To Fight A Fate

by Jane Cousins

  Taking a seat, Elisabeth carefully studied her daughter. Riya looked tired, dark circles under her eyes. She’d clearly lost some weight and her hair was pulled back in a haphazard knot, it looked in good need of a wash and brush. Most telling of all was what her daughter was wearing, navy velour sweatpants and a non-descript, shapeless black top.

  Yikes, this was going to require every bit of motherly instinct she possessed. Elisabeth took a deep breath… and nothing happened.

  Shit, damn, okay, she’d fall back on what she was good at when it came to her children, part drill-sergeant, and part crazy, suicidal cop on the edge. Hey, you should always go with what works, and play to your strengths. “Drink.” Elisabeth reached over and picked up her own glass, taking a sip.

  “You said you broke in?” Riya suddenly recalled her mother’s opening words.

  “It was pretty easy. I just had to skinny up the drainpipe, past the first floor balcony and up to the next level, swing over to the cast iron planter box and wriggled in via the window. That lock will probably need replacing by the way.”

  “Or… you could have just walked down the alley, climbed the stairs and used the key I gave you.”

  “Now where would the challenge be in that?”

  Riya bit back a frustrated sigh, scooped up her glass and knocked back a healthy slug. She needed fortification when dealing with her mother.

  Elisabeth bit her tongue to stop from crowing as two bright spots of colour appeared in her daughter’s pale cheeks. She sometimes thought she should write a book. Her recipe for motherhood was simple but effective, four parts annoyance, one part persistence, and a dash of love. Kick them out of the nest early… literally kick their lazy asses out of the nest. Encourage them to follow their passion and when they failed, nag them relentlessly until they quit whining and out of sheer preservation faced up to the next challenge… anything, rather than spend another minute with their critical… but loving… mother.

  Yeah, a book. She should really think more about that. Great-Aunt Adelaide must have plenty of publishing contacts.

  “Why are you here?” Riya demanded.

  Elisabeth started, oh, right, the reason she was here. “You’ve been back almost a week from your little adventure and you’ve been holed up in here ever since. You haven’t opened the shop. I was starting to get a little concerned.” Elisabeth noted the look of clear disbelief cross her daughter’s face. “Fine. All the Aunts, Great-Aunts and even some of the Great-Great-Aunts have been hounding me everywhere I go. Is Riya alright? We haven’t seen Riya since she got back from that little working holiday in the States, did something happen? I need a new outfit, do you know why Riya hasn’t opened the shop? It was getting tiresome.”

  Hah, Riya knew her mother’s presence would have little to do with her, and more about making Elisabeth’s life easier. “I’ve been busy… creating. You know when the Fate muse hits I have little choice in the matter.”

  “So you’re telling me you’ve been too busy to eat or sleep because you’ve been working? Doing Fate’s bidding?”

  “Yes.” Riya would not squirm under her mother’s blue eyed scrutiny. The trick was to remain relaxed, breath normally and not blink too often.

  Elisabeth was a killer poker player and she had an uncanny sense when it came to her children telling her lies. “So a circus is coming to town then?”

  “What?” Her mother was known for her tangents but even for her that was an unusual question.

  Elisabeth pointed at the mannequin.

  Riya glanced over, wondering what the hell was going on… crap. She took a good look at the outfit and had to bite back a groan of horror. What the hell had she created? She didn’t remember sewing that… that monstrosity, but she must of.

  Damn, if her cousin Quinn, the psychiatrist, saw that… thing, she’d have clear grounds to have Riya committed for a psych evaluation. Worse though, was that her mother had seen it. Hell, how could she play this? She just wanted Elisabeth gone so she could get back to her… well, not work, not if she was creating hideous outfits like that. But she just wanted to be alone.

  Alone so she could not think about Marcus. Although all she seemed to do was think about him, and wish that she wasn’t thinking about him. Wondering if she’d done the right thing. Should she have left a note? No. Because what could she have said? So long and thanks for all the sex? Way too blunt. So long and thanks for all the mistakes? No, too flirty.

  “So, is it?”

  Riya blinked, oh, right, her mother had asked her if the circus was coming to town. Goddess, how to explain she was just sitting here trying not to think about Marcus and not paying the slightest bit of attention to what she was creating. “It’s something new I’m trying. More experimental. More avant-garde.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t get it.” Elisabeth contemplated the horror outfit as she sipped her scotch. “Can you explain it to me?”

  “Ur… sure. The… the ruffles.” Sweet Merciful Lady, why were there so many ruffles? “Are meant to represent… the layers of… life.”

  “And the bright colours?”

  “Interspersing pink and yellow is representative of… representative of the sun rising and setting each day.” Riya couldn’t believe she’d managed to pull that explanation out of her ass. Seriously, why did she even have pepto-bismal pink and eye searing yellow material in her workshop to begin with?

  Elisabeth’s blue eyes widened. “I did not see that, but now that you mention it. Sunset and sunrise, clever. And the balloon skirt with the train?”

  “Umm, well, it’s obviously indicative of air, that just because something looks incredibly unwieldy and heavy… that it’s not.”

  “Okay, now that you’re explaining it to me it’s beginning to make sense, just one thing.” Elisabeth’s blue eyes pinned Riya to her chair, clear victory simmering in their depths. “Why the hell does it have three armholes?”

  Ah, shit, busted. Riya opened her mouth, maybe she could still bluster her way out.

  “No.” Elisabeth held up her hand for silence. “You are going to tell me what is wrong young lady and then you are going to march upstairs, have something to eat, take a shower and climb into bed.”

  “I’m not ten years old. You can’t order me about.”

  Elisabeth sat there, staring down her daughter.

  “I don’t have to go upstairs if I don’t want to.”

  Elisabeth remained eerily still.

  “And there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Elisabeth’s left eyebrow quirked upwards almost infinitesimally, her fixed gaze never wavering.

  “Okay, okay. Stop giving me the glare of motherly love. I confess, I did it. I was the one who broke the red vase when we were nine.”

  “Riya.” Elisabeth had just run out of patience. “Tell me what happened in Atlanta.”

  “I met a man.”

  “I see. Did he… hurt you?”

  “No! He… I… it’s complicated.”

  “It always is.” Elisabeth reached over to grab the bottle of scotch and top up both their glasses. “Start at the beginning and don’t stop until you get to the fugly circus dress.”

  Riya opened her mouth and it all spilled out.

  Sometime during their talk they moved upstairs to the kitchen, where Elisabeth whipped up grilled cheese on toast. One of her few culinary dishes outside of freeze-dried meal packs.

  As they’d talked, Riya found herself getting angrier and angrier. The numb haze she’d been drifting through for the past few days beginning to lift.

  Now, as she snuggled down into bed, her eyelids felt heavy for the first time since she’d returned. Of course her drowsy state possibly had a lot to do with her mother’s heavy pouring technique. Drowsily Riya released a soft sigh, she’d showered, and the sheets were wonderfully crisp and clean.

  Elisabeth stood over the bed, beaming a self-satisfied smile. “Okay, so tomorrow you are going to…?”

  “Buckle on my big girl boots and sta
rt taking control of my life. First thing I’ll do is contact Marcus.”

  “And will that involve whining, pleading, or in any way being weak?”

  “No, it will involve subterfuge and deception. I’ll trick him into coming to me.”

  “That’s my girl.” Elisabeth’s smile widened. “And then…?”

  “Once he’s grovelled sufficiently and professed his love, I will tell him that I lo-” Riya watched her mother’s eyes narrow. “I mean, I will admit to returning some small measure of his affection.”

  “And…?”

  “Advise him that I am willing to allow him to spend the rest of his very long life trying to prove himself worthy of my tender feelings.”

  “Good.” Elisabeth absently flicked her thick blonde plait back over one shoulder. “And the most important thing you will do tomorrow?”

  “Re-open the shop.”

  “Because…?”

  “Otherwise the family will keep hounding you and you will come back here and we will have to do this all over again.”

  “And neither of us wants that, do we?” Elisabeth rolled her eyes but smiled to balance it.

  “No, we certainly don’t.” Riya hid a wince as her mother leaned down to tuck her in… eep, couldn’t breathe, world going grey. Goddess, the things she had to suffer through when Elisabeth indulged in one of her perfect mother moments. Thankfully they happened rarely. But when they did, the safest course of action was to look pathetically grateful, and just try and survive the love.

  Before everything went black, Riya managed to thrust one arm loose of the constricting covers. Oh, sweet air, as her lungs were able to inflate.

  “You know, I really should write that book.” Elisabeth murmured under her breath as she leaned forward, kissing Riya’s forehead. “Goodnight.”

  Elisabeth turned out the light and left, smiling smugly, done, a mother’s work could be tiresome, but she couldn’t fault the scotch, that had been aged to perfection. Oh, good tip for her parenting book, always keep high quality booze around. She really should start making notes.

  Riya lay there listening as Elisabeth made her way up to the second floor, opened the street facing window and shimmied out into the night. Hmm, the drain pipe sounded loose, she’d better get her cousin Erik to check on that before her mother chose to visit her again.

  Okay, now with Elisabeth gone she could get serious about her battle plans to win Marcus. She liked the idea of him coming to her. Every strategist in the world would advocate the positives of maintaining a home court advantage. And besides, he’d fired her. She had some pride left. He had to come to her, the question was… how did she make that happen?

  Damn, her mother was right, deception and trickery were the key.

  And when he did arrive, she certainly wasn’t going to throw herself into his arms, weeping tears of happiness and declare her love right off the bat. No… damn, and her mother was right again. She did kind of need to hear Marcus grovel a bit. Admit he was wrong about her, her magic and ability to slay monsters. Riya wanted to hear Marcus say he respected her. More importantly, she wanted him to say that he trusted her.

  And yes, she wanted him to go first and say I love you.

  Because it was obvious he did. As much as he’d tried to keep her at arms length by pigeon holing her lifestyle and magic, he kept coming back for more. He relaxed around her. Let down his guard. He’d suffered through and triumphantly survived a meeting with the Ten. And most telling of all, he’d worn jeans because she’d asked him to.

  It was so obvious, still, she needed him to say the words first. Damn, maybe her mother did know more about this romance stuff than she’d been giving Elisabeth credit for.

  Once Marcus said the words, she would step up and tell him she loved him. They’d kiss. The stars would align. And they’d live happily ever after. Hmmm, Riya was forgetting something… love, kiss, stars, ever after…. Oops, baby, she hadn’t told him about the baby.

  Okay, so after the stars aligning bit she would just casually drop in to the conversation that their future baby was a time-travelling Fate fixing busy-body, who’d wanted to be there the first time they met.

  Yeah, wouldn’t that go down like a lead balloon. For a man who loved statistics and quantifiable results the idea of his future – not even conceived yet – baby popping in and out of the time line to interfere in his, or her, parents’ lives was going to take some explaining.

  Hmmm… maybe she could draw up a chart. Riya yawned and snuggled down further… maybe two charts, a power point presentation and arrange for her time-travelling brother Jules to be a guest speaker.

  Yes, tomorrow she would begin her campaign. Marcus wouldn’t know what hit him. The big, annoying, gorgeous, pedantic, smart, arrogant, funny… love of her life. And she was the love of his, she just had to trick him into admitting it… easy, right?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What the hell is this?”

  Riya fought not to sag in relief. He was here. It had been five days and she’d begun to think Marcus wasn’t coming. But now, here he was. He’d slammed the double antique doors open so hard the visitor chime was still ringing.

  Stick with the plan, hussy, do not leap into his arms. Shoulders back, scowling, Riya turned to face him. Damn, he looked good. The black tactical trousers and fitted long sleeve top made him look all things hot and dangerous. No, maintain the attitude. Everything was on the line here.

  Lifting her chin slightly, Riya sent Marcus a cool, disdainful look. “It’s exactly what it looks like. My bill. For services rendered.”

  “Services rendered?” Damn, it was a relief to set eyes on her. The constant churning that had set up home in Marcus’s gut over the last ten days suddenly dissipated. It took all of his Warrior grit not to stride over and sweep her into his arms. They had a lot of things to discuss. Riya just up and leaving like that. The deadbeat Dad trying to worm his way back into her life, trying to take advantage of her. And then there was the kid, he should probably meet the kid.

  Marcus had never thought of himself as step-dad material, but half that kid was Riya’s, and without question he would grow to love… it, he was sure of it. But first, they had to get the business portion of the discussion out of the way.

  “Yes, services rendered. Is there problem with it? Do we need to discuss financing options?” Riya calmly walked across the room, placing a hand casually down upon the back of the nearest wingback chair. She needed the support, her knees were shaking that badly.

  “Considering the amount, yes, there is a problem. There’s at least one too many zeroes present.”

  “I had to factor in the loss of income involved in closing my shop for the duration of my employment period with Maat Enterprises. The impact on my stock levels going forward. Plus, I still had overheads and utilities to pay here. Add all that up, subtract the Friends and Family discount and there you have it.”

  “There I have it?” Marcus scrunched the bill up into a small ball, dropping it to the floor.

  Riya’s left eyebrow quirked upwards briefly as she studied the discarded bill. “Am I going to have to get my lawyers involved? I should warn you, three of the partners in the firm are ex-Enforcers and all are relatives.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” Riya’s scowl was genuine now as she watched Marcus’s critical blue gaze roam the interior of her shop.

  “You know who.” The deadbeat asshole had probably hit Riya with some tall sob story and was even now camped out on her sofa. Just biding his time before he made a move. Marcus’s gut clenched as burning heat speared him, the asshole better be on the sofa… if he’d lied his way into Riya’s bed, he would rip the jerkwad into little tiny pieces.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Riya watched gobsmacked as Marcus strode across the floor, ducked through the doorway marked with a discreet employees-only sign and disappeared. What the…? How had she lost control of the conversation so quickly? And damn it, it h
ad been going so well.

  Thankfully growing up with her eccentric family had taught Riya how to deal with tangents. Quickly she raced after Marcus. Only to meet him in the hallway as he swung out of her workshop.

  “Would you please tell me what is going-” Riya watched mystified as Marcus raced up the stairs to her apartment. He had a scary look in his eyes, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Trailing after him, Riya was bewildered as Marcus cleared the first floor of her apartment like he was looking for some escaped criminal or supernatural bogey-man.

  Um, it was weird, right? The man was acting like he was possessed. In exasperation she took a seat on one of the large turquoise sofas in her living room and waited. Listening to him tramp overhead as he searched the second floor, wondering idly what the hell he was looking for. And what was going to happen when he found it, what ever it was.

  “He’s not here.”

  Riya looked up, startled as Marcus bounded down the stairs and stalked across the open plan living area to loom over her. Hmm, this close she could smell him; sandalwood, moss and black pepper. It made things low in her body melt and her fingers itch to reach out and touch him.

  “Who is not here?” Honestly, why couldn’t Marcus have walked into her boutique, smiled, complimented her hair and the gorgeous dark purple wrap dress she had on, paired today with black patent leather ankle boots? Why couldn’t he have just pulled her into his arms, said he was sorry and professed his unwavering and undying love for her?

  No, he had to tear in, kick up a fuss and then go psycho.

  “The asshole.” Marcus sat down on the coffee table facing Riya, their knees only inches apart. Deliberately cutting off all her escape routes. He wanted answers, he wanted a target, and he wanted it now. “The irresponsible, cowardly, son of a bitch father of your child. Where is he?”

  Oh, damn. Riya’s plans flew out the window; love, kiss, stars aligning, ever after… and then the baby discussion. But now, damn, this was going to be more than a little awkward. And it wasn’t like she could get up and walk away, not with Marcus having boxed her in. He was sitting too close… but at the same time still too far away.