"I... I don't see him like that!" Linda squeaked, waving her hands in every direction as if trying to shut down any idea Marie had before it grew legs. Her cheeks reddened, nerves on fire—but deep down, she knew she was enjoying every second of the conversation.
"We're not little kids anymore. You need a man in your life—and my brother is the perfect candidate!" Marie declared, leaning back against the kitchen table. One hand propped her up while the other poured another stream of wine into her mouth.
Linda stayed quiet through the entire lecture Marie had just finished. She was so nervous that their eyes never crossed path, linda made sure of it.The thought alone made the air heavier.
She started thinking fast.
"I have to reply carefully—not too low to sound desperate, not too high to sound uninterested."
She pieced her words together like a puzzle, planning every move. With Marie, it was dangerous to dismiss anything outright. If she could win so many court cases, persuading Ross would be child's play.
Linda forced the blush off her face, arranging her expression back to calm. Like this, she looked like a kid trying to ask for forgiveness.
"I... I don't think I'm ready yet," she said hesitantly. On the outside, she seemed unsure, but inside she was celebrating—she'd given the perfect answer to lure her drunk friend into a trap.
"Nonsense! Out of everyone here, you're the most mature person I know!"
The alcohol was taking over Marie's voice now, blurring her words and softening their edges. Her eyelids drooped as if gravity had suddenly doubled.
She slung an arm over Linda's shoulder—a comforting gesture that would've been nice if it weren't for the rough, sour stench of beer that came violently off her breath. It hit like a trash bin that hadn't been emptied in weeks.
"Don't worry," Marie slurred. "I'll talk to him. He's my brother, after all!"
Suddenly—
A bearded man with a familiar face walked up behind them, dressed in a black tuxedo. His demeanor screamed family of the deceased. His body language said it all—he wasn't a stranger to the mansion.
"Gotta love some heartfelt moments," he muttered, a thick Russian accent wrapping around his words.
"Fuck!"
"Jesus!"
The girls jumped in unison, heartbeats spiking as if someone had hit a live wire. If their bodies weren't already worn out, they could've hit the ceiling. They turned to the man, faces tensed, veins visible, fists clenched and ready to snap.
"Why did you creep up on us like that, Dad!" Linda snapped, irritated. Suddenly it all clicked—the familiar cheeks, the nose structure. That's why he looked so familiar.
"Now you see how awkward this is!" she added, tossing more fuel on the moment.
"I didn't mean to interrupt, ladies," he said carefully, reading the room. He knew they didn't want to remember conversations that made them remember the deceased —they wanted distraction.
The girls exchanged a knowing look. A chance for Linda to use the sympathy for her gain.
"Since you feel sorry,can I spend the night here?" Linda proposed,she had cornered her father in the perfect trap.
Being her only parent left, Linda's dad shielded her extraodinarirly never exposing her to the brutal world. Even at her age he still saw her like a bundle of joy, that little kid in the first grade.
"Ah!" Linda's dad exclaimed, caught off guard. It wasn't what he expected to hear. His daughter wanting to spend the night was uncalled for—he'd read all about that. Between the ages of 19 and 25, they crave their safe space, the books said. He'd prepared himself for that.
He lowered his head slightly, like a butler addressing a queen.
"Alright deal.I already talked to your mom and Ross,have an important meeting tomorrow in the morning."
He replied.
"Sorry guys but I will be taking my leave ." He yawned covering his mouth in the process.
"Bye"
He added walking out into the sitting room.
"Bye!"
They replied in unison.
.....
THE MAIN BEDROOM
"Ahhh..."
Fulfilled sighs filled the room, hearts racing like they'd just run a mile. Sweat glistened on their faces. Ross's mom and the stranger lay together in the bed, skin against skin. Her body was still tight—surgery had helped her keep up appearances for the media, always fearing the kind of body-shaming the internet thrived on. (Body shaming is bad. It hurts people in ways you don't see.)
She looked at him seductively, silently thanking him for his "services." He lay beside her, sinking into the mattress, lost in the haze. On the bedside table sat the same glass of wine—untouched.
"Ah..."
He sighed again as she traced lazy circles on his chest with her fingers, playing with nothing and everything at once.
"That's more like it," he murmured. "I've always wanted to have sex on this bed."
Ross's mom narrowed her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"You know how weird that sounds?" she teased.
"I know, I know—but there's something special about sleeping on someone's bed," he said, grinning.
Their affair had been going on for a long time. The man's death wasn't tragedy—it was a revelation. The one barrier that stood between them was gone.
She cleared her throat.
"You have to go," she said, her voice steady—almost commanding.
"Don't ruin the moment. Can't we wait five minutes? Let me catch my breath," he pleaded.
"What if someone walks in and finds us like this? I can't risk that," she replied sharply.
He sighed, defeated. Shaking his head, he whined like a boy told to get up for church on a Sunday morning.
"Alright then..."
He stood, dressing quickly, oblivious to what was happening behind him. Ross's mom took out a small pill—suspiciously designed, with a familiar color. Like a trained spy, she dropped it into his drink. It dissolved instantly, molecule by molecule, without a trace.
"I'll get out of your hair—only because today's that idiot's funeral," he muttered, zipping his trousers with a dramatic flair. Ross's mom watched with a smirk that refused to fade.
He slipped on his jacket smoothly, trying to look as composed as when he arrived.
"I'll see you," he said.
"Uh, mwa!" she blew him a kiss.
"Thursday," he added, heading for the door.
Gertrude's eyes flicked toward the glass of wine.As if remembering that it wasn't in the supposed to be place.
"You can't leave that here," she said.
"Yeah, sorry," he replied, grabbing it.
He drank nearly all of it, leaving only a quarter behind, then smiled.
"Bye," he waved.
She waved back.
He closed the door behind him—her grin stretching into a quiet, satisfied smirk.