Page 75 of Unbalanced

“Did you not want to?”

Damn lawyers always answering a question with a question.

“You know I did, but that doesn’t answer why now, why here…”

I bite my lip, wanting to push him but nervous he’ll run like a skittish horse.

“What did I tell you?” Alden’s voice is rough.

“That I’m yours, but I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Alden whispers, “It means…”

He stops and his jaw twitches. Tension builds between us as his dark blue eyes fill with emotion. For the first time, I truly have no idea how to read him. Can he say the words? I want a relationship. I want marriage. I want anything that resembles a real commitment.

“Alden,” Mrs. Mitchell calls.

The moment between us bursts like a balloon, but he still doesn’t let go of my hand, and I hope he never does. Everything I’ve built up to this point is a live highwire act. One wrong move can send me falling with no net to catch me.

Alden hesitates for another second and then walks us up to his mother. Mrs. Mitchell dabs at her red-rimmed eyes with a white handkerchief. Her shoulders are straight, her midnight hair—just like Alden’s—is barely touched by gray and perfectly coiffed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she is royalty. At least, that’s how I’ve always pictured a queen to carry themself in front of her subjects.

Mrs. Mitchell arrived just before the start of the funeral. She was seated in the front row of chairs while Alden stood off to the side, and I sat at the back. Each of us wore completely different expressions. It shocked me when Alden didn’t go to her, but when his eyes turned toward me, I couldn’t help but wonder if he stood in case I made a break for the door. That thought warmed me from the inside.

It’s hard to tell if he’s grieving. I’ve only seen him in this situation once before at his father’s funeral.

He hadn’t shown an ounce of emotion that day, and I knew—I knew he killed him.

I’d heard the news and walked all the way from the abandoned building where I was living to make sure that the reports were true. I needed to see with my own eyes that the man who raped and beat me was dead.

It took me an entire day to reach the funeral home where they had the service for the piece of shit. I watched from the shadows while the priest spoke about Mr. Mitchell as if he were a paragon of virtue. But I knew better. He was a monster, and Alden sent him back to hell.

Mrs. Mitchell smiles at Alden, then looks at me before realizing that Alden and I are holding hands. Her eyes linger on our fingers. Oh shit…if she hates me, then Alden will too. Alden loves his mother above all else and will do anything to protect her.

Alden tightens his grip as if he can read my mind.

But if Mrs. Mitchell is upset, she never lets it show.

“Emily, it’s good to see you again, just not under these circumstances,” she says, her voice soft but steady.

I remember thinking how proper she spoke the first time Rob introduced us. Alden got his courtroom demeanor from her without a doubt.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell. I’m deeply sorry for your loss. This must be a very difficult day,” I say, meaning every word.

Despite what I feel about Rob’s demise, I never wish her harm or pain. We barely know one another, but I see how much she loves her sons, and that is more than I can say for my own mother.

“Please, dear, stop calling me that. Darla is fine,” she says, her green eyes softening.

“Thank you. I hope you like the flowers,” I say, looking around.

A faint smile lifts the corner of her mouth.

“I’ll be honest, my dear. I never pictured burying either of my children, but if I must…then everything looks beautiful. Thank you for all your hard work, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be here.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away.

I can feel Alden watching me and don’t dare look up, as my heart gallops in my chest.

Alden finally releases my hand when I step forward and hug his mother.

Pulling back, I clear my throat.