by Dark Angel
It’s kinda fitting, in a way; a family as powerful as the Donovans always swing for the fences when it comes to occasions like this. I don’t think my father would’ve enjoyed a service this big, though, and if it were up to me, I’d have chosen somewhere more intimate. But I didn’t have a choice; I was in Rome when my father passed away, and the Donovans kindly arranged everything.
So, if it seems that I’m complaining, rest assured, I’m not.
Of course, I know that Jonathan Donovan wouldn’t mind going for something more intimate as well. After all, he knew my father better than anyone. But according to what my father used to tell me, Jonathan’s wife, Carolyn, cares about appearances as much as she cares about the air she breathes. Not that my father said that in a derogatory manner; according to him, keeping up with appearances was part of being one of the Donovans. After all, with the amount of money and power they have, they’re always under the public eye.
Not that everyone in the family follows these guidelines, particularly Jonathan’s daughter. She was always the rebellious one, partying hard as she made her way through college. Even though I spent the last few years in Europe, I always made sure I kept up with the news coming out from the States… And, sooner or later, there’d always be an article about Clarise, one of the heirs to the Donovan empire. Even though she was top of her class at Wharton Business School, the tabloids didn’t cut her any slack with her ‘party-hard’ attitude.
"What can I say about Edward?" Jonathan says, speaking into the microphone as he gazes down toward the thousands of people hanging on every word of his. He’s in the pulpit now, my father’s casket just a few meters away from him, and every set of eyeballs is trained on the leader of the Donovan family. His voice booms through the dozens of speakers mounted throughout the cavernous room, and I feel the air on the back of my neck standing up as I listen to him. "More than just a good man, he was an outstanding man. It’s no secret that he was one of my closest friends and, more than that, he also helped my family throughout the years."
The crowd remains silent at his words, but I can feel that some people are feeling the itch to start clapping. No wonder, I feel the same as well. But out of respect for my father, everyone remains solemnly silent.
"It’s my deep belief," Jonathan continues, standing tall while he faces the crowd, "that the Donovan family wouldn’t be what it is today without the strong advice Edward offered us. But today is not about my family; today’s about the best man I’ve ever known in my entire life. A man of honor and integrity." Even though he has written his speech, he’s speaking straight from the heart right now. "And only one person in here knew Edward better than I do. And that’s his son, Connor."
He points toward me as he finishes speaking and I get up from my seat, buttoning my jacket as I do it. I was scheduled to speak immediately after Edward, so it doesn’t come as a surprise that he mentions me right now. The crowd finally submits to the urge to clap, but they do it in a respectful matter, quieting down as I walk down the main aisle and assume my position behind the pulpit.
"Have at it, son," Jonathan tells me politely, shaking my hand, and then he walks back to his seat, sitting down next to his family. I let my gaze wander over the crowd, but I find my eyes being drawn toward the Donovans. And when I say the Donovans, what I really want to say is Clarise.
No, don’t look at me like that. I’m just doing it out of curiosity, after all, I haven’t seen her in years. And, oh, the years have been very kind to her… She was already pretty as a young woman, but she has grown into someone truly extraordinary. Full lips, perfect curves, straight golden hair… Her mother was a beautiful woman back in the day, but I guess that Clarise has now claimed the title of Donovan beauty to herself.
"Thank you, everyone, for being here today," I finally say, leaning into the microphone and taking a deep breath. "My father was a simple man, and he lived his life in the way he knew best: with dignity, and with a strong sense of what it means to be responsible for our surroundings. He devoted his life to others and, in that, I think he was an example to be followed."
The crowd takes in my words attentively but, even though I keep on speaking for a few more minutes, my mind starts drifting. Somehow, I just can’t peel my eyes off Clarise… And she, like everyone else, is looking straight at me. And, Jesus, her deep blue eyes are making me lose my focus…
"Once again, thank you for being here. My father would take great pride in knowing that so many people loved him," I finish off, forcing myself to take my eyes off Clarise. The crowd starts clapping again and, without further ado, I make my way down the aisle toward my seat.
What the hell just happened in there?, I think to myself, Clarise’s figure burning bright inside my mind. This is my father’s funeral, and here I am, lusting after a woman I’m supposed to guide in life.
Not a good start, that’s for sure.
Clarise
"Amen," I repeat after the priest, my voice just another one in the chorus. Lowering my head, I wait until the casket is moved down into the hole in the ground, and I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from crying.
It’s hard to bury someone who cared about you. Maybe the correct thing to say would be that it’s hard to bury someone we cared about… But, the truth is, the people who end up leaving a mark in our lives are the ones who cared about us, not the opposite.
And Edward was exactly that kind of person. Wise and patient, he put up with me even though my family saw me as nothing more than a spoiled little brat. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.
In my hands there’s a small rose with a long stem, its petals painted in a violet red. I brought it with me so that I could lay it on top of his casket. It might seem a bit silly, but I just wanted to offer one final gesture.
Before the dirt is shoveled on top of the casket, I take one step forward and breath in deeply. I’m just a few feet away from the hole in the ground when my eyes find Connor’s; he’s standing opposite of me, and there’s something in the way with which he’s looking at me that ignites a slow burning fire inside me.
Oh, God.
Okay, look… I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I just can’t stop myself.
Pursing my lips, I take a few steps forward; I look down at the casket, a thin layer of dirt already covering it, and I bend over slowly, my fingers curled tight around the stem of the rose.
Opening up my hand, I let the rose fall down, and it lands on top of the casket softly. Bending over as I am, I feel my breasts hanging loosely, and I know that Connor has a pretty nice view of my cleavage right now. In a way, maybe I’ve chosen this spot unconsciously… fully knowing that it’d put me right in front of him.
Again, let me ask you, does this make me a bad person? After all, Connor’s burying his father, and here I am… Showing off my cleavage in a rather lewd way. Now, don’t think that I’m jiggling my breasts like some stripper on stage—no, I did it rather carefully, making sure that I was in Connor’s line of sight only.
Still, it’s in poor taste, I know. But desire doesn’t really care about taste, does it? Desire only wants that sweet electric crackle, and it’s not something that I, or anyone, for that matter, can really control. At least that’s the way I choose to see it.
Standing up, I lock my eyes on Connor’s, and my heart almost skips a beat as I fall under his gaze. He’s staring straight at me and, even though his expression is a solemn one, I somehow can see that he enjoyed the sight of my breasts. How? I have no idea, but something in his eyes tells me that there’s more to Connor than whatever vow he took.
I still find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that Connor took a vow of celibacy. It almost seems… wrong. Handsome as he is, smart and charming as well, it’s almost a sin for him to remove himself out of the dating pool.
Perversely, knowing that he took a vow makes me want him even more. Yes, I’ve said it; I want him. And I don’t need to tell you exactly how I want him, do I?
Without even thinki
ng about what I’m doing, I let my feet carry me forward. I stop right in front of him, still looking straight into his eyes, and then offer him a slight smile. "I’m truly sorry, Connor," I tell him, and I mean every word of it. "Your father was … he was my friend," I continue, not knowing what else to say.
"I know," he replies softly, returning my smile even though there’s a deep sadness in his eyes. Ah, I wish I could help clear all that sadness … and maybe I can. But, of course, I can’t do anything right now.
With a slight nod, I then turn on my heels and march straight to the place where I was, joining my father as the dirt starts to pile up on top of Edward’s casket. We stand there for a long moment, watching in silence, and only walk away when the sky turns grey. A light drizzle starts taking over the day, and that’s when the whole crowd starts heading out of the cemetery, heading for their cars, and preparing to make the drive toward the Donovan estate. Knowing that there’s no way that Connor could organize such a thing, being that he was in Rome and all that, my father decided to do the repast in our own estate.
In a way, it might seem like my family is taking up the spotlight. I know that, but what else can we do? Edward was, after all, one of the most important members of our family, even if he didn’t share the Donovan blood.
Following after my father, I start walking back to our limo. I stop for a few seconds as the driver holds the door for me, and I look back over my shoulder to see Connor standing in the rain, all by himself. His eyes are downcast, but there’s a kind of serenity and poise in the way with which he’s standing.
When I finally get inside the limo, I realize that I was holding my breath. There’s something about Connor, and it’s definitely more than him being eye-candy. No, he’s so much more than that. In a sense, it almost feels like he has the wisdom of his father and the confidence of a young man… And that in addition to his good looks, of course.
Oh, now I definitely want him.
Clarise
"If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask," I tell Connor, bowing my heads slightly as I offer him a sad smile. I’m still reeling from what I felt an hour ago, his eyes on my cleavage unleashing a boiling sensation inside my body, but I do my best to push it to the back of my mind. After all, this is his father’s funeral; I have to keep it together. For now, at least.
"Thank you," he replies, looking straight into my eyes, and I find my heart picking up the pace. I have to take a deep breath to stop myself from running my tongue between my lips and, somehow, I manage to restrain myself. Jesus, why the hell am I behaving like this? Sure, I’ve decided that I want him… But do I really need to be acting like a teenager right now?
Pull it together, Clarise, I think to myself, looking around the room and trying to think of something that’ll steer the conversation somewhere safe.
"It feels good to be back in the States," he sighs then, looking out one of the windows wistfully. "I just never thought it’d be… Well, I just never thought this would be the reason I came back."
"I know," I breath out softly, and then I place one of my hands on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "And I’m here for you," I whisper. "We all are."
"Thank you, Clarise," he replies, but then he looks straight into my eyes and a serious expression washes over his face. "But I’m the one who’s here for you, you and your family," he adds, that confidence and poise making him like a giant of a man.
"I’m glad you’re here for me," I tell him, not resisting with being just a little bit flirty. So what? Sue me. If me being a little flirty takes his mind off of everything that happened, is there any harm in it?
He doesn’t say anything, though. He just takes his eyes off mine and looks out the window again; I let my hand fall from his shoulder and slide down his arm, feeling the rugged muscles hiding underneath his suit. Jesus, how does the Church train the Order of the Temple? Is there a hidden gym under the Vatican, one where all the Order trains in order to become ripped gods?
"Connor, you know --" I start to say, but then I feel a hand on my shoulder and someone pushes me to the side. I spin around to face the man grabbing me and, surprise-surprise, it’s my brother. He has his hair slicked back from the rain, but even the rain doesn’t help to hide the smell of vodka on his breath. I’m not sure when it started, but shortly after he began working for my father, Earl developed a taste for the hard stuff.
"So, Connor, are you up to it?" Earl asks, staring him down as if this were one of those press conferences before a boxing match. "You seem too young to be able to help in here, you know?" he continues defiantly, a smirk on his lips.
"Age has nothing to do with it, Earl," Connor replies noncommittally, his tone of voice calm and steady.
"Yeah? Is that so?" Earl continues, slurring his speech more and more. "I think it does. And I don’t think you’ll be able to measure up to your father, Connor."
The moment the words leave Earl’s mouth, I wince by instinct, ready to see Connor’s fist flying toward my brother’s face. But that doesn’t happen; my eyes dart to Connor’s hands, but he hasn’t even balled them into fists.
"Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will," Connor replies, not a trace of emotion in his voice. Even though Earl is acting like a complete bastard, Connor doesn’t even seem to be registering it. I’ve never seen anyone so in control of his emotions like this; it’s almost inhuman. "Either way, Earl, I’ll do my best to serve your family."
"Your best," Earl scoffs, placing one finger in Connor’s chest. "This family doesn’t need your best. What this family needs is someone with a strong pulse, someone capable of making the family even more powerful, someone --"
"Someone like you?" Connor asks him, and Earl just falls silent, his eyes narrowing into two evil slits.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? D’ya think I can’t handle this family? D’ya think I can’t run the company?" Earl continues, specks of spit jumping out from his mouth and onto Connor’s shirt.
"I’m not saying anything, Earl. You’re drunk, and this has been a long day," Connor continues, still keeping in control of the situation, almost as if Earl was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. "Why don’t we call it a day? If you still want to talk about it, we can talk tomorrow."
"Fuck you, man! I don’t need to talk it out like a fuckin’ pussy! That’s what… That’s what pussies do." As he speaks, Earl’s cheeks flush, and now he’s the one who has balled his hands into fists. Connor’s patient and calm demeanor is affecting him, and not in the best way. But it’s not like Connor could do any differently; Earl strode in looking for an argument, and I guess he won’t let go until he has what he wants.
"No, Earl. Real men talk about whatever needs to be talked about," Connor replies, his tone becoming ice-cold. Even Earl seems surprised by it, and he takes one step back, almost as if he expects Connor to punch him straight in the face.
"What the hell are you doing, Earl?" my father hisses, walking between both Earl and Connor. "Are you out of your mind? This is a funeral, not a goddamn bar! And Connor just got here, why are you in his face like this?"
"It’s not a problem," Connor tries to say, but my father just waves Earl away, a vein in his temple throbbing hard.
"I’m sorry, Connor. I don’t want to cheapen what you’re going through, but losing Edward took a toll on all of us," my father continues to say, and Connor just nods respectfully, acting as if nothing happened.
For a moment, I just keep my eyes focused on Connor, taking in the serenity in his face. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of people inside the ceremony room of our mansion, and this situation could've turned into quite the scene… But Connor kept it together, and even though no one would’ve blamed him if he KO’d my brother right away.
Also, just between you and I … seeing Connor verbally dominate my brother kinda made me wet.
Connor
I’ve always loved New York. There’s a certain flamboyance to the city, like a tapestry made of strings from different fabrics. T
here’s also a certain rush that seems to permeate everything and everyone, and that just adds to that energetic boldness of the city that never sleeps.
Back when I started working in Rome, as a newly annointed member of the Order, I always relished my time off (which, really, didn’t happen that much). I’d grab the first plane out of Italy and spend the whole flight in a state of semi-anxiety, waiting to see the tall buildings of New York City rising in the distance.
After months in Europe, New York was like a warm drink on the coldest of the nights. But now, the city seems grey and desolate. Its bold character now seems harsh and indifferent, and I can’t help but feel more lonely than ever.
Pull yourself together, I think to myself as I look out the window of my bedroom in the Ritz, hundreds of people going about their lives in the street below. Even though I was more than ready to start working for the Donovans, Jonathan forbade me of doing so.
"No way, Connor," he told me sternly. "Take some time for yourself. It’s an order." And so, even though I protested against it, he booked me one of the most expensives rooms in the Ritz.
I’ve been here for a week now and, to be honest, all this time off is driving me crazy. After handling all the legal paperwork surrounding my father’s death, I now have nothing better to do than wander through the streets of New York aimlessly. Still, even though it doesn’t calm my restless mind, that’s what I’ve been doing every single day: I’ve been walking and walking, the gears inside my head turning endlessly.
Working as the Donovan’s adviser is a big responsibility, and not to mention, following in my father’s shoes. They are big shoes to fill, indeed. And, of course, it doesn’t help that I already see trouble brewing on the horizon. Hurricane Earl is picking up speed and, sooner or later, that storm will be threatening the Donovans.
