The fear returned when the call ended. “I have no money, no passport, no clothing, no food—nothing…” Then she whispered to herself, “Where will I stay? I can’t even speak the language. How could he do this to me?” She bit down on a knuckle. Antony freed her hand and held her close.
“You will stay with me for now. Whatever you need, you shall have.”
“I can’t stay here; I’m a married woman! Besides, I have to try to find a job or something—some way to get back home. My daughter…” She started pacing again. Already all the old stress was back again.
Antony could see to her immediate problems and without thinking, he did just that. “Colleen. You have no choice but to stay with me. The authorities let you leave because I told them you would be with me. You said it yourself—you have no passport, no identification of any kind. You cannot work here. As for your needs…I can see to those.”
“And what about Ava?”
“It’s much easier to get her to you than the other way around.”
She stopped her pacing. The light came back again.
In that moment, he knew if he had to orchestrate a kidnapping, he would, if only to see that joy stay upon her lovely features.
“What would I have to do to make that happen?”
“You would have to trust me.”
“And what are you going to ask me to do to pay you back?” Her lips trembled.
“Do you think so little of me?”
Her tears began again. “I don’t know what to think of anyone. My husband of six years has abandoned me …” She bit her lip, walking to the window. She took a deep breath. “I’m not a freeloader, Antony. Besides, no matter what my husband’s choices have been recently, I’m still a married woman…and should act like it.”
As the setting sun cast rays across her hair, it illuminated her. Antony’s love for her was profound. She was the manifestation of the best attributes from both of his families. He joined her by the window.
“How about a compromise?”
She arched a brow in response.
“You live here with Ava while we get this all figured out. You’ll be my housekeeper, my cook. Your daughter can continue her studies here. There is a private academy right across the street.”
“I would be a fool to refuse, but I can’t afford a private school.”
“How do you know you can’t afford a private school? I haven’t told you how much my housekeeper makes.” There was the devil’s grin again. She smiled back.
“Now let’s go get some dinner. I know a great restaurant; you will love it.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
He smiled his signature half smile. “DeLuca’s.”
CHAPTER 6
Colleen couldn’t remember when she had ever known she looked so beautiful…definitely not on her first wedding day. Money made a big difference; a lesson she learned quickly since Antony’s rescue.
A seasoned Italian beauty joined her reflection in the mirror. “Mia figlia; my daughter,” she said in her beautiful accent. Colleen faced Antony’s mother—her mother—and let her adjust her veil. Mrs. DeLuca had been doting and supportive since their very first meeting at the family restaurant.
Ava came bouncing into the room in a rose and cream-colored satin dress, holding in her hand a chocolate truffle. Before Colleen could even speak, Mrs. DeLuca caught notice and chased a squealing Ava with a flood of Italian. She laughed and counted her blessings.
The pain of Mike’s abandonment was still there…but a genuine love for Antony had bloomed. When he’d proposed marriage thirty days after Mike’s funeral—a funeral Antony paid for—she had accepted on the spot.
Her husband was dead. The class ring Mike had worn since high school identified his body. Authorities found his remains in a known brothel that burned during a riot in Brazil.
Colleen walked through the vast house toward the vineyard, to where her wedding would take place. As she made her way through long rows of plump red grapes, an eerie feeling came over her, as if someone was watching her.
There, half hidden behind a bush, a gardener she hadn’t seen before was staring. A sudden overwhelming weight held her in place and as he moved, she thought she was looking at a ghost.
CHAPTER 7
Antony couldn’t wait any longer… the ceremony was to begin soon. His mother had come, his new daughter too; but when Colleen didn’t follow immediately, he went after her. Everything that he wanted was almost his.
His parents loved her as if she was already his wife. It was upon their insistence that he proposed. He had wanted to give her more time, but Catholic guilt could be overwhelming when applied by capable hands. Mrs. DeLuca was quite capable.
Colleen and Ava fit right into his life as easily as if they had always been there. After Ava’s arrival, he enrolled her in the private academy, and she learned Italian with ease. It’d taken a little persuasion on his part, but Colleen agreed to enroll her as Ava DeLuca. He didn’t say as much, but he knew the family name would provide her with both acceptance and protection.
Colleen made quick, light work of her housekeeping duties—so much so that she was walking to DeLuca’s every day, helping his parents and refusing pay. This impressed and infuriated his parents. ''If she’s going to work in the restaurant without pay, she must be family,’ his father insisted.
Antony’s heart slid up into his throat as it did whenever he worried about Colleen or Ava. “Where are you?” he called out, searching his way to the main house.
Then something caught his eye: a vision in a simple cream satin gown with his dead mother’s veil covering her. He approached her, and from behind, he noticed her bouquet trembling. Then he saw the gardener on the other side. He was a beast, half his hair missing and part of his body scarred, burned.
A dark and possessive part of Antony came alive upon seeing this scene. The darkness reminded him of the Ramano in him—he was his father’s son. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sterling plate lighter and a cigar. Sunlight blazed off it; catching the gardener’s eyes…he flushed through his scars and fled.
Colleen turned to see Antony smoking and scolded him. He discarded the cigar and put away his lighter. With his Grazioso bellezza in his arms Antony escorted her down the aisle and presented her to the priest. Now…a DeLuca.
As his mother smothered Colleen in her love, Antony smiled, satisfied with his life. Antony Vincent DeLuca lived by his own code. Antony Vincent DeLuca always got what he wanted.
EPILOGUE
Through the twisted vines, a scarred man looked on, fondling a simple gold band on his left hand. A beautiful bride and darling girl stood with another man.
The End
Find out more about Bri Clark at: www.briclarkthebelleofboise.blogspot.com
Find her books at: www.astraeapress.com or www.Amazon.com
Estevan Vega
Estevan grew up in Connecticut and published his first book by the age of fifteen. His writing has appeared in Variance, TeenInk!, and The Puck Review, among others. His work has also been likened to that of Stephen King and Ted Dekker because he is known for penning stories that bridge the gap between the ordinary and the supernatural. Currently, he is a college student. Arson is his third novel and book one in the Arson series. Look for the re-release of The Sacred Sin, as well as book two in the Arson series, in 2011.
Music Box
ESTHER PULLED HERSELF AWAY from the oval, gold-trimmed mirror she had come to know so deeply these last few days. That way she could hide some from that skeleton of a reflection so seduced by the old light spilling in from the open window which was nestled in one of the corners of her elaborate bedroom. It was nearly dusk and the sun was weary of its duties. There was a sharp, biting truth that drifted in along with the dim but stifling warmth, and that was the grueling fact that another day was coming to an end. Another nightfall would be approaching the horizon soon. And for the first time, she was truly afraid.
“Would you get
away from that stupid mirror, Esther? You look ridiculous.” That was her lover, Jacob. He loved providing his two cents, whether they were or were not asked for.
“You always know what to say to ruffle my feathers, don’t you, darling?”
“You know I’m right. If you could see how you’re overreacting, really, from my point of view, you’d understand I’m only trying to help you. For goodness sakes, I wish I could give you my eyes, just for a minute so you’d realize how silly this business is.”
She rubbed one of the newly formed wrinkles beneath her eyelid. “If I could see things with your eyes, then I wouldn’t be so unique now, would I? What good is one absolute anyway?”
“I have come to adore many of your eccentricities, Esther, but your paranoia has gotten worse with age, make no mistake. Vanity has you all stuck up in her web. Say she doesn’t.”
“I most certainly will not. Vanity and I make a beautiful pair. What do you think about that?”
No answer erupted from the lounge where Jacob was relaxing in front of the television. He was planted in his typical spot of comfort: on the ornate davenport. The two rooms were divided by a pair of custom-designed French doors with an eggshell finish and neatly furnished with precious yellow hinges and turn handles. The doors happened to be opened when Jacob stole a glance of Esther. If she’d had her way she would’ve closed them before applying another thick gob of porcelain foundation to her tired skin. A few blotches and it looked as if the wrinkle had been removed. She had grown quite skilled at hiding.
“There,” she sighed, satisfied. “Like magic.”
“Nice to see you haven’t lost all of your tricks, cupcake,” Jacob said in a joking manner.
“Why do you insist on calling me cupcake?” Esther replied loudly. She made a concerted effort to emphasize her obvious disapproval.
There was a tight, heavy moment of silence before he offered up an answer. “Because, cupcake, I know it bothers you.”
Esther returned to the mirror to search for any covert blemishes which may have blossomed during her last few blinks. She smiled in order to examine every tooth for a stain. On the outside, she hoped not to find any terrible infection taking root beneath her gums or an incisor that had shifted out of place. She was ashamed to have fallen victim to this scrutiny routine, checking and re-checking her once-delicate features, every discreet location. Her face most of all.
Pulling her lips apart roughly, Esther studied the shape of her mouth and her gums. Much had changed over the years. She could remember the way her misshapen teeth had finally descended into place such a while ago now. Petty and vain, really. The frets of an adolescent can sometimes evolve into a world of doubt and inefficiency. It was the nature of a young girl’s mind—analyzing and picking apart piece by flawed piece.
“I want to be perfect,” she had said in her younger life. “I must be perfect. A blemish just won’t do.”
But a blemish, a mark, a spot was what she really expected to find. They were becoming more and more common. They, like most everything else, were eventual and inevitable hands on an ever-moving clock, ticking closer and closer toward completion. As her thoughts would have her believe, if she were able to discover some unholy disfigurement—and she had surrendered what she once held to be true in exchange for the undeniable recent reality—then she’d also discover brief, momentary purpose again: to rid herself of it. But was such a mundane task worthwhile? So strange and unfair. Her spirit had been running from her body for so long, but now Esther was fully aware that every forgotten year was catching up with her.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find,” Jacob snickered from the other room. She could hear him crunching on a snack. Her stomach grumbled, but within minutes, she’d lost her appetite. She didn’t really want to have dinner with him, not now. Not in her condition. After all, what reason was there to celebrate?
“Aliens,” she eventually remarked. “I expect I’ll find little green men, the ones who have come to devour your brain and rid me of such pervasive condescension.”
“You’ve become obsessed, Esther. We promised we wouldn’t do this.” His coarse reprimand sounded like hammers.
Esther pinched back her eyebrow. Was that a new mole she had uncovered? How long had it been there? Surely, it wasn’t there last night, or the night before that. Or the one before that. And she couldn’t possibly be imagining it now. But there it was, clear as daylight. “You promised, darling. I made no confession of the sort. I have left you to your devices. Be decent and leave me to mine.”
“Oh, for the love of…Listen, now, you’re making me upset with all of this nonsense. Really, it’s unfair to me, and it’s unfair to you. If I wanted to be the center of a critical marriage, I would’ve gotten married.”
“Ha-ha-ha, darling, only you could view yourself so irreverently as the center of anything. How do you find room in this home for such an ego? Besides, in case you have forgotten, you were married once, you hairy, ungrateful ape.”
“It was so long ago.”
“Your memory is old and slipping.”
“And for good reason. It isn’t right to hold onto such things.”
“But I do. And I remember perfectly, Jacob. She threw you out. All alone you were, rejected. And into my little parlor you came crawling.”
“It’s beginning to visit me again,” he said. “Thanks for reminding me. Charming thing to begin our night with. You know, you were much more inviting back then. I always fancied having a dancer.”
“And you were much more handsome. But as I recall, what drew you to me had nothing to do with my techniques as a woman you can call upon at any whim and everything to do with my ability to tolerate your unruly antics.”
“Unruly, sure.” He began pouring a glass to drink. She heard the clinking of glass on their coffee table. She prayed he was using coasters, though she wasn’t sure why such a trivial thing seemed to matter to her. The repetitive chugging of the liquor that followed seemed to tiptoe into her ears.
Esther felt more than a slight tolerance for Jacob, that much was certain. She loved him dearly, though catering to such strong and passionate desires tonight of all nights was beyond frightening to her. Far too many emotions lurking about her brain to entertain and distract her from the one she was focused on the most, the one that longed to be queen.
Currently, only one of the French doors remained ajar; she’d slid the other door closed. It perfectly permitted her the pleasure of eavesdropping on whatever Jacob was watching on the screen in the lounge while she further investigated her deteriorating physical features.
Esther lingered in front of the mirror a bit more. It helped to acutely employ spite whenever unleashing her verbal assault, if after many long years one could call their childish bickering assaults at all. There were no atom bombs dropped. No decrees of war. Just two simple people who loved one another and enjoyed disagreements from time to time as a result of not always seeing eye to eye. A lifetime together seemed like permission enough to argue.
Jacob was clearly not as hairy or wild as her remark had suggested. She knew. In fact, he was a genuine and attractive lover. Compassionate and understanding. He worried for her, tended to her needs. Even promised to wed her someday. But to her everlasting regret, someday never came. And the clocks were getting tired.
She shut her eyes and reminded herself why her heart still leapt at the thought of him. Long, unplanned strolls on the beach at night. They escaped always after dusk so that when they arrived at the coastline the stars would be ready to embrace them. How so many things had changed. How the world had changed, as if in a blink. Memories of Jacob and her sailing across the Mediterranean near the end of August one summer. Watching the leaves dry and fall in October. Skiing the breathtaking Alps come December. These pictures were living, breathing snapshots of her life. They possessed hands and feet, personalities that wanted to stay born.
Her eyes slipped out of their sleeves once more as she pretended to kiss th
e mirror’s glass. “My heavens, Esther, how you’ve changed.” Blink after blink she remembered. Different moments. Her youth. Then the joyous middle years. Then the final era come full circle. She knew she was stuck in the sad and terrible latter. When she experienced a wrinkle in her spine, Esther nearly lost her breath. Some of the bones had cracked all of a sudden. It had become so weird a sensation to endure. It was still a challenge to wrestle with the idea of the end. “We were put here to live, not to die,” she said, hopelessly grinding her teeth. One of her canines chipped during the grind. Her throat bobbed with shock. “Beauty is nothing but a dream lost upon the young.”
Not a day had gone by when Esther was sad to be alive. Not like some souls. She reveled in the chance to take part in life the way it was meant to be experienced. What had always mattered was the future spread out ahead of her, one in which she would surely play a pivotal role, unlike any other.
She let her reflection fall out of the mirror. Her attention switched to the acquired life laid out before her. The possessions and collections of her bedroom. Custom window treatments, clothed to perfection, never failed at giving this room a spark of aesthetic appeal. Hand-stitched furniture comforted the brown walls, most of which she kept naked. Free, she always argued to Jacob, I want them free. There was a frame or two articulately fastened to the walls, however. And in these frames were two separate images. In one lay a bright city, so beautiful and magnificent it was almost blinding. On the outskirts of this city were animals of every fur and color, at peace. Gardens were thick and lush with flowers of every kind, and each young petal was reaching up from the ground. The gardens were formed in three symmetrical locations within the grand scene. A medley of colors and lights, so breathtaking and real, second only to the soft strokes of a green current painted beneath the city. Sidewalks chiseled out of gold and diamonds were laid adjacent to this running river, never still waters content at its banks. And at the center of everything there was a tree whose full branches scratched at a vibrant, purple sky.
Intrigue (Stories of Suspense) Page 7
