by R. G. Angel
Don’t betray me again, Esmeralda, I thought.
OK, but don’t waste my time, I replied. Just as the class was called to order, I saw the three little dots of Esme’s pending reply. Well, our teacher had another thing coming if she thought I would let go of my phone before seeing the answer.
Promise, she simply replied.
As lunch approached, I couldn’t help the apprehension that settled in me. It was a new feeling. Ever since Esmeralda had entered my life, I’d started to sometimes feel like a child. It was unnerving. Before, I’d been all contempt and anger. Now... I wasn’t sure anymore.
I met her by my car and leaned down bracing my arm on the car beside her face.
People began staring at us with various levels of indiscretion. We were the star couple of Brentwood, but rarely showed any familiarity. People assumed it was simply for decorum, that PDA was against our elitist customs, and not due to the disgust my touch elicited in my fiancée. How ironic.
“Do you mind if we speak in the car? I'm not a fan of an audience,” she said. I followed her eyes to the group of vipers who usually trailed behind Aleksandra.
“Ah, yes, but first let's give them something to write home about.” I gave her a small smile. The little conspiratorial one she gave me back made me feel lighter. I leaned down, giving her a sweet kiss. I didn't have to do this, but I wanted to, like I always did when she was near.
I usually had a primal need, a desire to conquer her, but also, more often now, I felt a wave of tenderness I didn't really understand. It was not something I ever received or gave and yet...it was there, growing.
I lifted my head. She let out a little sigh, her gray eyes looking stormier and steelier after this kiss. This was one of those moments that recomforted me in my weakness, because I knew that, even if it was on a much lesser level, I affected her too.
I opened the passenger door and gestured her in.
She cleared her throat, shaking her head a little. “Yes, sure, okay, thanks.”
I closed the door behind her and couldn't help but grin like an idiot. Maybe I affected her a bit more than I thought.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
She nodded. Opening her bag, she got out a leather-bound notebook. It wasn’t really something I’d expected. She proffered it to me, her face full of apprehension as if she was giving me her most precious belonging.
“Okay…” I trailed off. Taking it from her, I rested it on my lap.
“This is my mother’s journal.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the notebook on my lap with renewed interest. “Did Archibald give it to you?”
She shook her head. “No, I don't know who gave it to me. It was just waiting for me in a brown envelope. This -” she pointed at the notebook on my lap - “should be proof enough that I didn’t try to kill myself. This is also why I know my mom is not the homewrecker you seem to think she was.”
That was a lot of information to have at once. The journal could contain lies, I thought, but then what would be the point of lying in one’s own journal?
“Does it talk about my parents?”
“It does a bit.” She grimaced, cocking her head to the side. “It did more.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me with uncertainty. She wasn't sure how much she wanted to reveal. I wish I could blame her, but I would feel the same if I was in her shoes. Giving me information would give me ammunition. Before that she needed to decide how much she trusted me, which considering our history couldn’t be much.
“I…” She sighed as she turned to look ahead, breaking eye contact. “I’d ripped out some pages concerning your family, I’d posted them to you the day I’d left.”
“You– I never got them.”
“I know that now.”
“Why did you?” My mind was reeling. This girl never did anything I expected. Why couldn’t she be predictable? It would avoid me being conflicted all the damned time.
She looked down at her hands, fidgeting her fingers.
I rested my hand on top of hers to stop her without thinking of the effect her soft skin always had on me. How a mere touch caused my chest to tighten so much it made it hard to breathe.
“Esmeralda, why did you send those pages to me?” I asked again.
She rested her head against the headrest, then turned toward me. “Because I was conflicted about leaving, because I thought it might make you hate me less.” She let out a humorless laugh that broke the little bit of the heart I had left. “What an epic failure, right?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t hate her, not even a little, not even when I had tried so hard to. I was feeling angry, hurt, betrayed…all of this in one, but no hate, which was quite ironic as, before her, hate had been my most constant feeling. Against my parents, myself, the world… but not her. Never her.
“I don’t hate you.”
She arched an eyebrow, looking at me with incredulity.
“I don’t, but that might be a conversation for another time. So, what about your mother’s journal?”
“I want to find out who gave it to me because it means it was someone she trusted, and I need to talk to him or her.”
“What are you looking for Esmeralda? Why is this person important?” She was not telling me everything. She was too nervous. There was something more.
“Truthfully, I’m not sure.”
I looked at her for a second. She bit her bottom lip, a clear tale of her nervousness, but I wouldn’t push her. Maybe it would be progressive. Maybe she’d end up trusting me more.
“Where did you get it?”
“In the library. It was on my desk.”
“Okay, who was there?”
“I think – I think it might be the librarian.”
I nodded. “Okay, let's go ask her.”
She let out a snort, looking at me clearly thinking it was a joke.
“I’m not joking,” I added, opening my door and getting out of the car.
“But.”” She rushed out of the car and stood in front of me. “It can’t be so easy!”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because if she wanted me to know, she would’ve told me.”
I smiled at her. If only she knew how words didn’t mean much, not to me. That woman would probably be saying so much more without speaking.
I extended my hand to her. “Do you trust me?”
“To some extent.” She took my hand tentatively. “In theory.”
I liked the honesty behind her words. I nodded, intertwining our fingers together. “Just follow my lead.” I pulled her toward the library as the bell rang to announce the end of lunch.
“Caleb, we’re going to be late.”
“So? Don’t be scared. I won’t mess this up. I’m a master manipulator. Don't forget that.”
“How could I? This is why I have such a hard time trusting you. This is also one of the reasons why I left. I wasn’t sure what to trust.”
I froze. How could she reveal something that was so crucial in the middle of a corridor full of students? We didn’t have the time to address that now, but it would have to be addressed again because this was a revelation much more critical than she realized.
“Oh, Miss Forbes!” The librarian smiled at her. Her smile slipped a little when she saw me. She wasn’t a fan, but not a lot of people were. “Mr. Astor.”
I frowned. She looked familiar. “Librarian.”
Esmeralda rolled her eyes. She tried to let go of my hand, but I tightened my grip. I was not letting go yet. “It’s Ms. White!” She pulled me to the counter.
The librarian pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned on the counter, concentrating on Esmeralda alone.
“How have you been doing? I haven’t seen you for a while. I miss seeing you here.”
Esmeralda blushed a little with guilt. Why should she feel guilty? This woman was school staff. Esmeralda didn’t owe her a thing.
“I was bu
sy with school and family. You know.”
“Oh, yes, your trip to Paris and everything!” The woman clapped her hand with glee, but her lips were turned down on one side. She was faking it. “Alors comment était Paris ?”
“Oui,” Esmeralda replied with a nod.
Oh, for the love of God! Antoine should have at least tried to teach her something during the pretend tutorial sessions. They were not even attempting to make their story stick; it was insulting to me. I laughed, tucking Esmeralda into my side and kissing the side of her face.
“You’ve got to stop doing that to people. They will think you don’t understand.” I shook my head while looking at the librarian. “Sorry, she is still very uncomfortable speaking French with anyone other than Antoine St-Vincent. She doesn’t even try with me, so she pretends she doesn’t understand.”
“Esmeralda, please.” I squeezed her hand. “If you’re uncomfortable, reply in English. I’m sure Ms…”
“White,” the librarian offered.
“Yes, I'm sure Ms. White wants to know how Paris was.”
“Okay,” she sighed, looking at me gratefully before turning toward the librarian. “He told you my secret. I don’t like speaking French, but Paris was amazing. The Eiffel towers, the baguettes, the French people with the berets...”
I groaned internally. How did I ever think this girl was a mastermind? She was the worst liar in history. She was a second away from mentioning the garlic-wearing cyclists and Pepe Le Pew.
“She followed her mother's journal; it was quite emotional.”
“Her journal?” Ms. White’s voice faltered. She didn't know that journal existed, but she didn't like that it did. “That’s exciting.” No, she was not excited.
She was scared.
I frowned. The signs were few, but undeniable. Her eyes were a bit wide. Her brows were raised and drawn together in a flat line. Her mouth was open, lips slightly tensed. Why did the journal scare her?
“Did you know Esmeralda’s mom?”
“Her mom?” She blinked in rapid succession. “No? Why would I know your mom? Has she come to the school in the past five years?” she asked, rubbing her chin. Damn, she was a textbook liar. No, something was wrong with her and I hated that.
“Caleb.”” Esmeralda shook her head. “Sorry Ms. White. You see I’m asking because–”
“Because she wanted to know if you have any photos of our parents here somewhere so she can get more photos of her mom.”
“Oh.” She shook her head sadly. “No, I’m sorry, Esmeralda. I have nothing. I can only imagine how much you miss her. I’m very sorry I couldn't help.”
She didn’t look sorry; she looked relieved.
I shrugged. “It was worth asking.” I looked at my watch. “We better go, babe. We don't want to be too late.”
She looked up at me, an eyebrow raised and mouthing the word ‘babe’.
The librarian looked at me, trying to hide her contempt. The dislike is mutual, woman, don’t worry. When she turned to Esmeralda, her smile was once more genuine and her eyes had some warmth. It was the only reason why I didn't try to expose her straight away. “Come see me again soon, okay? I would love to discuss your trip with you.”
“Sure, I promise,” Esmeralda called as I pulled her out of the library.
“Babe?” she tried.
“Not a fan?”
She grimaced. “No, not really.” She pointed at the library as I kept on pulling her down the corridor, not sure where I was taking her. “What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but that woman lied. She doesn't know about the journal, but she knows your mom or of her.”
“How do you–”
I waved my hand dismissively. We didn’t have the time to get into the details. “Just trust me on this. She doesn't like me, but again, who does? She is defensive, even a little scared, and she looked familiar.”
“Yes. She is your school librarian.”
“No.,” I shook my head. “It’s something else. Do you think I acknowledge the help?”
She pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest. “Why are you like that?”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re the elite. You think your brother is better? Think again. But no, there is something about her.”
“Antoine said she didn't have any online presence at all.” She twisted her mouth, chewing on her bottom lip. “He says she is not good enough to be in Brentwood.”
I couldn't help but grin at her. Antoine’s findings were confirming my suspicions. I was just that fucking good.
“Here we go,” she said. “An ego boost you didn't need.”
“We’ll find out who gave it to you, I promise.”
She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. Then walked away to her classroom, leaving me frozen in the corridor like a first-class idiot.
We were making one hell of a team, her and I. Too bad it couldn’t last.
Chapter 12 - Esme
“Do we really have to take them?” Archie asked with a childish pout as Antoine and Taylor settled in the back seat.
“He’s the specialist, Archie. Who will explain to Ben how to use everything? What if he has questions?”
Archie grumbled, but dropped the subject. I kind of felt bad for breaking up the little boys’ group they'd had before I’d arrived. They’d seemed united. Well, by hate and deception, but at least they’d had each other.
“What did you tell Caleb?” Taylor asked as if she was mirroring my thoughts.
“Nothing really. He doesn’t seem to care that much.” Maybe he was faking it; I wasn’t sure. Whilst he was not throwing me death glares anymore, which I considered progress, he still kept his distance. The only exception was at home where he’d been making good on his word to take me everywhere I wanted to go whenever his father was around. I hoped that wouldn’t last forever though, as I still had to investigate their house.
“I told him I was going with Archie to Port Harbor for some shopping. He gave me this.” I retrieved the black and platinum credit card with my name on it from my phone pocket and waved it over my head to Taylor.
She whistled. “Damn, the boy gave you an Octave.”
“Okay?” I looked at the card. It looked just like any piece of plastic to me.
Archie sighed. “It’s a very exclusive credit card, Esme. It has no limit and you can only get it if you have ten million or more in your account.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the card as if it was a treasure and in many ways it was.
Caleb had walked me downstairs just before Archie had come to pick me up. He’d handed me this card as if it was not a big deal and maybe it wasn’t. He’d looked as stoic as he always did, but his voice had been a little bit deeper, warmer, when he’d asked me to be good. I’d wanted to remind him that I was neither a child nor his belonging, and what would be considered ‘good’ for either of us would be diametrically different, but his eyes had reflected real concern, even a little fear, and so I’d backed down.
When I’d promised him I’d behave, he’d chuckled. “Your brother’s going to watch you like a hawk. I’m not too worried, but you know.” He pointed at the card. “Just use it if you want a corduroy dress, a hot chocolate or some angel wings,” he added, keeping his eyes on my bare neck. I had not worn his necklace since I’d been back. I wasn’t sure why because God knew how much I loved it, but it felt like showing him how much I cared and I didn’t want to be more obvious to him than I already was.
I sighed, wishing the memory away.
“I won’t use it,” I said, my voice a little wistful at the memory of my day with Caleb. That was the day my heart had cracked open for a version of Caleb I’d rarely seen since.
Archie threw me a side glance. “I know you won’t. If you need anything, just tell me. I'm happy to buy it for you.”
“Or me,” Taylor piped in.
“Oh, I see we’re all doing it? Fine, or me.” Antoine added, making me chuckle. I
turned around on my seat to give him a grateful look.
“So you told Astor you were going with Archie. What if he finds out Antoine and I joined you?”
“So what? It looks like it is a double date.” Antoine shrugged dismissively.
“Sure…” I scrunched up my nose. “A date with my twin brother. Please just park here until I vomit.”
“We could always switch,” Archie offered with a noncommittal shrug, but I could see how much he wanted to as he glanced at Taylor in the rear-view mirror. She continued looking out of the window as if nothing had been said.
“Switching is a great idea,” Antoine beamed. I turned around again, this time looking at him with confusion.
Taylor turned her head and glared at him. If looks could kill, I'd be going to his funeral.
“Is it?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Maybe it will happen over my dead body...or yours.”
“Come on! You and Esme, me and Archie. Embracing the pride colors.”
Archie chuckled. “You’re basically a vagina and my sister has more balls than you, so yeah, it’s not much of a stretch.”
I knew Antoine had meant it as a joke, but Archie was still not aware of Antoine's sexuality, not that I thought he would care. I just didn’t feel like joking about how real it was given how he was compelled to hide it. For Antoine it was surely auto-derision, but I was not used to being in a world where sexuality was a crime. I might have been poor in my old life, but there gays didn’t have to hide.
“I don’t think you coming along would be an issue. Tay is my best friend and you’re friends with Archie. Joining us for a day in Port Harbor is not that much of a stretch.”
“Yeah, because everybody knows how close Taylor and Archie are, right?” Antoine always had to point out the elephant in the room.
“You really are a shit-stirrer, aren’t you? Is that a French thing?”
Archie snorted. “Nope, whilst they are quite blunt, this is not a French thing; it’s an Antoine thing.”
