by Marian Tee
“The other one is for you, of course.” Marcus handed the other bottle to my younger sister.
“Thank you!” Fleur blew him a kiss. “I knew you were the perfect one for my sister!”
I turned red. “Fleur!”
She quickly jumped out of my reach. “Just kidding!” She backed away, saying mischievously, “Or not!”
“FLEUR!” I tried to go after her, but Marcus laughingly pulled me back, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.
As always, his touch made me forget everything else, and I stilled. Were we going to play again?
He suddenly laughed, and when I looked up, startled, he whispered into my ear, “I know what you’re thinking---”
I gulped.
“---and it’s not what good girls are supposed to think about.”
He leaned away.
I wetted my lips.
His eyes blazed.
And I heard myself ask, “D-do you want to play?”
Marcus’ jaw clenched, and I held my breath. He had never refused to play before, but there could always be the first time. It wasn’t like I was the most irresistible girl---
“Anneke.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of my name on his lips. “Y-yes?”
“Where’s the closest place we can meet that’s private?”
Oh. My head went blank. We were going to play then.
“Anneke,” Marcus growled under his breath. “Where?”
“Umm.” It was hard to think, with my body already trembling with anticipation at the thought that we were going to…play. “We could…” I forced myself to concentrate, and the answer eventually came to me. “Fifth floor in the De Konigh museum,” I said breathlessly. “It’s a private area, so only the family has access to it.”
I gave him the passcode, and Marcus nodded curtly. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. Now go.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice.
I made my way to the museum, my heart once again pumping out blood like it was juiced up. This past week had been unbelievable, and even now I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I hadn’t dreamt any of it up. Even now I couldn’t believe that I had done such things---
X-rated memories flashed in my mind.
Marcus giving me a deep, open-mouthed kiss while we were on a shopping trip with Fleur and my sister had turned away as she browsed the new dresses hanging on a rack---
Marcus cornering me in the kitchen, fucking me with his fingers while my family retired to the library and waited for coffee---
Marcus making me sneak into his bedroom and letting me touch his cock for the very first time---
By the time I made it to the fifth-floor hallway, I was red-faced and struggling not to pant.
What we were doing was so bad, so dangerous, so---
Nothing that Anneke de Konigh should be doing, I thought.
But even so, I couldn’t help it.
Marcus Ravelli had become an addiction, and I wasn’t sure I wanted a cure for it.
Pulling out a chair without bothering to open the lights, I sat down and thought about the things Marcus and I did that had nothing to do with playtime.
And there were a lot, I realized in surprise.
He had gone to town with me a few times now, and not once had he complained while I thrift-shopped to my heart’s content. Not once had he made me feel like my penny-pinching ways were foolish, considering I was an heiress.
And then there were the times when we would just talk. Somehow, he had made me confess all my fears, like the way Willem seemed to be methodically turning himself into an unfeeling machine because of work or how I was terrified about Jaak’s increasingly distant attitude towards the whole family. Somehow, Marcus had even found a way to make me admit that I believed I was boring, something that he rejected and which we eventually agreed to simply disagree on.
He knew me inside and out, which was why when my phone suddenly rang and I saw his name show up on the screen---
I knew he knew I was smart enough to guess what the call would be about.
“Hello.” My voice was carefully blank.
“I’m sorry, Anneke.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I need to fly back to Italy.”
Was that the best excuse he could give me?
“My father’s died.”
The words stunned me, and I felt guilty and ashamed all at once. “I’m so sorry, Marcus,” I whispered.
“Is there anything I can do?” I bit my lip. “Would you like me to come with you?”
“Grazie, bambina.” Marcus’ voice became softer. “But I’d rather do this alone. The circumstances around my father’s death aren’t…ideal.”
“Okay.” I told myself I had no right to feel rejected. “Just let me know if you need me.”
“Si.”
There was a pause, almost as if he wanted to say something.
“M-Marcus?”
“Nothing.” He breathed hard. “Ciao, bambina.”
As Marcus ended the call, I couldn’t help thinking this was the first time he had used the words to say goodbye.
The next day, I did my best to follow the news coverage of his father’s death, which turned out to be as controversial as he had hinted. Not only had his father passed away in his mistress’ company, but he had also done so while in the middle of a rather kinky setup, one that involved a long list of sex toys. I couldn’t even figure out what some of them was for despite having researched their English translations.
The day before his father’s funeral, I sent Marcus a text message, asking if he wanted me to fly over. Marcus replied moments later.
No.
I didn’t text back.
I got the picture, more so when I got a hold of Italian newspapers and found out that Marcus had attended the funeral accompanied by a woman believed to be his on-off girlfriend.
Chapter Eight
Present time
Over the years, I had secretly fantasized about how I’d bump into Marcus Ravelli.
The best fantasy: I’d be with a guy who was better looking than him, someone more accomplished, and Marcus would glance at me, and I’d glance back at him, thinking, Take that!
Another favorite scenario of mine was how I’d receive an excellence award for my work at DKE and he’d be part of the audience. He’d be so impressed that he would come up to me and ask me out, and I’d smile regretfully at him, saying, Sorry, I’m already taken.
Just your typical revenge fantasy really, and I supposed I could be more imaginative if I wanted to. Dreams were free, after all. But the thing was I didn’t really care to be creative about his comeuppance.
I just wished there’d be a day that he would realize he was wrong. Or maybe just a day where I knew he would feel as much pain as I did---
But this wasn’t how I wanted it to be.
The mood in the parish was somber, made heavier by the dim light cast by the wrought-iron chandeliers overhead. Only murmurs of condolences occasionally broke the silence, and as I came closer and closer to where Marcus stood, I still couldn’t think of anything proper to say.
His grandmother – the only person in his family that Marcus loved – had died.
Was there really something proper one could say about it?
In front of me, my three brothers extended their condolences, and I heard Marcus murmur in reply, his tone unusually grave. That one summer he had been with us, he had been everything that was wicked and fun. He had been the very definition of danger, forbidden and intoxicating---
But the Marcus I saw now was so different, I thought.
The older Marcus was a stranger. He was too quiet, too serious---
Too much like the person I used to be, I realized.
And that didn’t feel right.
My brothers moved away, and Fleur moved forward. I watched her give him a peck on the cheek, saying softly, “I’m sorry, Marcus.”
“Thank you, little sister.”
I lowered my gaze as Fleur walked away to join the rest of my family.
Nine years. The words started to hammer my brain, the thought making me feel faint. I hadn’t seen Marcus Ravelli for nine years, and if I were honest – it wasn’t long enough.
Nine years, I thought dazedly, and somewhere deep inside me, the last memory I had of him still hurt.
I forced my limbs to move.
Act normal, I advised myself.
I cleared my throat.
Please act normal, I pleaded with myself.
But in the end, I could only stare at the knot of his silver tie as I mumbled, “I offer my deepest condolences.”
Riiiiiiight.
I should have known that things could never be normal between Marcus Ravelli and me.
The silence between us stretched, and I knew from experience he was waiting for me to meet his eyes.
Crap.
He was still a sadist after all these years.
Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly lifted my gaze to his.
Oh.
Marcus Ravelli had already been astoundingly handsome at eighteen, but now he was devastatingly so. His raven black hair was cut a little shorter now, and the angles of his face more pronounced. It seemed as if age and maturity had only added to his looks, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he had grown a few inches taller.
He had buffed up, too, I couldn’t help noticing. His shoulders, outlined prominently under his handmade black suit, seemed more massive than I remembered.
So much about him had changed, but even so---
Staring at him still ended up hurtling me back into the past.
Marcus.
After all these years---
I still couldn’t help thinking he was my Marcus.
“Ciao, bambina.” His soft, accented words wrapped around me---
Oh.
The words were bittersweet, tearing past the walls I had tried to build around my memories, and for once in my life, I found myself remembering times that didn’t hurt.
I found myself remembering the times that he made me smile.
The times that he made me feel beautiful---
Nostalgia squeezed my heart, and a fragile smile broke over my lips. “C-Ciao, Marcus.”
His eyes blazed.
Oh.
Could that mean…what I thought it meant?
I watched him reach for me, and I had the craziest urge to run away.
Just leave and never look back.
It was the voice of rationality I supposed, but like how it always played out---
My foolish side won, and I remained still.
His hand touched the small of my back, and then he was carefully drawing me close. His head lowered, and before I realized what he intended to do, his lips had already touched my cheek.
Oh.
He pulled away and kissed my other cheek, greeting me in Continental fashion.
Oh crap.
The feel of his lips was fleeting, but it was more than enough for me to realize three things.
One: he was still using the same cologne.
Two: I was in danger.
Three: Because I was still attracted to him.
I paled. This was so bad. This was really bad.
“Thank you for coming, bambina.”
I nodded jerkily, no longer able to meet his eyes. “Mi dispiace per tuo nonna.” And I really was sorry for his grandmother’s passing, but I also had to go. Coming here was clearly a big mistake, and the more distance there was between us, the better.
I started to say goodbye, but Marcus suddenly asked, “Da quando?”
Understanding that he was asking me since when I had started speaking in Italian, I answered hesitantly, “Just a few years ago, for---” I stopped myself in time.
Crap.
This was even worse than I had thought. I wasn't ever the type to babble, and yet five minutes in his company and I was beginning to have trouble recognizing myself.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I really---” My voice faltered as I became aware of being the object of his intense scrutiny.
Déjà vu, I couldn’t help thinking weakly as I struggled to ignore the urge to fidget and writhe.
“You have become more beautiful over the years, bambina.”
Did I? I managed a smile. “So have you.”
His eyebrows lifted, and I tried not to raise my eyebrows back, a little bewildered at his reaction. What now? Did he think I was lying? Or did he genuinely not know the years had only done him good?
Someone behind me coughed, and I found myself secretly grateful at having an excuse to leave. “I really should go,” I muttered. “I’m holding the line---”
“Si.” Marcus suddenly cupped my elbow, saying smoothly, “An excellent suggestion.”
What was?
“Do accompany me for a walk, bambina. I find myself in need of one.”
We started to walk, and conscious of the gazes that went our way, I had no choice but to go along with him. My brothers looked stoic when Marcus and I walked past them while Fleur’s eyebrows shot up in shock.
You and me both, I thought numbly.
As Marcus led me down a brick pathway outside the parish, I couldn’t help blurting out, “Don’t you think we’re being impolite?”
“I am, but you’re not.” A crooked smile touched his lips. “And I am glad at least that part of you hasn’t changed.”
I’m not, I thought. He was still cryptic as ever, and I wondered if that would ever change.
When we reached the end of the pathway, a cottage that looked something straight out of a Peter Rabbit storybook awaited us, and Marcus opened its door, saying quietly, “My grandmother made this for me when I first moved in with her.”
That he would share such information with me, after all these years, made me feel strangely shy and touched at the same time. “Thank you for bringing me here.” I stepped inside and looked around, admiring the charming storybook feel of its interior.
Flowers and plants abounded all around us, and adding to the cozy feel was the small white piano in the corner and the checkered sofa in the other with its lace pillows and a throw blanket made of purple wool.
Glancing back at Marcus, I said sincerely, “It’s very beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Marcus gestured towards the couch. “Please have a seat.”
As soon as I did, Marcus took up the space next to me, and I stiffened.
Too close, I thought, and tried not to panic.
“So…” Marcus’ quiet drawl drew my attention back to him. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
I relaxed a little. As long as we talked about things that weren’t dangerous, I told myself, we should be fine. And so I turned to him with a smile, saying lightly, “You don’t have to lie, you know.”
He raised a brow.
“Jaak told me.”
“Ah.” His lips twitched. “I plead guilty.”
And so he should, I thought, since Jaak wasn’t the type to lie about things. It had been no secret that Marcus and my brother had stayed in contact with each other over the years, but what he obviously didn’t realize was how Jaak had once let it slip that Marcus always managed to bring my name up in their conversations.
“Did you like keeping tabs on me,” I couldn’t help asking, “---because you felt guilty?”
When he didn’t answer right away, I added quickly, “I’m just joking.”
“Lo so.” I know.
But Marcus kept gazing at me with dark, unreadable eyes, and I asked finally, “What is it?”
“Jaak told me you had changed.” His tone was unexpectedly curt. “But I didn’t realize you had changed so much.”
Oh. “You make it sound like I’ve changed for the worse,” I said uncertainly.
He shook his head. “No. Not for you.” And then he murmured something in Italian, almost inaudibly, but if I had to take a guess---
Solo per me.
Only for m
e, I translated silently, and now I wasn’t just bewildered, but I was more than a little hurt, too.
What had changed about me that was so bad? And even if there was such a change, what right did he have to feel that way, considering how he had terminated our so-called friendship?
I stood up, saying stiffly, “I should go---”
He reached for my hand, saying just as stiffly, “I’m sorry.”
And because I could be just a little bitchy now if I wanted to, I demanded, “Why? What are you sorry for?”
“I am sorry,” Marcus said softly, “because I’m egoistic enough to have wanted you to pine for me.”
Oh.
“But looking at you now…” His lips twisted. “It’s wishful thinking, isn’t it?”
He tugged on my hand, and I allowed him to pull me back to my seat.
“Did you pine for me?”
“No.” Yes. I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t supposed to. Remember?”
Because we were friends, I thought.
Or at least I thought we were up until the point I realized he had gotten rid of me.
Marcus only shrugged at my answer. “I am used to women pining for me.’
His arrogant tone was familiar in a sweet, painful kind of way, and I could feel my lips curving. “Does it help,” I asked deadpanned, “if I told you I hated you for a long time?”
“I suppose,” he answered with a mocking sigh. “Since it kept me in your thoughts.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “You know, I didn’t think it could be possible, but you actually managed to be more arrogant than before.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
“I should have known you would.” I choked back a laugh.
Marcus’ handsome face suddenly softened. “I missed that sound, bambina.”
If you really missed it, I thought, then why did you stop being my friend?
But of course I couldn’t say that. Doing so it would be akin to opening a can of worms, and that was another dangerous thing the older and wiser version of me knew better than to do.
And so I changed the subject instead, asking carefully, “What about you?” I bit my lip. “How are you taking your nonna’s passing so far?”
A part of me expected Marcus to brush my words away, but instead he answered in a neutral voice, “She has been sick for a long time. In a way, I am thankful that her suffering has passed.”
