I open the door to see a familiar dark brown haired woman standing with a smile on her face and just like that, I know there has got to be something, ''Mother.'' I mutter, earning myself a push from her so that she can enter the house—I take a few steps back, seeing that she has brought two bodyguards along.
As I turn to look at her, I see her eyes wandering around the house; probably mocking this place in her mind. Without further ado, I close the door, stepping towards the middle of the living room, ''I know that's not yours, Emery.'' She points at a white loose blouse, clearly a women's clothing.
To my surprise, she stands up, heading straight towards my bedroom. I quickly follow behind her, ''What are you doing?'' I ask but she ignores me by pushing the door open, revealing a woman with dark blonde hair, still in her deep slumber—which causes my mother to glare at me immediately.
She closes the door, gently and starts to pull me by the wrist, ''This is what you've been doing in Melbourne? Living like a man with no purpose? Who is she? Is she your girlfriend?'' She questions, making me put both of my hands on her shoulders and slowly letting her sit down on one of the sofas.1
Both of her hazel eyes won't stop glaring at me and I know that she's not satisfied with me. Ever since I was eighteen, I moved straight to Australia because I don't want to be involved with any duties back in England—I never wanted that kind of life. I want a free life where I can do whatever and however I want.
Apart from that, I furthered my studies here.
Even in Australia, I know she's been keeping track of me. I'm the only child and I'm next to the throne; it's clear why she takes really good care of me. Other than the motherly love, sometimes I can't even have my own privacy—I've caught a few people following me and it was all her idea. She thought to keep me safe.
''Is she a prostitute?'' She questions once more which causes my eyes to widen slightly.
''No, she's a friend.'' I answer, shaking my head in denial.
Honestly, I barely even know her and she's just a girl I met last night at a party. She kept on wanting my attention and maybe I was too drunk to think clearly which explains why she's here, in my bedroom, in my house; in bed. Clearly, something happened last night with her.
''Friends don't have sexual intercourses.'' She responds and I start to chuckle—realising that it has been a while since I've talked to her. I've missed her and her voice; I missed her nagging a bit more because she always does that on the phone.
''It's a bit creepy when you say it like that,''
She rubs onto her temples, ''Oh dear, Emery. At least she's not your girlfriend, that would have broken my heart. She's definitely not I imagined my daughter-in-law would be but now when I think about it, she's far from what I imagined. Too far,'' She says, stating the truth.