Broken Submission

Mamá

"Derek, we've got news."

Derek straightened, phone in hand. "On Xavier?"

Matthew grunted through the phone. "He's definitely still stalking her. We found one of his haunts. There were notes, plans. We think he's about to make a move."

Derek's fingers tightened around the phone. "What kind of move?"

"The 'kidnap and disappear to do god knows what things to her' move, what else man?"

His molars ground together, but he forced himself to remain calm. "So what's the plan? Police escorts or guards or what?"

A sigh came from the other end of the line. "I'm sorry. I did all I could, but we're just stretched too thin."

Derek slumped against the wall, gaze moving to the closer bedroom door. Amelia was still asleep, worn out out by the marathon of sex they had indulged in last night.

He straightened. "I have an idea."

. . .

"¿Mamá? Soy bien—no, no traigas a papá, todavía no, por favor," Derek said, trying to break into the flurry of Spanish currently flooding through his phone.

"Necessito hablarte, mamá, Mi novia—¡Si, mamá! ¡Tengo una novia!" Derek couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him at his mother's frantic excitement. This was the first she'd heard of his relationship with Amelia, and Lord knew she wanted to see him settled. He wanted that too. His smile dropped though as he remembered why he called.

"¿Podemos pasar por la casa mañana para visitar?"

"¿Una visita? ¡Nos encantaría!"

Derek couldn't help but feel a little guilty at the obvious excitement in her voice. It had been too long since he'd visited. He loved his parents, but time flew by and before he knew it, months had passed.

"Bien entonces, pasaremos alrededor de las dos en punto si eso está bien."

"Por supuesto, Derek, nos vemos entonces."

"Who is that?"

Derek glanced up from the phone where he'd just ended his call. Amelia peeked our the doorway, adorable and tousled.

"My mom. I thought we would go visit her tomorrow."

Amelia blinked. "Uh wow. Okay. Does she..." her cheeks tinged red, "does she speak English? Because I only remember a little Spanish from high school—"

He laughed. "She's fluent in English, but she prefers not to use it in the house. She'll be more than happy to switch for you."

Amelia's shouldered slumped. "Thank god. I was not looking forward to the world's worst game of charades."

He was tempted to let the trip remain innocent. But he remembered her request. I need to know what's happening. He couldn't withhold the information.

He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. "We need to talk."

                                . . .

Amelia stood beside the car, awkwardness gripping her stomach. The short, Hispanic woman had thrown herself into Derek's arms like a miniature cannonball, a flurry of Spanish accompanying her. He replied in kind, and her lack of understanding only made Amelia feel more out of her element.

The woman pulled back, her short bob rumpled. Her eyes were dark, face free of makeup. A sense of warmth rippled around her, something that pricked the back of Amelia's eyes with tears. Derek's mom turned to her, and before she knew it, pulled her into a hug.

Amelia stiffened even as she melted into the soft embrace. When she pulled away, Amelia couldn't help but to cling for a second before releasing her.

"Chica," the woman said, touching her cheek with a smile, "come in, please. Call me Marie."

"Amelia," she murmured, Marie's arm around her back propelling her forward.

Derek watched, amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth. He followed the women into his childhood home, smiling when the familiar scent of rice and beans and frying meat hit his nostrils.

His father's voice boomed from the kitchen. "Marie! You know I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this! It's boiling, you said it shouldn't boil, but how am I supposed to stop it?"

His mother clucked her tongue and hurried into the kitchen. Derek took the opportunity to check in with Amelia. She stared around the house with a sort of glazed fascination.

"Sweetheart?" In an impulsive motion, he picked her up and set her on his hip, so that their faces were level.

Confusion wrinkled her brow. "Uh..."

He chuckled. "Just go with it."

She shrugged, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Your mom seems nice."

He hummed, continuing the walk to the kitchen at a leisurely pace. "She's the best. How are you holding up?" he said. "Nervous, stressing, upset...?"

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "A little nervous. But I'm okay."

He nodded, kissing her forehead. "Here."

She looked at the thing he had just pulled from his pocket.

"I forgot to give it to you at the house," he said. He seemed to hesitate, looking at the little piece of black fabric. "It's not a collar per say. I figured we would need to have a discussion about that. But I thought that it could help. With your nerves."

She stared at him. Not a collar. But kind of a collar. Amelia had to admit, it did sound calming to have a reminder of her submission to him. Like the plug on the night she met her friends. "Please," she whispered.

His features softened. He set her on her feet. When she lifted her hair, he tied the ribbon around her neck with just enough tension for her to feel its pressure with each inhale. "And... Derek." She bit her lip. "When the time comes, my answer is yes."

He swallowed, looking down at Amelia. She peeked up at him with her big brown eyes, the black ribbon around her throat somehow complimenting her little yellow sundress. Instead of words, he pressed a kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, her hand moved almost unconsciously to touch the symbol of his possession around her throat.

His mother appeared in the doorway. "Come, you two. The food that your father didn't ruin is ready," she said with a sassy look over her shoulder.

He didn't catch his dad's grumbled reply, but he could guess its contents. A smirk tugged at his lips as he led Amelia into the kitchen. His mother's haven, the room was decked out to the nines with appliances and cookbooks and brightly colored tile. The wooden table looked liable to collapse under the mountain of food she had piled onto it.

His stomach rumbled, and both women gave him the same amused look. His dad moved out from behind the table where he'd been sneaking scraps off the plates. He dodged his wife's wooden spoon as he made his way closer.

"Amelia," he said, smiling at her through the grizzled beard that obscured his mouth. "It's been at least twenty years since Derek brought a woman home with him. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled back, taking his extended hand. "You too. Derek has told me amazing things about you both."

His calloused hand tightened around hers, and he pulled her in closer with a conspiratorial wink. "I don't believe that for a minute, sweetness." He leaned back with a laugh. "Alright, let's eat! If it gets cold, your mom's gonna have a conniption."