Innocence (Tales of Olympus Book 1)

by Lee Savino

  “Thank you,” the young woman said, and Cora felt a rush of warmth. She watched the toddler move back to his place clinging to his mother’s pocket, other hand in mouth. Perhaps she should ask Marcus if he ever wanted children. The thought struck her. She really didn’t know anything about him. But when she was with him, all her questions melted away.

  When she returned to her table, the café help had filled her table with plates of pastries, fruit and a whole coffee service. Cora shook her head but they left it all, adding three bottles of designer mineral water. The other customers were staring.

  Sighing, she grabbed a paper. This day was hers to waste in walks and bury in papers, if she chose. She skimmed the fashion pages, grew quickly bored, and flipped to the news columns.

  Rise in violence, streets unsafe. The headline caught her eye. Police helpless in war between crime lords. Criminals must choose sides. Man found dead, multiple stab wounds—most likely gang violence. The cold print rolled on down the page.

  The opinion column on the next one was headed Unrest in Underworld, and full of theories about crime families, changing leadership and black market business takeovers that left hustlers, thugs and kingpins alike dead at the scene. “Now even murderers need protection,” was the writer’s attempt at black humor. Below was a picture of the man, the war’s most recent victim. Once glance at the marred face and Cora got up so suddenly her chair fell over.

  “May I help, miss?” the manager and waiter rushed to her side, but she had already righted her chair, mumbling to herself.

  “Everything okay?” the young mother was nearby with toddler and stroller in tow. For now Cora was shuffling the newspaper, a pathetic attempt to reorder them, to hide the face of the man who had come to her that night to warn her.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Here,” Cora gave up with the paper and gestured to the table laden with food. “You can have this. I didn’t touch it.” The young mother looked startled.

  “She can have it all,” Cora told the manager and waiter, and, while they stared, picked up her purse and fled.

  As she left the café, she noticed a white van parked near the café, somehow out of place. Even in her distress, Cora paused to think what seemed wrong about it: the butcher the van might have been making deliveries to was on the opposite side of the street. There was a man standing by it, taking a smoke break. Or maybe that was what it was supposed to look like— the cigarette wasn’t lit and he never brought it to his mouth. Instead, the delivery man, if that’s who he was, was watching her. Shrugging deeper into her coat and flipping up the coat collar, she turned and hurried down the nearest alley.

  The journey back home somehow seemed even longer. In the day’s declining hours, she made her way back across the city by a few landmarks. Tiredness was taking over, but she was sure that the white van was following her. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of it around a corner or at a stoplight. At some point, the white van disappeared and a black car took over, cruising slowly enough to be noticed.

  She ignored it. If Sharo was coming to pick her up, let him make the first move and stop the pretending. She would play the game as well as they did.

  When she finally hit familiar roads, she hailed a taxi. Arriving at her apartment at dusk, Cora showered and dressed. The second-hand clothes, so dingy beside her other wardrobe, went in a bottom drawer for later. The cell phone Marcus had given her—left behind for the day—was blinking with messages. As if he didn’t have other ways of finding out where she was. She chewed her lip for a moment. All this attention, was it flattering or creepy? When did love cross a line?

  She would find out. Tucking her wet hair behind her ears, she turned on all the lights. Then she sat on the couch, and waited.

  Not five minutes later the doorbell rang. She closed her eyes, suddenly too tired to move. A second knock, a pause and then the jingling of keys. He let himself in and came to her on noiseless shoes.

  “Cora.”

  She looked up at him. Dressed as usual in grey suit and tie, he stood with his hands in his pockets and looked her over. She waited, but he had no questions. There was expectancy on his handsome face.

  She could play the game. “How was your day?”

  “Business as usual. Yours?”

  Tiredness overtook resolve. “I was out,” she admitted. “All day. I just needed some time to think…Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought I could get tired walking.”

  He waited to see if that was all. Cora felt pathetic. Marcus was looking down at her like a parent with a disobedient child.

  But he didn’t chastise her. Taking a seat next to her on the couch, he leaned forward with hands clasped, studying the floor.

  “Last night was…a dream come true. I wanted to sweep you off your feet, this great crescendo up to the ring, right up to when you said yes.” He was twisting a ring he wore on his finger, not looking at her. “I’ve done everything I know to do for you, Cora. I’ve never felt this way with any girl. And, last night, I guess…” he paused. “I just got carried away. I wanted it to be perfect.”

  “It was perfect,” Cora said in a soft voice. Marcus finally looked at her.

  “I want you. I…love you. When I look at my life without…” he trailed away. He paused for a moment with a bent head.

  “You redeem me.” He said finally. “Your innocence. I didn’t know I needed it until I met you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

  Cora looked into his dark eyes, searching them. She found nothing but sincerity.

  Emboldened by her gaze, Marcus took her hands. “I’m telling you sorry for pushing. I just wanted to get started. Life with you, babe, it’s just gonna be so good.”

  “Marcus, I—” the words caught in her throat. “I forgive you.”

  Raising her hands to his lips, Marcus kissed them. His eyes were fixed on hers; she couldn’t hold the gaze any longer. His moves were too good; she couldn’t win. When he opened his arms, she leaned into him. Exhausted, she again closed her eyes, pretended she was home.

  *

  Held in the light of the fire, Cora dozed as Marcus stroked her arm, his lips at her temple. Second by second, she would fade into sleep, only to wake and see him watching her.

  “Hi,” she murmured lazily, smiling.

  “Hey, kid,” he lowered his lips to hers.

  She was still smiling when he pulled away, but he looked more serious. “How have you been sleeping?”

  “Okay,” she said. It had been a week since the long day of walking. “I’ll sleep well tonight,” she added, so his frown would not deepen.

  “I bet you will,” another kiss. “But I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” she said. “It’s just…” she couldn’t find the words, and sighed. She watched the firelight for a moment, trying to think what might possibly be wrong with her life. Over the course of a week, so much had changed. She hadn’t said yes to the proposal, but Marcus had been sweeter than ever. Of the suits who usually watched over her, there had been no sign. I can play this game. That afternoon, he had picked her up from her apartment, driven her himself to a spa in the hills. Dinner was waiting in front of the fireplace, and, after the final course of strawberries and champagne, Marcus drew her into his arms on the thick hearth rug.

  “I just don’t know,” Cora finished, embarrassed at her non-answer. She started to pull away from Marcus to get up, but he said, “No, no, don’t go,” and held her more tightly. She let him, content to be trapped against his chest.

  “I think I know what it is,” he murmured. “You’re bored.”

  “Oh really,” Cora snorted.

  “No, no, hear me out,” she could hear Marcus’ smile, “You came to the big city for stimulation…opportunity, parties, work and all that. A little country girl dazzled by the lights.”

  The kick in Cora’s stomach was a laugh. Marcus’ hand went to her stomach; he stroked it and she almost stopped breathing.

  “You found me,” he purred, “but, wh
en I’m not around...”

  Struggling to keep her thoughts, Cora teased. “I might as well just shrivel up and die.”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.” A few more minutes went by with him tracing unreadable words out on her skin. Cora closed her eyes and drifted away on pleasure. Hours may have passed before she heard him murmur something more.

  “Hmmm?” She lifted her head.

  “I said, what if I got you a car?”

  “Marcus, you can’t buy me a car.”

  “Can’t I?” he growled, and suddenly Cora found herself rolled onto her back. Marcus was suspended over her, holding his weight on his arms so their bodies were not quite touching. She came awake immediately, wide-eyed under him. They still hadn’t gone all the way, although they kissed often now. She was ready for him; but Marcus clung to some old fashioned code, and wouldn’t initiate things. She thought he was waiting for marriage, although she hoped they could become intimate soon.

  She looked up at him now, feeling breathless. Excitement rushed through her and made her ready. But he only lowered himself close enough to whisper, “I can do anything I want. I can give you the world.”

  “Okay, then,” Cora found her voice, “a car.”

  “That’s better,” Marcus raised himself a little and grinned, the cat who had trapped a live mouse. “What sort?”

  “I don’t know, you pick,” her voice came in little gasps. His close physical presence was distracting. When she rolled her eyes to the left and right, her view was blocked by Marcus’ arms, which bulged with sudden strength. He did not seem in any hurry to release himself the pose. Or her. Trapped, she looked up at him.

  “A nice Aston Martin. You liked the way it hugged those curves coming up the mountain?”

  “Uh,” Cora’s brain was too scrambled to remember the drive up only four hours previous. “I don’t know. Was that an Aston Martin?”

  With an annoyed growl, Marcus rolled away from her.

  “It was grey, right?” Cora tried again, hoping her boyfriend was only kidding. She was relieved when he returned to lie next to her on his side, his head propped on an arm. From this slight vantage he could look down on her where she lay, still on her back. “Sorry,” she giggled.

  “You break my heart,” years seemed to come off his face as he teased her. “For that, you’re going to pay.”

  “Oh, no,” she laughed.

  “I’m serious,” he warned, “You’re going to have to do something for me.”

  Her heart leaped, but she rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ll drive the Austin Marie or whatever. The grey one.”

  His eyes narrowed, “Cora…”

  “You said you wanted to buy me a car! I don’t care about what type. I don’t know.” She wriggled a little under him and his eyes heated up. “You could just buy me a dog.”

  “Great,” Marcus pretended disgust, “Some little pooch I accidentally kick every time I walk into your place.”

  Cora made an indignant noise. “You are so bad. Behavior like that, you won’t be allowed at the animal rescue anymore.”

  “Oh, really? And how will they find out about my abusing little Fluffy?”

  “I would not name a dog Fluffy,” Cora laughed.

  “Bitsy, then.”

  “No!”

  “Alright. So I kicked poor little Soccer—“

  “Marcus!” Cora shrieked.

  “—what do you expect? You name a dog Soccer and it’s going to get kicked. Fact of life. How’s the rescue going to find out?”

  “I would report you,” Cora put on her most holier-than-thou tone.

  “Hmmm,” Marcus leaned in to kiss her, “Traitor. All’s I wanted was to get you interested in something, for fun. Get you out of the house, get you something to do. Guess we’re going to have to go to plan A.”

  “The Ferrari?”

  “Aston Martin…you little…” Marcus put hands on either side of her body again, but did not shift himself over the full length of her. With his torso twisted, he leaned down to kiss her. “You...are…in trouble,” he punctuated each word with a kiss. The last one went on for sometime. “You owe me.”

  “Okay,” she said dreamily.

  A few minutes later, drunk with one another, Marcus told her the plan, “A friend of mine is starting up a new fashion line. You know him; he owns the little spa you go to.”

  “Armand?”

  “Yep. He is looking for a certain type of girl to show the stuff. Are you interested in being a model?”

  “They had me do that sometimes, at the shop. That’s why I quit,” she said. “I was sick of just putting on the clothes and walking around. They never let me do any work.”

  “Work, volunteer. You’re such a farm girl…always doing chores.”

  “It’s the way I was raised.”

  “Please, Cora,” he said. “This will be much more intense than the shop. Promise.”

  “Do you want me to do it?” Cora asked.

  “I do. I want the whole world to see this goddess of mine. Share the beauty,” he was back to nuzzling her throat. “But only for a little while.”

  “Mmmm,” she said. “Okay.”

  He pulled back to grin at her, and she smiled, too. The game they played was still going, and she was becoming a better adversary. For a week she had kept close to home, so as not to alarm him. With the sweet way he’d been treating her, apparently he already had been. He seemed determined not to let her get away.

  “Could I have some more wine?” As he poured her a half glass, she wondered when the cards would slip from her hands. Every time he looked at her, she wondered if there were layers to what he was thinking. She wanted so desperately to trust him. When she was with him, and they were playful like this, she forgot almost everything. Almost.

  He handed her the glass, but immediately took possession of her lips. She let him. In moments like these, close to the Marcus she loved, she wondered if the game was worth it.

  The fire died down low.

  “Alright,” Marcus finally said, nuzzling at her throat and then slowly rising, “it’s time for bed.”

  Reluctantly, Cora rose as well. Marcus had ordered separate rooms—“I know you’re sweet and innocent. And you haven’t said yes to me…”

  She went to the door and paused there, looking back at him. I know I can play this game.

  “See you in the morning,” he said.

  “See you.” Cora watched until he disappeared behind his door. But which one is he playing?

  *

  “Babe, babe, come on, move!” Cora turned and was blinded by the lights. She took a step to the side, uncertain, and then noticed the camera man trying to pass her.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said as she stepped aside. He went by with a nice smile. She stood unsure, until a make-up artist rescued her.

  “Come on, dear,” he said, leading her by the arm to a chair in front of the mirrors. She recognized him from the spa she frequented.

  “Hey, did we meet at Metamorphoses?”

  “Yes, yes, Double M. That’s what we call it. Armand owns it.”

  “The designer?” Cora recognized the name from Marcus’ mention.

  “Mmmmhhmm.” The man flicked a switch and Cora was blinded again.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” in the blurred shapes beyond Cora’s vision, she could see the man was studying her. “Good bone structure, classic cheekbones,” some heat came onto her face and she realized the man had pulled a light close to examine more closely. She kept her eyes closed throughout the scrutiny, “Great skin.

  An hour later, Cora was covered in violet shaded white powder, with an iridescence to the skin of her face. There was striking purple and black makeup around her eyes.

  “Perfect,” the artist said, and spun her out of the chair. “Let’s get you to costuming.”

  Marcus, you owe me for this, she thought as she wove through racks of clothes to the designer’s assistants. Ten Aston Martins, at least.


  She was still imagining the line of new cars—a dog in the front seat of each—while being dressed. The garments were cool, long, draping fabrics sheer as clouds and falling like water. With a pleased sound she turned in them and watched the material float.

  The assistant was less happy. With a string of curses, he stepped in to pin something, and stuck Cora’s flesh. Startled, she jumped. The curses were directed to her. Cora froze and gritted her teeth, waiting for more abuse, more pins. But another one of the assistants turned from the rack of clothes and pulled the second away. He spoke in an urgent whisper.

  “Mr. Ubeli,” were the only words Cora caught as she waited, trying to keep a brave face. The first assistant returned and finished his work, silent and stiff. The second disappeared, and reappeared with a bottle of water.

  “The lights can be hot,” he explained. Cora noticed none of the other models being given water, but accepted it. She was directed off to another room to wait for their call, and went. With her clothing draped like a Greek statue and water bottle in hand, she felt like the Statue of Liberty.

  The room she had been sent to wait in was quiet and calmer than the rush of people and lights just without. Cora wandered the long racks of fabric, touching bolts of fabric sheer and crisp and many colored. Alone, she relaxed.

  “Ms. Cora?”

  She turned with a swirl of gorgeous material. “I’m ready! Is it my turn?” The words stopped on her tongue as a man approached her, tall and slim, wearing a suit. Somehow, he didn’t look like a designer or an assistant. Cora regarded him, instantly wary.

  “I’m not here for the fashion, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said.

  “Then you probably shouldn’t be back here.”

  He put up his hands at her defensiveness. “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. I’m not going to be here long. I came to see you.”

  Cora stepped away, looking down at some set props for the shoot—false flowers, faux marble columns.

  “I’ll be brief. We’ve been watching you for some time, and think that you might need some help. Someone to talk to.”

  “Did Marcus send you?” She cut him off.