Beginning with Forever (2 page)

“
An hour, possibly two is all I have. No kissing,” I tell her coldly. I'm normally not this abrasive, but I'm struggling tonight. She smiles allusively in response, untouched by my callous demands.

Sh
immying herself down to her knees, she widens my legs with an abrupt push of her hands while locking her eyes with mine. Effortlessly, she unfastens my belt buckle, button, and metal clasp with the finesse of a veteran temptress. I hear my zipper and then feel the solace of her lips around my semi-hard cock. I arch my head back and close my eyes, attempting to savor the indulging moment. She works her mouth and tongue skillfully up and down my shaft, adjusting her pace from fast to slow and vice versa. Christ, she’s so fucking good. Then why am I not responding to her? I know why. Reality kicks me in the groin when I open my lids and see her desperately trying to please me. Fuck! She reminds me so much of Bianca at that moment. What am I doing? Grabbing her wrists gently, I lift her off of me and zip my pants. The sound of tiny metal teeth coming together concludes our brief one hour-stand. She’s immediately disappointed. I rise to my feet and see my body towering over her delicate frame wilted on the floor. Her pleading eyes stare back at mine as I apologize, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. It’s not you. It’s me. Please take advantage of the room and any services you want. It’s all paid for.” Hating my shameful act, I charge out of the room, leaving her naked on the floor, speechless and rejected.

What’s
wrong with me? Bianca doesn’t deserve this even if I don’t love her. How did I manage to screw up my already shitty situation even more? Hell, if I know. But it doesn’t matter now, what does matter is I have to make things right. Meaning, I’ll fly to St. Maarten and marry the woman my mother believes is perfect for me.

____________________

As I ride the elevator down to the main lobby, I do my best to regain my composure. I almost fucked a woman, whose name I still don’t even know, to prove to myself that I really don’t love Bianca and that I shouldn’t marry her. Who does that, and where did it get me? Nowhere! I’m still on my way to St. Maarten, and now I also have guilt and regret to contend with. The minute the elevator doors glide open, I step out and advance towards the exit. A doorman hails a cab for me. “Bradley Pharmaceutical Corporation,” I rattle off to the driver and hop in. Owen will be coming for me in about an hour, so I’ll use this time to pull myself together.

An
oldies station is playing faintly in the background. How odd, I actually recognize the tune as I listen to the driver’s lively humming. The image of my parents dancing to it as their old record player spins around is still vivid in my mind. For me, it was always comforting to see them so much in love because not all parents were like them, according to some of the kids I talked to at school. Thinking about their relationship depresses me even more. Why couldn’t God bless me with that kind of love instead of this shitty ending? The resentment of my situation escalates as I stare vacantly into an empty dark sky.

* * * * * * * *

For over ten years, I’ve dedicated much of my time to my pharmaceutical empire, and it kept me very busy. I didn’t know how to balance work and play, so my mother took it upon herself to make fixing my lack of a love-life her part-time job. She sought out young, eligible, beautiful women for me through her many social functions. I dated a few of them just to show her my appreciation for her efforts, but none of them offered me a connection I felt deep enough to pursue. It wasn’t entirely the women’s faults. I can admit that I have an emotional handicap. I refuse to let anyone into my heart, not even Bianca, the woman I’m supposed to marry tomorrow.

M
y mother had witnessed my years of self-torment. It broke her heart to see me so debilitated because I had lost the one person who meant more to me than all the wealth I accumulated after her death. I mourned Emily for years. In fact, I probably never stopped mourning for her. I isolated myself from society and basically had no life beyond school and cancer research. I became obsessed with trying to find a way I could’ve saved Emily from that vile disease. My obsession led me to stumble upon a targeted cure for early stage cancers. The success isolated me even more because it drove me to dig further to find the ultimate cure for cancer. Then to make matters worse, I also lost the one friend I made after Emily’s death to cancer. Professor Steward had reached out to me when I was a freshman in college. He believed in my determination and guided me under his wing. Together we developed a drug that has made me one of the wealthiest men in the world. Unfortunately, Professor Steward didn’t live long enough to reap the reward of our success. He lost his battle with pancreatic cancer six months after his diagnosis. I didn’t handle his death well, either. From that day on, I swore I would dedicate the rest of my life, if I had to, to develop a cure that will eradicate all cancers for good.

My obsession
to cure cancer didn’t settle well with my mother. It made her terribly concerned for my mental health, so she intervened by creating a distraction for me. She helped me organize my first Lymphoma Yacht Function. I loved the idea of contributing to a fundraiser that benefitted cancer research and services. That little baby step she convinced me to take led to bigger steps like dating. My mother was overjoyed that her plan was successful. Eventually, I felt more comfortable and sought the company of many women.

Dating was one thing
, but commitment was entirely different and off limits for me. I wasn’t ready for that. Again, my mother intervened because she couldn’t handle the idea of me not settling down and having children. I was approaching thirty at the time. She pleaded relentlessly with me every chance she had. She argued that she wasn’t getting any younger and that all her friends bragged about their beautiful grandbabies while she had none. Her brainwashing took a toll on me, and I started to believe that she deserved happiness and grandbabies like her friends.

M
y mother introduced me to Bianca a little over two years ago. She had met Bianca at some cancer fundraiser and fell in love with her for me. My mother’s taste is impeccable. Bianca is no ordinary woman. Her body screams hot-sex with her voluptuous breasts, slender waistline and a tight ass. She has lustrous, platinum blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes and puckering full lips. She commands both men’s and women’s attention when she enters a room. Just like any typical man, I wasn’t immune to her sensuality
initially. Plus, it also didn’t hurt that her beautiful face and blue eyes reminded me so much of Emily. As sick as it sounded, this was probably why I agreed to marry her.

Bianca
was fucking amazing in bed, but that was it. She wasn’t able to touch my heart, not even a tiny corner. She didn’t know how to, or maybe I didn’t allow her to. Regardless of the reason, I just couldn’t make myself love her, no matter how hard I tried. Several times I attempted to break off our engagement, but somehow, someway, my mother convinced me to stay with her. I could never blame my mother for loving me too much. The shitty predicament I’m in is no one’s fault, but mine. I wasn’t man enough to end it when I should’ve. Shaking my head, I try to clear my mind. Backing out is not an option for me.

The
taxi creeps up to a curb, and there I see it in the distance, my last name illuminated brightly on top of one of the tallest buildings in Boston. The driver halts his cab to let me out at the entrance of Bradley Pharmaceutical Corporation. Pulling out a crisp hundred dollar bill, I drop it in his palm, and he thanks me for my generosity with a satisfied grin. The air feels much cooler this evening for early September, but I’m not complaining. It’s a refreshing change from this summer’s heat wave. I absorb one last revitalizing breeze into my system before striding into my building and entering through a private side door. Stepping into the elevator, I release my body against the back wall and ride it up to my office.
Fuck, am I really going to go through with this?
I think with my head stooped toward the floor. Slowly dragging my feet, I eventually make way to the leather loveseat by the window. I crash down in one quick motion and sadly think
I’ll be one unhappily married man tomorrow
.

N
ow where did I put it? Pushing years of knick-knacks aside, I dug to the bottom of my glass wish jar to retrieve my lucky fortune which came with my Panda Express two entrée meal. I held it against my pounding chest with my eyes sealed and recited it by memory, “Good fortune will float your way.” I’ve superstitiously kept this silly piece of paper for four months, hoping it would bring me good news.

I
’ve dedicated eighteen academic years of my life, including three summers, for this very day. The outcome of my future was being delivered to me in a gold envelope from the prestigious St. Croix Medical School. It’s not only ideally located on a beautiful Caribbean island, but is also renowned for graduating many gifted surgeons and medical specialists around the world. I chose this school because it’s the only one in the world that offers an accelerated program, combining both medical school and residency together. Students are completely board eligible after five full years of their services and dedication. Each year, thousands of hopeful medical students apply for the limited fifty-five coveted positions, and now I was among the list of hopefuls, holding onto a wishful fortune cookie prediction for luck.

I
’ve also been praying every night for months, hoping the benevolent Lord would answer my one special request. Maybe my chances would be better if I wasn’t a holiday Christian, meaning, I only attended specific services throughout the year like Christmas and Easter and a few other ones in between. And as if that wasn’t enough, I threw in the Laughing Buddha as an added measure. I’ve rubbed every round-belly statue in every Asian restaurant in town for additional luck. My mother is Buddhist slash Christian, making me a very confused ‘Buddhistian,’ a made-up religion I categorized myself under.

My trips to the mailbox
have been unnerving for the past few weeks. The anticipation tortured me slowly. I asked Emma, one of my two bestest friends, to drop me off in front of the mailbox today instead of my house to save me that dreadful walk. My hands trembled like crazy as I turned the key to open the metal door to my community mailbox. Peeking inside the dark compartment, I finally saw my future staring back at me. I pulled the fancy envelope out and ran back to the house as quickly as my feet could carry me there.

My mo
ther was calmly sitting at our kitchen table with her chin rested in her palms. She had her usual cup of fresh brewed jasmine tea in front of her. I inhaled the calming, fragrant scent as I breathlessly handed her the envelope. She cautiously tore it open and pulled the letter out. Immediately, I knew I was accepted without even looking at the contents in it. I understood the proud, elated tears forming underneath her prematurely aged eyes. The letter fell like a wafting feather onto the table as I leaned down to embrace my sobbing mother with all my love. Her body shivered with happiness. She stroked the back of my head affectionately, the same way I used to comfort her whenever she cried herself to sleep. This rare, tender side of her unintentionally stirred more tears to flow from me. Emotions are difficult for my mother. Being hardened by her unkind past experiences, she struggles to express her true feelings to anyone. I’ve learned to cope with this, and in some ways, I think it has shaped me into the resilient person I am today.

We stopped
shedding tears of joy to start tears of sadness instead. It has always been just the two of us ever since I was born. My father abandoned her when I was merely an unplanned fetus in her womb. I knew nothing about him except for the pain he’s caused my mom, and I hated him for it. Occasionally, I would ask her about him, but she would avoid the topic altogether, until today. Mom must’ve decided that I was old enough to handle their story.

* * * * * * * *

His name was Collin Montgomery, my father. He came with money, breathtaking good looks, and empty promises. My mother, Lia, was living in Hong Kong with her parents at the time. Her two elder sisters were already married off to wealthy businessmen from Taiwan and England, but Lia had no desire to follow their footsteps. She saw a different future for herself, one that her father, Marcus Ly, didn’t agree with. She wanted to become a surgeon. Marcus strongly believed a woman’s role is better served as a supportive wife and a loving mother to her children. She believed in finding success and independence on her own. He saw financial and emotional dependence through a wealthy husband. They obviously didn’t see eye to eye.

Marcus
found a solution that satisfied both their needs. He told Lia she could go to medical school if she agreed to marry his potential business associate’s son. Lia’s future husband’s family would take care of everything as soon as she moved back to the states with them. Initially, she was mortified to hear her father’s selfish proposition. She couldn’t believe he wanted to use her marriage as leverage for sealing a business deal. This was far more callous than she ever thought her father was capable of, but this was his offer, take it or leave it. Lia wanted to chase her dream so badly; she agreed to her father’s condition—but not without resentment. She stopped speaking to him from that point on.

Charles Montgomery
, Marcus’ business partner and also my American grandfather, flew my unwilling father, Collin, to Hong Kong to meet my unwilling mother, Lia. Charles was also eager to seal a trading deal in exchange for his son’s marriage proposal. He had the same business strategy as Marcus. They both believed in expanding their business empires with ‘friendly’ mergers.