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Mango A Romantic Fiction Novel Provided by PneumaSender FREE to Read Online
Chapter 1 “Come on, Hawthorne!” Dave was angry, seemingly worried about his brother. Hawthorne was firm, however. “I have the right to date whome I wish.” His niece gave it a try. “Listen, honestly, Uncle H, what could a 20-year old want with you? She is possibly a gold-digger. No, wait. Let me rephrase that: What are the chances she’s not a gold-digger?” Smiling to himself, Hawthorne contemplated that thought, and it made him chuckle. Dory was a gold digger, and unabashedly so. She had given him a barely concealed sarcastic word or two until he mentioned his name – which immediately brought one face to face with the fact of his money. Dory had spunk, charm, and an appetite for riches, it seemed. None of that deterred Hawthorne. He would have her, if she would have him. Still hanging on to his argument, Dave pressed him. “What could you possibly want with this woman?” Hawthorne’s gaze swept around the room. They were in his home library, with its dark walnut shelving and a unique mango-colored rug. It was a lovely place, both cheerful and solemn. His eyes met theirs, one by one, as he said deliberately and without shame, “I want to have her in my bed every night. I want to wake up and see her beside me. Or better yet,” he added, rubbing his chest with a far-away grin, “I want to awaken to the feel of her head resting against me.” Then, sensing his family’s discomfort, he stopped and stood to his full height. “Why shouldn’t I have her?” He faced them squarely and there was a challenge in his expression that few people would dare oppose. Hawthorne Towers hadn’t gotten rich by being mild or easily swayed. They looked up to meet his gaze and each one seemed to freeze at the sight of his anger. They stared back, then slowly, and as shyly as he could ever remember them being, they looked down and away from him. They didn’t know how to word it in a way that would not offend him, yet he knew what they were thinking. He was aiming too high—or rather two low, since the woman was barely out of her teens. Still, she had accepted a date, even after he had so brashly laid claim to her as his own future wife. There was reason to hope — yes, indeed — and hope was what he would hold to. “I have never promised any of you an inheritance. In fact, I have openly stated that my money will go someplace else. You’ve all benefited financially from my money and my name through the years, and not one of you is destitute, or even close to it, so my obligation has been fulfilled. You all knew this and accepted it – or so I had thought. So what’s the problem? If I want to throw it away chasing after a romantic relationship, who’s to stop me? I’m in my right mind — well, maybe a little love crazed – all of you know it. So, I repeat, what’s the problem?” Then, guessing the new direction of their thoughts, he said, “You will not confront this woman, try to shame her, or in any way make her feel unwelcome as my significant other. That last line he threw out at his lesbian niece. She lifted up her head and said, “Touché.” Hawthorne laughed. He had always loved that niece. Everything was settled. He would pursue his bride until he caught her, and no one would interfere.
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