by Mason, V. F.
On the third day, he writes something furiously in his notebook, all while chanting about the stupidity of it all and how he is never good enough for anyone, even this fucked-up family that consists of nothing but whores.
All while the disgusting smells inside the house grow, alerting me to the fact that my mom still lies upstairs with no help for her while the monster becomes more restless, cutting himself up and promising me all kinds of torture for daring to reject him too when he has never done anything bad to me.
On day four, he finally gives up, because he cleans up all the mess, placing everything in the same position as before while wiping away his fingerprints and using so much bleach that by the time he’s done, no one will ever guess he has been inside the house.
Lucian’s knuckles sweep under my eyes, and only then I realize the tears escaped after all… despite my best efforts. Raising my gaze to his, I blink in shock at the deadly look they have, almost predator-like, ready to sink his claws into whoever is deserving of his rage. I’ve never seen him be this angry, yet his touch stays gentle. “No one will ever hurt you again, Esmeralda. I promise you that.”
Too grateful for his silent support, I just burrow my head into his chest and then study the environment around me, sitting up straight when we end up on a narrow road leading to massive iron gates in the distance. “You live so close to the airport?”
He laughs, some tension easing out of him. “We’ve been on the road for thirty minutes.” That long? God, the man truly has some magic powers to make time fly in his presence. “I live on the outskirts of the city, preferring to stay away from the center.” Clearly reading my question on my face, he elaborates. “I stay away from large crowds unless absolutely necessarily.”
“Why? Do you have some dark secrets?” I joke, and laughter flashes in his orbs, and to my surprise, even George chuckles, both of them finding my statement amusing.
I don’t have time to dwell on it much though as we drive up to the gates where two security men are located, and one of them comes forward, saluting George and nodding at Lucian before whistling to whoever operates the gates.
“Derek. He’s head of security.”
Although I’ve grown up in luxury half my life and have been to various high society houses, I don’t think I have met people who need a head of security to protect their land or the people inside.
Oddly enough, the protectiveness and carefulness toward his safety that Lucian shows only spreads warmth inside me and puts a lid on the fears, because could anyone ever really get into this place?
Straightening up on my seat, I focus all my attention on my surroundings as black iron gates slide open, revealing a narrow asphalt road surrounded by emerald-green grass glistening under the orangish-yellow light as the sunset slowly creeps in on us.
As we get farther inside the property line, an empty garden comes into view. I see several oak trees along with small rose bushes scattered all over the place; they take away from what could be a magical land one could get lost in for hours, if only someone had put effort into showing it some love.
Several alcoves dot the place, various flowers growing from the walls. Their condition speaks about their old age, and although that atmosphere would be perfect to read a book in, I feel like renovations would improve it.
I also see a greenhouse in the distance, or rather what will probably be one in a few years, since people are working on it, putting glassed walls around the edges, and others are dragging heavy sacks and pots inside.
My brows furrow at this.. Lucian never mentioned his love for plants, but then maybe that’s how he got his hands on all the rare flowers he brought me? “You collect flowers? Is gardening one of your hobbies?”
“Hardly, gatita.”
“Then why the greenhouse?”
“Because you love it, and I figured you’d want one of those once we get married.”
My jaw drops at this, and I shake my head, not sure whether to be annoyed or pleased by his confidence and the lengths he will go to prepare his family mansion for my arrival.
He is right of course. If one has this much land, how could he or she not devote their time to doing something with it to create endless beauty from what nature has to offer?
There are also two glass enclosures with canvases and various paints inside, and even a chair. They glisten so brightly it announces to the whole world they were just built as well. “You love to paint in the darkness, but maybe someday you’ll find peace in the light too,” he whispers in my ear, tickling my skin. “Besides, I think once you work magic on this garden, you might find it more appealing than your studio.”
The man is truly perfect, isn’t he?
When God created him, he probably thought he would have no flaws, and how I can possibly still resist him this long is beyond me.
Shaking my head at him, I leave it without a reply and gasp. Right in the middle sits a huge, Victorian-style house made out of brick with roses climbing the walls, adding to the overall mysterious and closed-off aura this place possesses.
It has three levels and countless rooms, judging by the windows; marble stairs lead to the double brown doors glistening in the sunlight from where a man in his late sixties emerges. He wears butler attire and races downstairs, his jacket flapping back while a smile rests on his mouth.
George pulls the car up by the steps, and the man immediately opens the door and bows to Lucian. “Señor.” Although he utters the word, a stern expression sent his boss’s way makes me think the man hardly listens to all the orders or obeys them very much. Compared to most butlers I’ve seen, he has no fear nor a rigid posture, indicating to me that wherever he works, he’s comfortable at it. “Welcome home.”
Lucian gets out, slaps the man on the shoulder, and says dryly, “I highly doubt that, Harold.” The man huffs at his words and then shifts his attention to me, extending his hand. “Welcome, miss. Happy birthday.”
“Oh, thank you.” My sandals hit the asphalt, and Harold pulls me forward while the energy around me washes over me, screaming only one word at me.
Power.
As if the entire generation of Cortez lineage designed this mansion to send intimidation and fear through any person who decided to step on their land, to let everyone know in advance that they will never play by anyone’s rules but their own.
George drives ahead while Lucian addresses Harold. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes.”
Lucian grips my hand, tangling our fingers together before hauling me around the mansion in a different direction from the front garden. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Yeah, my grandfather sure loved his prestige.” Mocking fills his tone, and when I say nothing, he continues. “He built this place with the hope of the family name prospering into a large dynasty.”
I frown at this. “I thought this land belonged to your family longer?”
“It did, but the house was unlivable, so my grandfather just smashed it. According to him, what doesn’t represent wealth will always be destroyed.” A hollow chuckle slips past his lips. “Joke’s on him that all this”—he swirls his finger in the air—“was inherited by his bastard grandson who at one point he refused to accept.”
Yeah, I suppose the grandfather who cared this much about his prestige would have preferred a perfect marriage with connections rather than… whatever happened in the past.
As we continue to walk ahead, the house still blocks most of the view. “Grandparents can be difficult at times.” These words probably don’t really soothe whatever pain he feels from the rejection he must have faced in the past, but maybe they’ll decrease the inferno still raging in his soul a little bit. “Were they awful to you?” Since Grandmother did business with the Cortez patriarch in the past, I know he was alive until I was around twelve. He lived longer than his own son, who passed away when Lucian was eighteen.
Sadly, his dynasty plans didn’t come to fruition, considering each generation so far only had one
son, unless Lucian plans to change the pattern.
My stomach flutters thinking about dark-haired babies running around this magnificent yet deadly place, bringing life, laughter, and happiness to it.
“No. They weren’t awful or good. They were the results of their upbringing. And I was a result of mine. So based on that, we could never understand each other.”
“It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” My grandmother never understood me, and although I came up with thousands of excuses to justify her treatment of me and her children because we didn’t fit into the box she designed for us… my heart still ached at her distance and actions.
A child always feels when he or she is unloved, and someday he or she will either retaliate in the most vicious way or disappear, never to come back again.
Lucian might be tougher than the rest, but even his heart cannot be invincible to scars carelessly left behind by his family.
“Trust me, gatita, they wouldn’t have been able to hurt me if they tried.” Something laces his words, a hideous secret behind which all the answers to the questions swirling about his past rest. What happened to him that he was accepted into the fold at the age of fourteen? “We’re here.” He announces, and I decide to dwell on this particular thought later.
As we round the building, the asphalt ends and opens up to a view of the garden secluded from prying eyes. A round table with a red cloth stands with two chairs opposite each other.
Letting go of his hand, I step on the grass, which tickles my toes through the sandals, and go closer, noticing how various snacks are placed on it.
Candies. Cheese. Strawberries. Cookies.
Even marshmallows!
Two champagne glasses glint brightly, the pale-yellow liquid bubbling inside the crystal, and I grab one, shaking it a little as Lucian reaches me. “This was your surprise?” I sweep my hand over the table. “Dinner in Chicago?” Waiting a bit, I add, “We could have done that in New York.” Although there are no regrets in coming here, after all, he was so sweet on the way, and maybe he felt more comfortable organizing something like this here, away from the people who might interrupt us.
“It’s part of a surprise,” he replies mysteriously, which only sparks my curiosity. Then he grips a chair, pulls it back, and motions for me to sit down.
“You’re a hard nut to crack, Lucian Cortez.” I huff, sitting on the cushion and snatching a strawberry.
Settling on the other chair, he grabs his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Esmeralda Hugh.” My laughter echoes in the evening, and he winks at me. “Happy birthday, gatita.” He toasts me with his glass, and I extend mine so they clink against each other, and we both take a large sip.
He winces, quickly putting it down, and I swallow the cool liquid down my throat, welcoming the sharp, sweet taste. He catches my gaze. “Not a fan of champagne.”
Leaning on the table and resting my elbow there, I relax under the sounds of leaves rustling in the wind while the sky slowly darkens and the stars, although still pale, start to pop up, announcing the upcoming night.
“I prefer wine too, but this is good.”
“Ah, someone didn’t follow the rules.”
“Who in our circle follows the rules?” I ask him, genuinely curious,.
Lucian drums his fingers on the table as I munch on the strawberry, biting it harshly, and the juice slides down my chin while the divine taste touches my tongue.
The drumming stops, and I blink in surprise to see Lucian drag his chair closer to me. “Well hello,” I say as he wipes away the juice with his thumb and then sucks on his finger. Goose bumps form on my flesh as my imagination instantly paints pictures of him making good use of his tongue.
He holds my stare for what seems like forever before taking a chocolate and putting it in his mouth. “Blair Spencer.”
Too focused on watching his perfect jaw muscles move as his scent fills my lungs, I murmur, “Who?”
“An epitome of virtue and following rules in our circle.”
Snapping out of my haze, I finish my strawberry. “Oh my God, yes!” One of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met with the gentlest soul. Too bad she belongs to the family that will sell her to the highest bidder as long as it ensures their empire is thriving.
“Rumor has it, Jacob will be proposing soon.” I almost choke on my drink at this information, too stunned to comment for a moment. “Their wedding would allow for the merger of the families. Good deal for the Spencers, while the Price side will get an heir for their jewelry throne. Sucks to be Jacob right now.”
That freaking whore who changes women every week and sometimes two, and the sheltered virgin who isn’t even allowed to leave her house unless she goes to college?
“Sucks to be her, I’d say.”
“Forget about other people,” Lucian murmurs, although it sounds more like an order, and throws his arm over my chair, reaching for a strawberry with the other, and rubs it over my lips. “Open.” I do as he says, welcoming the berry into my mouth, and suck it inside. “I brought you to Chicago, because you’ve never been here.” He must read my confusion, because the explanation doesn’t end there. “Birthdays… for most people, they are joyful occasions filled with gifts, fun, and love. To some though, they are dipped in sadness as they scrape against old wounds.” I freeze, listening to his husky voice and turning more into him so our knees bump. “New York represents those memories for you. I bet your grandmother ordered you to smile to all the guests she invited to your birthday parties that resembled more of a punishment.”
Of course she did.
Long dinners with five-course meals and sitting still while hating all the talk about my accomplishments and the hollowness inside my chest because my family wasn’t there.
Just once, I begged for only snacks. Just a day off from being Esmeralda Hugh.
And no one ever gave it to me.
“Tonight, you have no expectations and can do whatever you want in the city that will never judge you, because they don’t know who you are.”
“Hey!” I nudge his shoulder, and he chuckles, gripping my wrist and lifting it to his mouth. “For your information, I’m famous.”
“In New York and Paris. You haven’t conquered Chicago, gatita. Not yet.”
“How rude of you to point that out on my birthday.”
He gets up, pulling me along with him, and I place my glass on the table, then we walk farther into the garden. His arm wraps around my waist, dragging me closer to him as the darkness settles around us. A few lights pop up along the perimeter, brightening up the garden.
“I’m telling you, Chicago can be a new beginning, untainted by the past. All you have to do is take the leap and trust me.” His eyes sweep over me, almost caressing my features while his glorious male beauty stands out among the darkness, making him look like a sinful devil luring me into his trap. “What did you want the most on your birthday but couldn’t have, gatita?”
The way he words the question hints he might know the answer already, but I tell him nevertheless. “Fireworks.”
Ever since seeing them as a kid in the park and falling in love with them, I begged Dad to have them on my birthday, and he promised me to do it once I turned eighteen. Then Mom assured me after his death she was gonna keep his promise, and then Evangeline….
Except each of them failed on the promise while Grandmother called me a spoiled brat when I suggested it as my gift.
He leans toward my ear and whispers, “Here is your surprise, Esmeralda. Three. Two. One.”
On cue, a whistling sound rings in the air, and my head automatically tilts back to see a flashing light moving up until a big boom akin to thunder echoes around us as several fireworks erupt in shades of purple, spraying wide. Shortly, they are followed by three others in green, three in red, and so many continue to come I lose count.
Covering my mouth with my palm, all I can do is stand still and stare at the beauty that speaks to my artist’s soul. Because for a moment in
time, the sky has become a canvas where colors are splashing in the most vivid way, adding another dimension to it.
A bubble of happiness and laughter builds inside me, temporarily washing away everything else. For the first time in forever, the past doesn’t exist in this moment as absolute joy sweeps over me from head to toe.
All because one man somehow found out about my childhood dream and surprised me with it in a city that knows no sorrows or tears of mine. It allows me to be myself without the weight of the past being a burden on my shoulders.
“Lucian,” I whisper when the last firework thunders in the sky in a glorious flower shape before disappearing. “Thank you.” I glance back at him, and my throat hitches when I see him taking a velvet box from his jacket, and then he sinks to one knee.
“Esmeralda, te casarías conmigo?” He flicks the lid open, displaying a princess-cut sapphire ring, the color of the sky under the lights, with smaller diamonds surrounding it. The platinum band finishes the composition, adding style and weight; simply put, I’ve never seen a more beautiful ring.
Or a person who has cared so much about me and has inspired so many emotions within me while becoming more important than art.
Than fear.
And even… than the past that still haunts me but should stay forever buried.
I’ve known him only two weeks, madness such madness, and this decision might be the worst I’ll ever make in my life.
But I think even if he ends up being my mistake, I will never regret it.
For he gave my bleak-like-a-canvas life colors.
So without dwelling on my reply, while bravery holds me tight by the reins, I whisper, “Yes.” And he takes my hand and slips the ring on my finger before getting up and hugging me closer, my loud laughter ringing out as he spins us around.
Joy fills every cell in my body while the future that has always been bleak and dark brightens in a way I never expected, and the familiar coldness freezing me ever since that tragic day gets blanketed by the pure wonder of this moment.
The handsome prince has come and broken the curse that held the princess prisoner in her own head with no way of escape.
