Paladin126

Erik walked past the parlor door with his spirits soaring and caught a glimpse of a woman sitting in one of the armchairs. Immediately he slid to a stop and felt his heart lurch. He closed his eyes and took a breath, appalled that he'd forgotten about his mother sitting alone. In the heat of the moment, when he thought he'd lost Sophia, he'd forgotten everything else.

"Erik?" she called. "Is everything all right?"

With a grimace, he turned and slowly walked through the doorway, where he found her smiling at him. She had an open book in her lap, which reminded him of the beloved storyteller of his youth.

"Fine." He sat beside her and frowned. "I apologize for my absence. It was rude—"

"It was necessary," she said, giving him another smile. Fidelio popped his head up and lifted his chin for a necessary scratch from his master. Erik obliged, grateful for a momentary distraction.

"I've made a terrible impression."

"You've done nothing of the sort." She patted his knee, reassuring him when he feared she'd leave. Even if he was no longer a child, he still cared a great deal for her and didn't want her to think of him as rude or ignorant.

"You should stay for supper," he offered. "Since I've barely spoken with you today and it's been years since we've—"

"We have the rest of our lives, Erik. You have nothing to fear. I've been sitting here reading a book I haven't seen in ages. I do believe all of the text is arranged in the same way it was twenty years ago." She searched his face, still a mother to her child in every way, a woman who could offer comfort to the boy inside of him that still expected the worst.

"I'm afraid I haven't had much time for reading," he mumbled.

She nodded and closed the book, which she set aside in order to give him her full attention. "You've been quite occupied, I see. How is Mademoiselle Dupree?"

He felt his cheeks burn, and he looked away, unsure of whether he wanted to tell her his intentions. Already he ran the risk of Citrine walking out the door, rounding the house, and waiting for Sophia in her home. Even though she'd sworn up and down that she wanted it to be a surprise, he didn't think she'd be trustworthy. The more people he told, the better the chances were of Sophia finding out what she had in store, which wouldn't do.

He wanted her completely surprised, and he wanted to see the look on her face. Already he'd imagined how her face would flush, how her hands would tighten, lock on his arms as she drew him to her. Nothing would please him more than her reaction—other than her agreeing to his proposal, of course.

"I think she'll be fine," he answered.

"Did you give her back her position?" Angelina questioned.

He met her eye and gave an uncertain smile, though he could tell she was genuinely interested in what he had to say. If he still remembered her correctly, she wouldn't tell anyone if he asked her to keep it a secret.

"I've decided to offer her a different position." He hesitated, his jaw working out the words in his mind that he desperately wanted to speak. Pride outweighed concern, and he sat back, reveling in the moment and his mother's reaction to his news. "As my wife."

Angelina grabbed his hand and squeezed it with startling force. Without knowing what had happened, Fidelio rose up and began wagging his tail, panting in delight of their combined excitement. The dog pawed at his leg and nudged at his arm, which forced him to give the wolfhound a pat on the head.

"When will you ask her? Soon, I hope."

"Soon," he agreed, finding himself relieved in her joy.

"Good," she said. "Better than good. It's perfect. I could tell by the way she looks at you, the expression on her face…she's fond of you."

"I'm very fond of her," he said.

"What about Monsieur Dupree? Will you ask him for her hand?"

He sat back and exhaled. "He knows I'm interested."

She nodded and appeared concerned. "If he's still in my home, I'll speak with him first."

Erik shook his head. "No, mother," he said sharply, which made her raise her brow at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

He reached out and squeezed her hand, appreciating her concern for him after all these years. "I'm a foot taller than you and I weigh twice as much," he said with a smile. "I think he'll listen to me over you."

"Careful what you say to him," she warned. "He's been friends with Karl for a very long time. Once he returns…if he returns…"

Erik's face darkened, and he turned away, unable to look her in the eye after what had happened. He gathered that she wasn't fond of her stepson, but regardless, she'd accepted him as family and he couldn't bear to look at her and lie, to pretend he didn't know what had happened to Karl.

"I will speak to Monsieur Dupree at once."

"Good. I want you married," she said with firmness he hadn't expected.

His eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

They both stood, and she lovingly patted his chest. "I'm an old woman, Erik." She rose on her tiptoes and gently pulled him down to her in order to kiss his cheek. His eyes briefly closed, a memory of childhood playing in the back of his mind. Her tenderness toward him had never ceased, and in her touch he felt no sense of distance between them. It was as though she could bridge the gap between the past and the present with the seamless efficiency only a mother could provide to a child—even an adult child.

"You're not old to me," he said. "You look the same as I remember."

She grinned, her cheeks full and rosy. "My sweet boy," she cooed. "You flatter me, but it's not necessary. You want a wife, I want to see my grandchildren."

"Mother!" He laughed, caught off guard by her brazen request.

She laughed with him, obviously amused by his surprise. He couldn't remember her ever being outspoken, though he wondered if she'd kept that away from him. Whatever it was, he appreciated her openness. Perhaps now, more than mother and son, they would be friends.

"Despite what you think, I'm too old to worry about sounding foolish, Erik" she said, taking his hand in hers. He looked down at her, found their roles slightly reversed. Every memory he'd had of her involved looking up into her face, an angel's face. It seemed strange to him that she was a full foot shorter, a petite woman who couldn't have possibly struck fear into him by yelling his name.

"I wouldn't say foolish. Bold, yes, foolish, no."

"I was never one for behaving." She winked at him, and he gave her a curious look. Hints of mischief gleamed in her eyes, a light from the past that refused to be dimmed. "Ask her brother today."