Page 83 of Xander

Another orderly—a man—stood outside her door like a guard, arms folded. “She’s been waiting for you,” he said, his tone unhappy. “She won’t let anyone else touch her.”

“I can understand why,” Xander said.

When he opened the door, with the orderly at his back, we were faced with Eirini Maxwell. I had only ever seen her wedding picture and a handful of other photos in dusty albums relegated to the attic with everything else Henry had wanted to hide away.

She was still a beautiful woman, but her illness had ravaged her face. The aristocratic cheekbones were now barren hollows, and her eyes were red-rimmed and restless. Someone had wrapped a bandage around her head, but nobody had washed her hair, and the lank black strands hung heavily around her shoulders in long, stringy tangles like kelp.

The room was in no better condition. A blanket was thrown haphazardly on the floor, and other personal items were strewn on the bed. Broken pieces of glass were being swept up by an orderly, which must’ve been the noise I’d heard.

When she grabbed another personal item to chuck at the door, Xander grabbed me and ducked, engulfing my smaller body with his larger one. It was a photo frame that hit him on the back before it dropped to the floor and shattered. The orderly sighed heavily and moved to clean up the glass.

Had I not been to an institution, perhaps this scene would’ve fazed me.

Xander held up a palm so I’d remain by the door at a safe distance. He carefully sidestepped the broken glass, then switched to Greek to say something to his mother that I didn’t understand.

I blinked at him in surprise, not having expected it. I knew Eirini was Greek, but I had no idea Xander picked up the language from her. Neither Jasper nor he had spoken a lick of Greek in front of me before. It was a complete surprise.

His mother heard him and replied, her voice sullen.

Xander knelt at her side. “Mamá, irémise. Tha se narkósoun.”

“Den me noiázei pia,” she responded. “Den me noiázei típota.”

Xander sighed, bowing his head against her leg. I felt the orderly tense behind me when Eirini lifted her clawlike hand, but all she did was put her hand in his hair and sift through it with an absent affection that seemed instinctive.

“Den me noiázei pia,” she said again, in a slightly calmer voice. Then her eyes went to me, and her hand stilled. “Who is this?”

“This is Jordan,” Xander said softly.

“Hello,” I said, giving what I hoped was a genuine-looking smile.

Eirini nodded slowly before dismissing me. Xander sat with her for several moments, speaking to her soothingly until she curled under the blanket.

Xander stood, giving his mother’s hand another squeeze. “How come no one was watching her?” he asked the orderly. “They know she has fits.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Maxwell,” the man replied. “I don’t have an explanation for you.”

“These kinds of mistakes are unacceptable.” He ran his fingers over his mother’s knuckles, who was watching their exchange blankly. “Someone needs to watch her when she leaves her room.”

“Yes, Mr. Maxwell,” the orderly said.

They debated for a few minutes longer.

“Look, I’ll pay to hire someone who speaks Greek,” Xander said. “I’m worried about her ability to communicate. When she’s too upset, she can’t speak English.”

“We’ll have to discuss that with the senior supervisor for their approval.”

Xander bit back a response and nodded tersely, clearly not liking this. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room. I waved at Eirini, who picked at the threads of her sheets, before turning to follow him out.

Our footsteps echoed sinisterly on the tiles of those sterile halls, and I found myself thinking of a nightmare I used to have while in the institution where I’d be trapped in a maze with no way out. How terrifying it would be to find yourself in a place so completely unlike a home. A place like this—so cold and unwelcoming.

It made me so, so sad for Eirini… and for Xander.

The years I spent hiding in Henry’s cocoon had stunted my growth, while Xander had been forced to grow up too soon. He was a celebrity and should be enjoying his twenties at parties, philandering, and blowing his hard-earned cash. Instead, he was the steady hand of what remained of his family. In many ways, he was now the adult between us with more life experience, and I was following him around, lost and unsure about my direction in life.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him as we walked out of the building. “This is awful.”

He was quiet for so long that I didn’t think he’d respond. “It’s been a shit day.”