The Price of Protection

Chapter 29~ Mother May I

MARIUS:

It's been nearly a week since Jacques left with his small posse of guards and the night was declared over. I had downed my remaining drink in one gulp and with a snap of my fingers, had the girls escorted back to their rooms before stalking out, ignoring Remi calling after me and Celine's eyes lined with tears she was trying to hide. His threats were not against my mother, no. If Céline only knew...

It has been tense whenever I've seen her since then. She is standoffish and mostly quiet. I watch her on my phone now over the security feeds in her room-- even knowing she hates that they're there, but we have always kept an eye on our... guests and I did promise her that we would keep cameras out of the bathroom so she has some privacy. Past that, I promised nothing.

I smile involuntarily when I remember the fuss she made when she had forgotten the cameras. She had changed into a fresh pair of clothes before realizing they were there and I was sure she would spontaneously combust from the bright red of anger and embarrassment on her face. I tried to joke telling her that at least she didn't change her under things but she didn't think it was funny. Maybe I can't joke very well either.

I make my way down the long hall and the stairs. This house may be a cottage compared to our house in Lyon, but it has a beautiful sort of country charm that I'm beginning to become quite fond of. I still prefer our home in Lyon, but I don't think I'll regret having lived here either-- for more than one reason, and again my mind wanders to the wavy blonde-haired gi- woman who resides upstairs.

A few house staff pass me in the halls and I make sure to greet them cordially as I ask about my mother's whereabouts. One of our longest-serving maids, Delia, I believe, informs me that she's in the main office. I thank her and make my way in that direction making sure to pause at the kitchen and get her une tasse de café avec du lait (a cup of coffee with milk).

She never turns down coffee- coincidentally, I have never seen Céline turn down coffee either. Perhaps that's just how determined women work. Coffee, little sleep, and feminine fury.

As I perused through the file on Céline, I noticed that though her time in Canada doesn't mention it specifically, the news stories from her time there and her aunt's work, including her personal reports and online journal, often reflect that Céline may have been present and involved in more than a few of her investigations. I'm sure that job requires a lot of caffeine to keep moving at all hours of the day and night. Now I start to ponder whether or not she's close to her Aunt Charlotte with whom she spent so much time over the past couple of years.

My feet stop outside after reaching her office and I rap my knuckles on the thick wooden door several times.

I hear her rich, feminine voice from the other side, "Oui, c'est qui ?"

"C'est moi, mère."

"Come, Marius," she says lovingly, her French accent heavily laid on her tired voice.

I push the door open gently and the side of my mouth lifts into a smile at the sight of my mother's face. She always looks so regal. I remember that even after my father was lost, she never showed weakness. Her hair always pinned up into a perfect bun, her face with small amounts of makeup that brought out the natural beauty of the face. An inspiring woman even when exhaustion tugs at the corners of her eyes.

"You have brought me coffee, j'espère (I hope)." Not a question, an assumption.

My smile widens, "Ouai, I wouldn't dare to meet you in the office without a fresh cup."

"Mmm," she hums reaching out for the mug as I lean down to kiss each of her cheeks. When I pull away from the her, her hand reaches up to cup the side of my face, "What is it, my love? Why do you look so disturbed during this late hour?" She only uses these pet names when no one else is around per my request.