, hit harder. “What about your husband?”
“He’s retired.”
I trace the sole of my brogues, do everything to delay meeting her gaze. “Can I ask another question?”
“Go ahead.”
“What happens if you find out your husband committed a terrible crime?” My foot slides to the floor, I raise my head. Ava watches me with keen interest, I rub my hands together. “Will you leave him?”
Without missing a beat, she replies, “I guess it depends on the nature of the crime.”
“Something unforgivable, say mur...” I trail off before I can confess my sins. Her brows shoot up, I cough. “Something like matricide? I don’t know.” I shrug. “Something so unforgivable but it doesn’t affect you.”
“Are you asking me this as a therapist or a wife?”
“Both.”
“As a therapist, there are a few things I would like to understand first. Things I would also love to know as a wife. His reasons for doing them and his reasons for telling me. Why is he telling me now? Not before our marriage. Forty years is a long time to keep something of that nature from your wife.” She throws her head back, eyes glued to the ceiling like it holds the answer. “I realise I cannot separate my answer,” she says, laughter colouring her words. “The therapist part of me would, of course, want to do what’s best for me and my mental health. The part of me that exchanged vows with him at the altar might want to stay knowing I can’t change the past.” She lets out a long sigh. “It’s a really tricky question, Brandon.”
“What if he had told you before marriage?”
“Then there would have been no marriage.”
YOU ARE READING
Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM
Romance"I cannot love you, Elna." Grinding my waist against his groin, I cup his face and say, "Then fuck me." * * * When Elna's father first suggests an arranged marriage between her and Brandon Stark--the hot British billionaire--she is reluctant to go...
