’ I kept my head still, but in my mind I could feel myself nodding once more. I remembered my father preaching many similar things, trying to push his religious beliefs on me and my sister, and the way I had just silently accepted everything he said whereas my sister had fought hard to be allowed to think for herself. But those were bad memories, memories that had no place right there and right then. ‘My father was, or at least very nearly was, a closet drunkard, always needing just a few shots of whiskey to reach a state of calm when he came home from work late in the evenings. It’s still strikes me as one of those strange, illogical things, my mother preaching about the sins of drinking, smoking, fornicating, and my father hitting the bottle just as soon as he got home, my mother saying nothing to him about his ‘inappropriate behavior’. Sometimes I wonder how hard she had to bite her tongue on those days when my father had just a few glasses more than he usually did, when she had to. When she stood up to gather the pots Marcus stood too. "I'll just help you with the washing up, and then I'll leave you in peace." Thank you," was her weak response, as a wave of disappointment washed over her at the prospect of his leaving.She walked him to the door where he bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for my supper," he told her quietly."You are always welcome." She stood looking up at him not realising that everything she was feeling was right there in her eyes; clear for him to see.Marcus paused to stare into those glorious eyes for a few moments, knowing that it would be so easy to fall for her, to seduce her ... to become involved with her..."You should go inside; it's getting cold out here," he instructed abruptly.She was his employee, she was his assistant's sister; to become involved with her would ... complicate things needlessly."Good night Miranda," he sighed regretfully as he stepped back from her porch, and turned to leave."Good night Marcus.".
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