by P. Dangelico
“Do you go there often?” I asked Charles.
“Not as much as I used to when Hen, Sebastian’s father, was around,” he responded, his features swamped by an unambiguous longing. “Africa––” he continued, looking out over the postcard scenery. “She’s a seductive mistress.”
“Why is that?” Sebastian’s voice held genuine curiosity.
“It’s the mystery––she’s elusive. Every time I go back, instead of knowing her better, I realize I don’t know her at all. I can’t ever get enough.”
“The only time I ever saw any real emotion on my father’s face is when he spoke of her.” The look on Sebastian’s spoke of disappointment, of a father that gave so much to others, but never had anything left to spare for his only child.
I watched Charles’ expression transform. The silent debate being waged was in his eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the first time your father and I went on safari?” Suddenly interested, Sebastian gaze returned to Charles. He shook his head. “It was my twenty-seventh birthday,” Charles began, his hands curled into fists, his thumbs rubbing nervously. It was clear that some dark sentiments lurked behind this story.
“I had a falling out with my family and was quite down about it so your father surprised me with a trip. By the time we arrived in Botswana, there was a coup in progress––a failed coup, as it turned out.” Charles chuckled. “The Swiss consulate put us in touch with a UN aid worker who could get us on a plane back to Joburg. Layla Assefa, an Ethiopian ex-pat raised in Italy––father owned a chain of hotels there. Smart as a whip, beautiful. She was something.” Charles’ gaze roamed far away, an insightful smile on his mustache covered lips. “I left a week later.” His sharp gaze snapped back to Sebastian, loaded with meaning. “Your father came home four months later––when Egon threatened to disown him.”
Sebastian’s attention was riveted on the story.
“If you think your father was cold, you should’ve met your grandfather. Egon was furious. Hen wanted to marry her. Can you imagine? They fought viciously. All for naught, she died two week later when her plane crashed in the desert…Hen was never the same after that.” A hushed silence fell over the table. Charles took a long sip of his Chevalier-Montrachet.
Sebastian looked like he’d been punched in the gut, his expression one of total shock. Then it morphed. A carousel of emotions each took a turn manifesting on his face until only one remained…Resentment.
“This was all about a woman?”
Charles’ milky, blue eyes met Sebastian’s squarely. “A woman he loved with every breath in his body,” Charles clarified. Then he looked pointedly at me. “Don’t judge him too harshly. There’s a lot more of him in you than you’d like to believe.”
I awoke from a nap and found myself alone in the elegant bedroom. I never napped. However, the champagne that Charles had popped opened at lunch, though delicious, had proven itself as powerful a sedative as a blow to the head.
A pang of unease hit me. There was once a time when self-preservation trumped everything, even love. Until I met him and my best laid plans were blown sky high. With stealth, he’d crept under my skin and seamlessly adhered himself to every vital part of me. It wasn’t that he was there which made me nervous––it was the thought of what it would feel like to have him ripped away from me.
Kicking off the pale blue Frette blanket, I jumped out of bed in search of the man in question. Out on the balcony, I was assaulted by what can only be described as beauty in its most profound definition. Flowering trees and impeccably manicured gardens bordered the lapis blue lake. Tiny sailboats loitered on the water, the wind turning uncooperative. On the horizon, white peaked mountains lorded over all of it.
Sebastian was nowhere to be found, not even in the garden down bellow. So I threw on my skinny jeans and a white linen shirt, and went in search of my husband.
My husband.
Every time I caught a flash of the platinum band around my finger a silly smile broke out my face. The engagement ring was tucked away in a safe, back at the estate. I was too scared of losing it to get any enjoyment out of seeing it on my hand.
My search of the first floor proved fruitless. The dock came next. Overhead, a quilted gray blanket had unfurled across the sky, as gloomy and brooding as the tall blonde I found standing on the edge of the wooden pier. With his hands stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans and his hair windswept, he looked more like a moody male model than a stuffy banker.
“What are you thinking about?”
Looking over his broad shoulder, the smile he gave me barely reached his eyes. “Come,” he said, ignoring my question. His Highness held out his hand. As I placed mine in his, the thin platinum band wrapped around his finger caught my eye, reminding me that I was just as much his, as he was mine. Fingers laced together, he helped me step into a red, lacquered rowboat and followed me in.
We were both quiet while he rowed. I pretended to be engrossed in the scenery when in truth I hid behind the absurdly expensive sunglasses he’d bought me, and surreptitiously thieved glances at him. I wondered if that was weird––to be so enthralled with one’s own husband. Did other women feel that way about theirs? Without any married female friends to ask, the question would remain unanswered. Maybe it was weird, I decided. But with him in the picture, there wasn’t anything on the planet that could’ve stolen my attention away.
“Do you think Charles was in love with your father?” Sebastian didn’t react at all to my question, which told me it had crossed his mind as well.
“Maybe…but it’s just an assumption.” Shrugging, he added, “I’ve never seen him with anyone.”
“How lonely that must’ve been for him––to be constantly near someone he loved who could never return his feelings.” Sebastian scoffed, his jaw tight, his mouth set in a grim line. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He was pissed––it was definitely something. “Spit it out.”
“Do you know how fucking infuriating it is to know that he was so accepting of everyone else?” Head shaking, he muttered something to himself. “I couldn’t even sneeze without incurring his wrath!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “If he noticed me at all.” He’d stopped rowing, the boat drifting aimlessly along the shoreline.
I knew which he we were discussing. His father. My heart ached for him. After the revelations at lunch, I was getting a pretty clear picture of the father/son dynamics, and it wasn’t pretty. Sebastian was fruit of the poisonous tree. The result of a marriage Heinrich didn’t want, to a women he didn’t love, because the one he did was stolen from him. And Sebastian was made to pay the price.
The man sitting across from me gazed out at a far away point, his countenance brooding, his anger doing a poor job of covering up the pain. “Look––your father took his once-in-a-lifetime love, his heartbreak, and turned it into something ugly and cruel.” The magnetism that existed between us, constantly drawing us together, would not quit. As if summoned by some invisible force, I got up and straddled his lap. My legs and arms wrapped around him while he watched me expectantly. “He took his disappointment out on an innocent child. And what have you done? You’ve taken all that pain and turned it into something good. You’re kind, and loving, and selfless, and generous, and…you’re––” His eyes were large in his face, drinking in every word. “You’re kind of a catch.” His lips twitched and twitched, an amused glint appearing in his eyes. “And I thank God every day that I’m the one that caught you.”
Turning sulky with lust, his gaze lowered to my lips. “Damn right,” he muttered. “What are you gonna do now that you got me?”
“Well,” I said, placing a soft kiss on his brow, on his temple, on his nose. “How much time do we have?”
He smacked a kiss on my lips. “The rest of our lives.”
“No need to rush then.”
With that, he proceeded to show me just how slow he could go.
We whiled the rest of the afternoon away in o
ur bedroom. However, we couldn’t ignore that the time was fast approaching for Sebastian to confront Charles. I could feel an ominous cloud slowly descend upon him as the minutes passed, marked by the antique cuckoo clock in our room––as Orson Wells once famously stated, the only thing produced by the Swiss in five hundred years of peaceful democracy.
Sebastian didn’t argue when I told him I wanted to sit this one out. This was sure to become a very intimate moment for the two of them, and I didn’t need to add more stress to an already unpredictable situation.
He was super quiet as he dressed for dinner in his gray gabardine slacks, and a white cotton shirt. When his fingers tripped over the buttons, I got off the bed, pushed his hands aside, and did it for him. Blowing out a deep breath, he planted his hands on his hips while I worked. “I fucking hate this.”
There was nothing I could say or do that would assuage the pain of having to send the person he loved to jail. So I remained quiet and let my nearness speak for me. “Come find me as soon as it’s done,” I said, punctuating it with a kiss. A quick nod later, he was out the door.
By eleven I was on pins and needles. Impatience got the best of me eventually. I debated for all of a minute whether I should go in search of him. As soon as my feet hit the top of the marble staircase, I heard the unmistakable sound of two people arguing.
“Why?” Sebastian’s distraught voice drifted up from the ground floor. “My father trusted you.”
“You still don’t get it. That shouldn’t surprise me. You’ve always been naïve––straightforward. I blame your mother. It’s the American in you.”
Taking the stairs by two, I chased after the voices, finally reaching the room they were emanating from. Charles’ study.
“Then make me fucking understand, Charles!” Sebastian shouted, his temper spinning out of control.
“Who do think allowed me to place the trades through the bank?”
Sebastian swore savagely.
What felt like an eternity later, Charles continued, “The bank was failing. It was in dire need of fresh blood to sustain it. A number of the other boutique banks had already been swallowed up by larger conglomerates. Hen was not the charmer you are––that shouldn’t be a surprise––and set in his ways. I brought in a couple of sheiks, an Israeli arms dealer. But there was only so much even I could do. He thought they should court his favors. Arrogant prick. I loved him dearly, your father, but he was that.
“When the situation finally became dire, I approached him with a deal I’d been working on. They needed someone to take exploding profits earned from the opium production increase in Afghanistan. You know what happened after the American’s pulled out; the trade increased exponentially and all that cash had to be––”
“Washed,” Sebastian finished.
“They came to me, and asked if I could place some trades. Any profits the trade earned I kept, and the losses they paid. In return, I was to send the half the amount of the initial investment to a charity.”
“They?!”
“I always dealt with a middleman.”
The next time Sebastian spoke his voice was so quiet it was barely audible. “They’ve already killed India…they’re trying to kill me.”
“I…I had no idea…not until you were shot…you must believe me.” Charles’ voice was as small as it could possibly be.
“And Vera? They won’t be able to identify your remains if anything happens to her.”
“I’ll make it right…I’ll talk to them.”
“It’s a little late for that.” Sebastian’s fury was back. The silence emanating from Charles explained everything. “That fucking charity was a front,” Sebastian continued. “The money is funneled to Hezbollah. You were directly funding terrorism.”
“I didn’t know.” Charles’s voice faded away, until there was nothing left.
“You son of a bitch––you didn’t want to know!”
The heavy silence that followed devoured time. I couldn’t stand idly by any longer. Pushing the doors of the office open, I stepped inside and scanned the room.
Sebastian stood near the fireplace, his stance defiant, his muscles so rigid he looked as if he was about to shatter. Charles sat slumped down in a leather wing back chair behind a stately antique desk. He suddenly seemed his age, defeat written all over his face and his posture. He barely acknowledged me.
Swirling the liquor in the crystal tumbler he held, Charles stared into the glass with a vacant expression and murmured, “What are you going to do?”
Sebastian glanced up from the empty fireplace and stared a hole through the man he loved more than his own father. The man complicit in his attempted murder and the murder of his wife. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he shrugged his wide shoulders and shook his head as he dejectedly answered, “There’s nothing I can do. The Department of Justice is in charge of it. This is just a courtesy they allowed me. They have everything they need to tie you to multiple terror organizations…a witness willing to testify.”
Charles’s eyes snapped up in surprise. “Who?”
“You know who.”
“Marcus,” Charles volunteered. His eyes falling on the liquor he held. Raising the glass to his lips, he drained it in one gulp.
“You’re surprised he would cut a deal?”
“Not surprised––no.” Charles’ said, resigned of the now clear and inevitable outcome. “How much time do I have?”
Sebastian stared at him, pain etched on his perfect features. “None,” was his soft reply. Walking over to me, he took me gently by the arm and ushered me towards the door. “They’re camped outside. They’ll arrest you by morning.” Then before we walked out, without turning around he said, “I loved you. I loved you in ways I never loved my father.”
Jesus. To be held in contempt by his father for no fault of his own, and betrayed by the man he loved most was a blow I don’t think many could recover from.
We made our way up the marble staircase at a glum pace. Needing to be as close to him as possible, I wrapped myself around his arm and kissed his bicep. “I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t seem enough.” He looked down at me, his eyes soft and loving, accepting anything I was willing to give. He deserved so much more. He deserved the best. He’d received so little support in his life that his standards were sadly low.
And then, as we reached the top of the staircase––a shot rang out, sundering the quiet.
Sebastian’s eyes were wide and startled. In a frenzy, he turned and hurried back down while I chased after him. Watching him leap down the steps a few at a time, I was certain he’d hurt his injured knee, though he would only feel it later––when the adrenaline wore off. When I finally reached the bottom, five armed men ran past me in the direction of Charles’ office. I was the last to arrive.
Charles was slumped over on top of his desk, a pool of blood growing around his head. A handgun lay on the floor close by. Sebastian had his fingers on Charles’ pulse. His face was a solid mask, as still as death. Only I knew better. When the pain was most unbearable was when he retreated behind the walls of his fortress…I could almost hear the sound of his heart splintering apart into jagged pieces.
“Call the police,” he told to the security guards. They were the last words he spoke willingly for the next two days.
Chapter Nineteen
Once we got back to Geneva, our life was summarily high jacked, governed by meetings with the FBI and Interpol. With the case winding down and details to tie up, Sebastian was busy keeping bank business running as smoothly as possible while simultaneously appeasing clients that were wary of all the attention by both the Swiss and American governments.
A melancholy atmosphere hung over everything. We stayed mostly at the apartment. Dealing with the fall out of what Charles and Marcus had done was taking up so much of Sebastian’s time that he didn’t have any to spare for the trip back and forth to the estate. Which meant that I spent all my days and some of my nights alone––with nothing t
o do except clean and cook. When Sebastian suggested we get a permanent housekeeper for the apartment I almost murdered him with my eyes.
The only bright spot was that I got to see Charlotte more often. Little did I know when we met for lunch that day that would soon change as well.
“So…what will you do now?” Her big brown eyes wide, she stared back expectantly as we made our way to the brasserie on the corner. A crisp breath of wind painted two circles on her dimpled cheeks and blew her curls in every direction. We both shivered as we walked into the headwind.
“Well––I have a month and a half until my interview for the residency position, and that’s in no way a sure thing.” At the smirk and raised eyebrow she gave me, I added, “Don’t look at me like that. I refuse to let him meddle in this. If I get it, it will be on my own merit.”
“Boooring. You are so bloody boring.”
I chuckled at her usual dramatics. “You’d be surprised,” I teased, my eyebrows wiggling.
“You dirty girl. Don’t leave out any of the filthy parts.” Something close to wistfulness crossed her face. She was definitely hiding something behind the jokes and sarcasm.
“Charlotte, why aren’t you dating? And don’t give me that crap about living on the estate makes it difficult again.” The amusement dropped off her face all at once. Her steps slowed. “There’s a reason I wanted to see you today.”
“I don’t like the look on your face.”
Without preamble, she said, “I’m leaving in a few days.”
I stopped walking and turned to face her. “Leaving? Like on vacation?”
She bit her bottom lip, her brow wrinkled. “Not exactly,” she replied, her voice dropping in volume.
“Then how exactly?” The churn in my gut told me I wouldn’t like the answer.
“For good.” The bottom officially fell out of my stomach.
“For good?” I repeated, grief-stricken. “What do you mean for good? And where are you going?”
