by Mason, V. F.
But then again, I’m not a saint.
So if she continues to deny me, I’ll drag her to the altar kicking and screaming, risking her hatred.
Fourteen days to make her realize she cannot live without me before I kidnap her and take her to a city where she has no connections, family, or even friends in her artist world.
A city that might become my true love someday, for its beauty manages to surprise and enchant me every single time I visit.
Chicago.
Fourteen days.
Tick-tock.
Esmeralda
Stretching my arms high in the air, I groan when the blood rushes to my sore muscles. I softly pad to the living room, where the breeze slips in from the open terrace door and curls my dress around my legs and billows the curtains so high they brush my cheek.
The birds chirp loudly, basking in the sunlight, although by the clouds gathering above them, their enjoyment might be cut short.
Finishing my tea and putting the cup on the small table, I saunter toward my mini library. I slide my finger over the books in the mythology section and snag the one about biblical times, searching for new inspiration for my art.
Powerful Nature and Hopeless Humans sits pretty in my gallery, ready to be displayed to the people along with ten other paintings. Price tags are attached, and according to my accountant, half of them have already sold before the presentation, which should make me happy.
Yet an unexplainable restlessness swirls around me, filling me with an onslaught of energy, demanding something from me. Whenever an emotional high hits me, I turn to my art, so working on a new project seems like the best idea.
Flipping the book open to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, I scrunch my nose, not interested in exploring this concept despite the alluring mythology behind it.
I continue to turn the pages, one after another, hoping to find a tempting concept; otherwise, I’ll have to turn to Greek myths. I still when my phone rings and breaks the comfortable silence.
Picking up the handset, I say, “Hello.”
Lila’s amused voice echoes in my ear. “Someone is hiding in their home.”
Stretching the cord, I plop on the couch and put the book on my lap, glaring at my friend despite her not being able to see me. “I’m working, not hiding. There’s a big difference.”
“Is there? Okay then, avoiding unwanted advances, although since I caught you two last time making out in the studio, you can’t even claim that.”
Groaning inwardly at her reminder, I close my eyes as the last two weeks play in my mind.
When Lucian promised me war, I hadn’t expected the sensual torture he would shower on me—the kind where my heartbeat speeds up any time he appears.
He started by ordering flowers of different kinds and colors to be delivered to my house and studio so it would turn my most beloved places into a damn botanical garden and speak to my love for plants. Some of them are impossible to find in our country, so how he managed to import them was beyond me.
Each delivery also had pastries, chocolate, or a candy box attached to it from famous bakers or confectioners, holding all my favorite flavors, and the charming devil made sure to not forget about my staff either. As a result, they all love him, singing his praises for his wooing skills, and ooh and aah at everything he does.
Each day, he leaves velvet boxes hidden inside my studio and spreads notes on the floor for me to find. Each piece of jewelry glistens in the light, making me fall in love with it. Not because of their worth, although I don’t miss the Price’s Jewelry family name engraved on it, but because each piece fits me as if designed specifically with me in mind.
A diamond necklace with different colored stones, a ruby rose-shaped ring surrounded by tiny diamonds.
I tried multiple times to give them back, but they magically appear back in my possession, so I gave up, storing them inside my house but never daring to wear them.
Because doing that would mean me succumbing to his desire, and I can’t do it.
However, the relentless wooing hasn’t stopped there; he has invited me to the theater and art showings that I couldn’t resist.
And although we barely said anything to each other, being in his dominating presence always calmed me down, seeking him among the crowd and wanting him near me always.
He even manages somehow to serve as a buffer between society and me, so they don’t harass me with countless questions that require my answers or be in the center of their attention.
Which scared me to no end, because even without any claims or labels, he’s slowly becoming a necessity in my life.
A necessity that might just kill me.
And every single day, he shows up at work or my house, giving me scorching kisses and never allowing anything else, which frustrates my body so much I’m ready to cry… seriously.
My nights are filled with dreams where Lucian is the main star, and his wicked hands and tongue do such obscene things to me I wake up turned-on more than I thought possible.
Even showering has become a chore because the hot water increases my desire; he’s cursed me but doesn’t provide the reprieve from it.
The man has clearly mastered the art of torture and seduction, because fighting the pull between us, or rather the lust polluting my brain, becomes too hard for me.
“How long do you plan to play hard to get? Until he proposes?” Lila’s question pulls me back to the present.
Oh, if only she knew he’s proposed four times already, and I dread yet anticipate his fifth time to see what he’ll do once I say no again.
Will he say fuck it and take me anyway? Or will he leave forever, remaining just the “lightning” that graced the sky that’s my life, to disappear as swiftly as he came?
His hands, presence, wooing, and possessiveness creeping into his gaze speak to everything female in me, but they can’t shut off the scream in my head.
Run, Esme, run.
And these words change into something else my mother once told me.
Love is a gift given by God. If or when you receive it, you must cherish it.
Except what I feel toward Lucian can’t be love, because no one falls in love at first sight, and besides, I might be naïve in many ways but not enough to confuse physical attraction with love.
It could lead to love though; however, knowing how tragic they usually end for my family should be enough to keep me away.
I don’t want to though. The coldness and loneliness that vanished after his arrival into my life has given me a chance to breathe freely.
Lila speaks up again, and I exhale heavily, too confused to come to a rational decision. “Anyhow, I called to wish you a happy birthday, and you will get all your gifts tomorrow.” I blink in surprise, glancing at the calendar hanging on the wall, which indeed shows it’s my birthday. The date completely escaped my mind. “We all know you hate any celebrations, so have fun tonight in solitude.” A beat, and then, “Or your Prince Charming might have a surprise for you.”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“Ah, you’re no fun. Lucian is too handsome to be called a beast, darling.”
“Thank you for the wishes, and bye,” I say, ready to hang up before she compliments Lucian more and ignites my jealousy, which has already been riding high on my radar the past week.
Wherever we go, women just stare at him or sigh in appreciation whenever he does something nice for me, which reminds me he isn’t hurting when it comes to female attention.
Yet he tries so hard to win me over and offers marriage. However, I know it’s not love on his part either.
I don’t fit in the usual box he places women in; with my little quirks and naivety, I can be very interesting and alluring to a man who has everything.
My vulnerability, as Lila likes to point out, probably speaks to the protective instinct inside him, which wants to keep me close always.
Not to mention my family name. Marriage with me will only add to his power a
nd connect our two dynasties.
“Everything is okay, right?”
My brows furrow. “Of course.”
“Listen, if you ever get into trouble, just remember you can tell me everything, okay?”
I pull the handset back, staring at it while digesting her words that reek of weirdness and worry. I’m starting to think Eugene and Lila know more about Lucian than meets the eye, and they do their best to protect me from that reality.
That’s a useless effort on their part. Nothing in his past or present can be scarier than my memories.
“Okay. Way to go making me feel like some heroine in a thriller movie.”
Her laugher tickles my ear, although it lacks her usual humor. “Bye-bye, babe.”
Getting up and placing the handset back on the phone cradle, I’m about to go back to my reading when my gaze lands on the potted yellow orchid on the table and lean closer, skimming my fingers over the petals.
Lucian brought it two days ago with a note attached to it explaining how in Ancient Greece, the flower symbolized virility, love, beauty.
Nothing ever flourishes frozen in time; in order for something to grow, it has to go through different stages, and it needs so many things.
Sun, water, symbiosis.
Could my heart heal like a flower slowly growing and blooming from the soil, pushing through the surface and shattering the chains holding it together?
Blooming and basking in the sunlight where emotions exist and could forever banish the fear present in the cracks of my soul?
As if on cue, someone knocks on my door, and a hot flush travels through me. I know it’s Lucian waiting for me on the other side.
Throwing the book down, I walk to the door and open it, permitting the blast of wind to slap me in the face, enveloping me in his masculine-mixed-with-roses scent.
Lucian grins and extends the striking bouquet to me. “Feliz cumpleaños, gatita.”
Happiness wraps around me, bringing joy to my soul at his knowing about my birthday, and a smile curves my lips. Taking it from his hand, I inhale the roses deeply in my lungs and press them tightly to my chest. “Thank you.” I look at him expectantly and for the first time decide to be bold. “I’ve never been kissed on my birthday before.”
His nostrils flare while lust fills his gaze. He places his splayed palm on the door trim and pushes himself closer to me. Sensations cascade through me, my core clenching in anticipation of his touch. “Oh, I’ll kiss you.” Then he leans back, and I frown. “Not now though.” He must read the disbelief on my face, because he taps his finger on my nose. “First comes the surprise. Then the kiss and many things more.”
Lust spreads inside like wildfire, reading a promise in his words, while I wonder if he declared himself a loser and is ready to give us both what we want without demanding marriage.
I ignore the disappointment filling part of my heart at this, because wasn’t this what I wanted in the first place?
However, I blink in confusion when he fishes a silky cloth from his pocket, only to realize it’s a blindfold. “Do you trust me, gatita?”
Instead of answering his question, I fire my own. “Depends on what you plan to do.”
“Ah, my rose, for a moment, stop showing me your thorns and allow me to see your beauty.” He grips the blindfold with both his hands and elaborates. “The surprise waits for you in Chicago. If you dare to trust me, let me put it on.”
Chicago.
Despite traveling the world my whole life, really since Grandmother insisted on participating in all those contests, I’ve never been to Chicago, although it holds one of the best art pieces.
But something always held me back, a nagging feeling deep in my gut that almost warned me not to step foot in that city.
Focusing on the blindfold, I consider his words for just a second and decide to take a leap with this man who showed up in my life so unexpectedly and created chaos in it.
A handsome man who makes me wish for things that should be forbidden for cursed creatures like me.
However, raising my gaze and connecting with his, I cannot remember all the reasons why it’s wise to stay away.
Without a reply, I spin around and silently agree to his proposition.
In seconds, the silk touches my skin, and darkness settles over me as he puts the blindfold on me, tying it at the back of my head.
A gasp slips past my lips when his strong hands grip my hips, pulling me to him, and his hard muscles dip into me, and his breath tickles my neck. “Gracias, gatita.” He widens his mouth and places a kiss on my shoulder. Goose bumps erupt on my flesh as he slides his lips to my neck, leaving a wet trail before sucking roughly on my skin… adding to the various hickeys marring my skin already. I sometimes think if the man could, he would have tattooed his name on my body so every single male in the close vicinity would know this territory was claimed already.
He flicks his tongue over the abused flesh, fists my hair, and tilts my head back while he leans forward for his lips to trap me in a scorching, passionate, and all-consuming kiss where all my fears disappear.
His mouth dominates mine, his tongue roaming inside me with confidence and a mission, staking his possessive claim on me. He swallows my moan as his other hand settles on my stomach, where he clenches my dress.
And then his mouth is gone and we both gulp for air, my heartbeat galloping inside my chest, and I feel his thumb sliding over my lower lip. “You’re a temptation, Esmeralda.” He steps back, leaving me cold but not for long, because my yelp reverberates through the space when he lifts me up in his arms, my hands circling around his neck to better balance, and he starts walking. “Let’s celebrate your birthday, darling.”
I haven’t celebrated my birthday ever since…
No, no.
I will not think about that night right now.
However, the hope grows within me, painting a picture of a brighter future, because I’m so glad that this man managed to destroy the spell.
Even if only for a moment in time.
Chapter Seven
“Open your gorgeous eyes, mi amor.
See me.
Feel me.
Recognize me.
But more importantly,
desire me.”
Lucian
From Evangeline’s Diary…
How does a person look with a broken heart, shattered into tiny little pieces, scattered all over the world to the point the person will never be whole again?
Does my hollow reflection in the mirror—red eyes with dark bags under them, much-skinnier body, my greasy hair shining under the light—match the description?
Tears fall on the paper as the harsh wind whooshes inside from the open door and skirts around my form bringing coldness with it.
Although it can never compare to the one residing in my soul right now as I sit on my mother’s bed, wrapped in her blanket to feel her scent washing over me.
As long as I still can.
Until it won’t, vanishing to become nothing but a fleeting memory in time.
Esme lies next to me on the bed, whispering something in her sleep before scooting closer to me but burrowing her head in Mom’s pillow, seeking her warmth.
Warmth neither of us will ever feel again, because her cold, lifeless body is buried several feet underground.
A sob slips past my lips, threatening to erupt in whimpers, while my legs urge me to run back to the cemetery, dig up her grave, and shake her body until she opens her eyes and tells me all of this was a mistake.
A sick joke created by destiny to open my eyes to the world around me and cherish her instead of throwing angry jabs at her.
I wish… I so wish… someone would enter our house right now and tell me my mother is not dead.
Give me hope, tell me it was a mistake, convince me that what I witnessed after coming back from Hawaii was just a nightmare.
But they can’t.
Because destiny has been cruel to me in a way I never an
ticipated.
The memory of that day is still so fresh in my mind.
Happiness spread in my chest along with nervousness as my prince urged me to discuss with my mom why she dislikes him so much and not leave the house angry. He wanted to start our lives together untainted by my sorrow, craving to give me love and family, because deep down, he understood I would never be able to choose.
I inserted the key into the door, twisted the knob, and entered. Instantly, the disgusting smell of rotten flesh penetrated my nostrils, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Frowning, I stepped inside, shouting, “Mom, Esme. I’m home.” However, no reply came, and I looked around the house, not finding anything out of order. Although it surprised me that Mom wasn’t awake yet. Even the coffee pot wasn’t brewing.
Shrugging it off to her day off, I dropped the luggage by the stairs and quickly went to the second floor, shouting again, “Mom!” I knocked on the door to her room, but no reply came, so I opened it anyway, only to find it empty.
With uneasiness rushing through me, I marched toward Esme’s door and entered only to stop dead in my tracks, my gaze glued to the floor where my mother lay.
In a pool of dried blood with flies circling over her as she looked at the ceiling, fear etching her features. Her throat was sliced so deep it was a wonder her head stayed attached to her body.
Her dress was torn to shreds, various knife wounds on her stomach while her arm was twisted in a weird way.
A scream echoed in the space, and it took me a minute to realize it was coming from me. I dropped to my knees, crying and shouting, “Mom!” But going to her seemed impossible, and by the smell, I understood it must have happened days ago.
My mind still refused to accept this reality, madness slowly sinking into me, so I latched on to the only thing keeping me sane. “Esme!” I screamed, almost tearing my throat. “Esme!”
Stepping around my mom’s body, still shaking my head at it, and holding back the bile in my throat demanding to end up expelled at my feet, I searched under the bed and the pile of blankets, finding them empty. “Esme!”
