I was literally gritting my teeth as we closed the shop; Damon had spent the time writing new labels for the houseplants, adjusting their prices, and bringing in the outside plants. Every other sentence he said to me was about how I was working too much and for too long, insisting I leave him to deal with the kids. He was even willing to take on some of the paperwork—not all of it, but some—in an attempt to prove to me, and to himself, that he could be the leader he was supposed to be.
I had realized one thing, though I wasn't sure if it would help him or not. It was all about the past, a realization born from earlier chats with number two and four—chats where I hadn't even mentioned my little exposition to them. Once again, I was protecting Damon and Salvatore, knowing they already had enough shit in their history. I had even gotten number eight to open up a bit; he'd told me one memory that, while perhaps not "nasty" by my standards, had been truly traumatic for him at the time.
Mariella was walking next to me as I carried my bag to my car. "What are you pondering?" she asked. "You have that expression that means you've realized something."
I nodded. "I'm not sure if I'll talk about it. I'm protecting my mates. It's about the past, and it might be nasty for them. I've gotten number eight to open up, so I know at least one memory that was really rough for him."
Mariella glanced at number one and then spoke to me via our secret part of the motherhive: " Tell me. I'm not going to blabber to Damon, but I need to know in case it's nasty for him; I don't want to trigger him into coming after me, especially since he's lost whatever was stopping him from hurting me before. There's no more gentleness."
I took a breath, feeling the cool evening air brush over my face as I reached my car.
"'Ella, come on! Mimi can ride alone, there's no need for you to listen to her cussing," Damon barked.
Mariella rolled her eyes, walked up to him, and kissed him, trying to cool him off. It wasn't easy, and I didn't trust her entirely; she could very well blabber everything and drive Damon into another crisis. I started thinking about talking to number five instead. We had a connection of trust and love, and I felt he was someone who might be able to take this information without falling into a funk over the past.
As I started my car and got on the road, I was still pondering my little situation. Number five was actually one of the most level-headed, and even numbers two and four were steady as well, though the explosive nature of number four might set him off and drive number two to Mariella. Of course, I was tired after a long day and knew I still had many orders to fulfill, but luckily, my flower room at home was as full as ever, so I had the material. The only downside was that it was all time taken away from my younger kids, the crawlers who were trying to stand; those first steps were always so damn magical.
As for number one, I had no idea if he was going to stick around or if this had been just a one-off. Seeing them driving behind me, I kept my irritation under control and refrained from cussing at any of the other drivers. It wasn't ideal, or according to Wulfe's standards, but I wasn't in the mood to listen to my husband harping in my mind about my road rage.
Instead, I just planned different kinds of flower arrangements and let songs play in my mind, knowing very well it was one of the most effective ways to block telepathic intrusion. It was not a big obstacle for Wulfe, who could override it very easily, but for the Salvatores—especially number one in his everlasting curiosity—it was sometimes necessary for me to set boundaries regarding what he could dig out of my mind.
When I finally pulled into our driveway, I was still lost in my thoughts about flowers. I opened the door, got out of the car, and reached for the backseat to grab my stuff.
Wulfe walked out with Adam and said, "Let us take them; you go in and relax. It is time to eat soon, and really, you should cut your hours. It is not good for you if you overdo it."
I smiled and said, "I know, but the clients just keep on coming. What can I do? Nothing. I have a ton of orders to finish and more are coming; my reservation book is full for weeks."
Adam replied, "We have honey, we have. There are others who will do those arrangements, and since we have an example, we have an idea of what is needed. There is no need for you to do it alone. Let's see if we can make them sooner rather than later, and truly, you should limit your workdays to three days a week and five to six hours. The girls can take over; we have talked about getting two shifts in, so there is no need for you to barge in at 7 a.m. and come home at 7 p.m."
I sighed; it was surely sweet that they cared, but this was just life, and one had to work hard to keep money coming in. I had seen just how much my girls—Emmylee, May, Lily, and Vivianne—improvised when making bouquets, and the results were never what I had in mind. It was a bit of a dilemma, as clients wanted a certain kind of bouquet while my girls were a bit too loose with their designs. This forced me to snap at them a few times, until I eventually noticed it was easier to do the work myself than try to keep them in line.
However, I was too tired to explain any of this to the overconcerned males hovering around me, Wulfe and Adam. The number one had already gone inside with Mariella, and I wasn't sure if they were going to come upstairs at all; frankly, I didn't give a shit. All I wanted was to sit down, have a glass or two of wine, and then go eat something. The kids would be off to bed soon, probably taking a bath right about now.
Still, this was our life; I could not be in many places at the same time, so someone would have to do without me. This time it had been my kids, but they had others—many of them—so they weren't alone or deserted at all. I still felt like a lousy mom, though, because I was one.
As I finally trudged to my wing and into my lobby to sit down, I noticed that my bottles of wine had been taken away. Hearing footsteps and the creaking of wheels, I watched number four come in pushing a cart full of food.
"Here, start with this," he said. "No more wine guzzling for you. You can come eat in the kitchen, or I can bring more food here too."
He explained that the kids were already sleeping, as it had been an active day at daycare without naps, and they were bone-tired after their baths.
"Tomorrow you have a free day; no more working. You can spend it with the kids, we will look at those flowers, and I will make sure the girls aren't getting too creative."
His tone was firm, and I was too tired to come up with a decent argument, so I just grunted and dug into my meal. I guzzled ice-cold orange juice, smoothies, and piping hot coffee, devouring succulent meat and whatnot while my husband kept his eye on me, making sure I was eating in the correct order.
Soon, number one walked in too.
He said to me, "Well, after you have eaten, let's look at some of the paperwork. I can take some, not all of it, but let's see if we can do this together. Actually, I have given this some thought and realized you were right. I wasn't into this—not really—but I am beginning to understand what it will take. I am not there yet, but I am going in that direction, and I must admit, quite a few of your ideas are so damn spot on, I wouldn't have even thought of them."
As he watched me eat, I just grunted and focused on my food with a full mouth while he told four just how busy my shop was. They talked about running two shifts in both our shops, and then they planned the upcoming evaluation of the children and their potential schooling requirements. There was also talk about when our youngest, who were under a year old, would go to daycare; however, we would need them to get assessed first so their powers or abilities could manifest a bit more.
I was reeling from everything that had happened today, yet a small voice in the back of my mind told me not to trust number one at all. He was still very much a weather vane, and he might drop a bomb in my lap if I let go of too much control.
Sure, there was always paperwork for him, and I planned to let him handle the bulk of it regarding Mariella's kids—not mine, as I didn't want to jeopardize their care. I would leave the big decisions to the other Salvatores to see if number one could manage it for more than three weeks in a row and actually treat this like family life.
Then there was the question of my little exposé. I still intended to talk to number five about it and follow his advice. If he thought number one could handle it—which I very much doubt—I could share my theory, but my gut feeling told me it was too much for him and I shouldn't trust his ability to deal with it.
Even if it was history, the impact remained, and I knew several Salvatores well enough to know they didn't handle what Damien had done very well; number one was one of them. Most likely, he would start a never-ending blame game, blaming himself and having yet another crisis.
Number one said, just as I'd emptied my tray, "Well, I'll go get you some more, and then we can have a chat and look at that paperwork—what I can do and how things will go." He continued, "I know I'm not very reliable, and this whole family life has been one big surprise for me; I'm just too old to handle these sorts of surprises very well. Even other versions of myself can do it better, but I suspect that's because your love has healed them. I'm just too messed up with Mariella, and since she might not let you heal me with your love, I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be perfect for you."
I sighed and said tiredly, "I don't need you to be perfect; I just need you to grow the fuck up and be an adult. You need to understand that this is life, not a job, and you should try to enjoy it. Your biggest issue is letting go of power and needing to be top dog, but believe me, being a leader is no walk in the park. I'm not a leader; I'm just the one who handles everything, ensures everything gets done, and prevents crises. You aren't wired that way, though—you just want to order everyone around to do this and that, while snatching up whatever looks fun, no matter who's doing it. It's your biggest flaw and it makes you a brat."
I wasn't in the mood for sugarcoating or being diplomatic, so I told him straight up. It was his greatest weakness: he would always spot the most enjoyable thing someone else was doing, butt in to push them away and take over, only to realize it wasn't actually his kind of deal—he just couldn't stand that someone else was having too much fun. He stood up without saying a word, took the trolley, pushed it away, and walked out of my lounge. It wasn't my problem; I had simply told him the truth.
I leaned back, trying to relax and plan for whatever tomorrow might bring with my ever-growing horde of kids. It was hard to believe I had fourteen of them at once. Ten were quite advanced—chatting, doing their own things, and being their own little people—while my youngest ones kept me sharp and on my toes.
I knew I wasn't alone, but then there was Mariella, the other men like Wulfe, and all kinds of mixed-up emotions like jealousy, possessiveness, love, and lust. At the same time, I was trying to learn from this, enjoy myself, keep the family going, and educate those who truly wanted to learn. Even so, I sometimes felt I had no time to just be Mimi, as I had so many roles to fulfill.
Mariella, on the other hand, had it easy; she could do pretty much what she wanted and be whoever she wanted to be. With very little responsibility, she mainly went by her own needs and wants. Oh, I wish someday I could do that too, but I had a bit too well-working a sense of responsibility and maternal instinct.
I just knew that this time would change me, and that the change would be permanent—a bit like how Venom transformed me from a withdrawn person who never showed her true self to anyone, into one who had no filter regarding what to share, who to share it with, or how to share it. It wasn't always ideal, but it was so damn freeing; it truly liberated my soul, a feeling I've tried to hold onto ever since.
Now I was a mother, head of the household, and whatnot, rather than a killer, leader, or doctor. Even if those parts were still in me, it just wasn't the time to use them. I was also learning quite a few lessons here. Sure, I was immortal, but that didn't mean I had lived forever; I had most likely lived for a few centuries.
Since how time was counted changed around the time I was created—or when the actual experiment was done—it made it a bit tricky for me to count my exact age, so I just winged it with "a few centuries" as I crudely estimated the timeframe by my own standards.
Because I hadn't been around forever, I had no idea what it actually meant to live for eternity. On the other hand, I knew it in a way; I had experienced it, though perhaps more on a psychological level. I hadn't yet acquired that kind of mindset, and I wasn't sure if one ever really does, or if it was just my own idea of what I should become.
Anyway, one of the lessons I was learning was that I had time. Now was the time for me to be a mother, so I could let go of my other roles and put them on the backburner. When the time came—and it would come—I would take them back again, even if it wasn't the time to be a mother but something else entirely.
As I said, I wasn't sure if others who had lived a long time shared this idea of roles, or if it was just because of my "pretender" side. That was one more aspect I should be teaching to my students: all about being a pretender and how to use that ability. Not to mention Jarod too much, as he was still a sore spot for them for many reasons. One of the biggest was the old promise he had given me—a promise to marry me if he ever lost his wife—which several Salvatores had heard, and they kept promises as something almost binding.
This is one of the biggest issues; even if it hadn't been such a noble time in my life, Jarod's promise had been sincere. Knowing this, it was a major stressor for the Salvatores to find out he was the one taking care of me when I had the venoms. Because he was there through the hardest time of my life, the Salvatores were left feeling like failures, as they couldn't handle my newfound honesty very easily. Consequently, teaching them about "pretender" stuff without mentioning Jarod was difficult, since he had taught me pretty much everything I knew.
I had so much to do, even in my free time, that I literally had no time for myself. Yet, this was just what life was all about: being a mother, head of the household, and someone who had all the answers—or at least ways to make things work, even if I winged most of it. It wouldn't help anyone if I let them see what a mess I am internally or how much of this is actually an act; it was simply a part of my life that I had to live, learn from, and hopefully enjoy.
Soon, Number Four brought me another stacked cart of food and sat down.
"I heard that," he said. "You winging this and not being sure—hell, I am here for you. We all are, and despite Number One needing some time to get there, we have time."
He glanced at me, looked at his feet, and added, "When you are this old, time is kind of a blur. We've learned to live in the moment, but it isn't how we used to do it, and I guess Number One is still learning."
He took a breath and furrowed his brows, struggling to explain his theory or their history. "It wasn't uncommon for us to lose ourselves, live, and do whatever we liked, and boom—ten years had passed. Now that every day is so demanding, Number One is trying to lose himself and just let this happen, but since we aren't the same anymore, it just doesn't work."
His voice was slightly amused and wistful as he watched me eating.
"Missy, remember the order—not yet going for those chicken thighs, there is wagyu still left," he snapped as my fork hovered over the golden, crispy crust.
My mouth was full, so I couldn't say much, but I nodded. It was comforting to know that I still had my Salvatores, and that they got me. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have to act so hard; perhaps I could just let them see my struggles, and we could all struggle together.