Vincent answered the door himself. He never thought the sight of cops would fill him with such resentment—especially the fat one who'd once ordered Jennifer around. Did these people forget so easily who I am?. He heaved loudly.
He stepped aside and Jennifer's slender statue faced the cops. He hovered, making sure they did nothing funny.
Jennifer braced herself. When Vincent's shadow lingered she felt reassured.
"Ms. Jennifer. We have received an anonymous tip that you had business with Father Andrew the day he was murdered. We are to bring you in for questioning."
"She goes nowhere. I suggest you start asking them." Vincent growled. The officer gulped.
"What is your relationship with Father Andrew?" The officer stammered—his eyes aware of Vincent's.
Jennifer took a moment to respond. These were the cops. She had no reason to lie yet this wasn't how she wanted him to find out.
"None existent. Except for the two years he was Chaplain at St Ann's Orphanage home" a knot formed in her throat and didn't go away till the cops had left.
"Did Father Andrew contact you or anyone you know about any disturbance?"
She hissed. It wasn't long and she saw through their scheme.
"Weren't you listening? Except for those two years, I had no contact with him."
The officer frowned at her tone. He cleared his throat. Sweat smeared his neck under his collar. And when he looked up again. "Thank you for your time Ms. Jennifer" and left with his partner.
Jennifer followed him to his study. She walked without breathing a word. His presence kept her fears at bay.
"Orphanage?" Vincent asked when he slumped into his chair. The file Carlos produced when he asked for her background never mentioned an Orphanage. It was only stated that she had lived in a foster home when she was sixteen. It was not like Carlos to miss information like that, except…. His eyes caught hers.
She looked away.
Then slowly she sat down. "I lost my parents when I was five. My uncle left me at the Orphanage home—so I've heard." She said those words like she didn't care. She did. He saw right through her. Her shoulders sank when she spoke.
"Father Andrew—though a fleeting memory—I remember him as kind. He'd always sneak an apple to me after breakfast or dinner. He'd make sure the other kids didn't see."
She smiled. That memory was a silver lining in her dark clouds.
"It's foggy but I recall Father Andrew leaving. I didn't know why but I had cried. I ended up in a foster home and then another. Then another. Till no one would take me no more. I guess nobody wanted a thieving girl who wasn't content with dinner and had to steal remnants from the kitchen."
She was willing herself not to cry. She had cried before him too long she feared what he'd think of her. She sniffed back those tears and looked at him.
"You will never live like that again. I'm sorry about Father Andrew."
His voice was calm like morning winds. She nodded with a shy smile.
He buried his head in the pages of the ledgers on the desk. She wasn't lying. But neither was that the whole truth. He refrained from asking. He would wait till she was ready to talk. Right now all he wanted was to keep her safe—away from her demons.
He admired her golden hair. It was gleaming in the morning sun. She was terribly adorable in that red robe.
"I never told you how endearing you looked on that stage" he watched her cheeks flare up—pink-red. She hadn't been expecting the remark.
She didn't look at him but said "Thank you."
"Have you been a guest at the Garden of Grace before?" She finally looked up. His face was bright in the sunlight from the window. His jawline—tight and rough—asked for an shave. But she liked the faint blur it gave his lower face.
His hair was messy—and dangerously good-looking. The way it curved sidewards on each temple. Why did he always styled it backwards when it made him more handsome this way.
When he smiled from the corner of his lips—a sign he had caught her staring—she blushed.
"If you're asking whether they are better…" His voice trailed off. The short suspense ate away her patience. "I've never seen a performance like yours. My father used to say—it took a woman with a big heart and a story to tell— to be one with a dress." He looked at her. "I think that's what you did. He would have fawned over you"
She smiled. But the feeling was short-lived. His face grew dark when he had mentioned his father.
"I'm sorry about your mother." That was it. She thought.
"I applaud her for having balls of steel." That calm voice was gone.
"Vincent…" She wanted to say that that was rude but words slipped her.
"She has this way of getting under your skin."
He needn't say. She had seen it all. But still, she didn't like the tone. Perhaps he was letting the bad blood of two decades dictate what future he had left with his mother.
She wanted to speak. To say he was hurting and it was acceptable but he was also denying himself the chance to heal.
But the words stuck down her tongue—like heavy weights. She lingered in the study. He noticed. When he finally got tired of her pacing he asked "Your mind is so loud I can almost hear it. What is it?"
She answered almost immediately "It's just…your mother came to see how you were doing and.." she paused unsure how he would take it. "You asked her to leave"
He dropped the pen and crossed his fingers. "What was I supposed to do?".
She avoided his gaze. "Perhaps, listened to her?" She asked.
"No" he shook his head "No fibre of my being would listen to that woman."
"She's your mother." She tried to say.
His head snapped upwards. "What mother abandons his fourteen year old son and doesn't look back for twenty years" his voice was a loud slap on the walls of the study. The silence was grave you could hear the air walk.
"I'm sorry" he said softly. He cursed himself for making her jump in fright. She turned to leave.
He sighed "Jennifer"
"I'm just saying." She turned back. "She had her reasons for leaving" Then slowly "But has it ever occurred to you that she left for the same reason Samantha did?"
He froze. The air around him seemed to shrink. Her words clawed around the walls he had built for twenty years.
She opened the door and left. The words she left behind threatened to dig up old memories he had buried. It was too late to distract his mind, the events of that day when everything was about to break played before him again.
***
~20 Years Ago~
Elena strolled through the estate like the queen she was. Endowed in a knee-length purple robe. This was Sebastián's favorite. It made her challenge youth. Her thighs would shine like olive and her ass would jiggle when she swayed her hips.
In the middle of the room Vincent ran into her arms
"Mother!" He was a strong boy. His arms always felt more like crushing than hugging.
"Sweetie, don't kill mama on your birthday." She smiled—ruffling his hair.
Just last year she had to bend to kiss his forehead—now the boy was almost her height. He was her pride—Sebastián often said the boy was taking after her too much. Even now he was looking over his shoulder from the long dinning table.
"Go get ready." She whispered and the boy scurried off.
Desperate to make use of the small privacy. She reached the dining and straddled his thighs. Her arms locked his neck. Her robe—carelessly fitted at the chest opened to reveal her cleavage.
"Good morning. You left the bed without me." She whispered in his ears. Her smile was sweet—yet he ignored all that and traveled down her back. His hands grabbed her ass.
She laughed softly. "Bad boy."
They kissed. Hot breaths against each others mouths. Tongues searching from souls.
Sebastián muttered whilst at it "we should send him to a boarding school."
Elena broke away with a laugh. "For moments like this I'd ship him off to my grandparents. He has the farm to see." She kissed him again.
It was mornings like she looked forward to. Their intimate life rekindled. And nights where he'd crawl into bed hours after her and wake her with a kiss on her ear or a finger between her thighs.
But these moments fled faster than they came. There was always something to break the euphoria. A business call. A sudden meeting at two in the morning or their fourteen year old walking in.
But she could live with those—she told herself—she could wait through those calls. Their child would also leave. But the man he was becoming would not. The man who was reaching for heights beyond ambition.
The thought pulled her away from the kiss. His eyes held need and frown.
"What's the problem." He asked.
She faked a smile and slid off his body. "Nothing Sebas"
He raised a brow. She only ever called him Sebas when he had done something wrong. He sighed.
"You called me Sebas. Elean what is it." He watched her fix her robe at the chest and lower herself into the chair. She sighed. His heart sank.
"I'm worried." She only said.
"Is this about the auction? Elena I told you I wasn't going anymore."
"It's not the auctions" she said softly.
He searched her face. There it was. Right behind her cloudy eyes.
"You've been listening to my mother again." Sebastián's voice was cold.
How quickly the man she loved vanished.
"I've been listening to myself Sebas. And to you." Her voice cracked.
The man she loved had climbed so high that even the stars bowed to his name, yet the higher he rose, the less human he became.
Power replaced warmth, silence replaced laughter and ambition whispered louder than love ever could. She had once prayed for his greatness—now she prayed only to have him back.
For what good is a throne when the King no longer remembers who built it with him?
He reached the heavens but left her buried in the dust below.
"How long before Vincent starts to follow in your footsteps"
Sebastián's lips thinned. This woman had struck a chord.
"He's my son, woman. Every father would want his son to follow their footsteps."
Woman! He called me woman! Elena buried her face in her palms to hide her teary eyes. When she looked up and saw neither remorse nor redress she made up her mind—or perhaps her mother made up her mind for her.
"I'm leaving" she said it like she was howling a greeting.
Sebastián chuckled softly—like she were joking.
"I fell in love with a boy who loved sunset and coffee, who splashed me water whenever he got the chance."
She looked at him, now unable to hide the tears. "That boy became a man. A man who has lost himself in the pursuit of absolute power"
Until she got up he still thought she was not serious. But when she left the table he chased after her. She pushed him off with all strength. She slammed the door. When it opened again she was already at the front door, a small suitcase in hand. Sebastián pleaded behind.
And Vincent? He hovered on the mezzanine clutching the railings. She looked back once at him with tears in her eyes—pushing his father off. Then she left.
~Present~
Vincent leaned back into the chair. It spun slowly from the table and faced the window. He saw her outside with Carlos—he was taking her to Veloura. His hands shook. Thinking back now his father had started staying away more. And strange men came to the estate. Once he saw them interrogate a man—his father watched with a grim smile and a large cigar behind his teeth.
Did he become his father without knowing it?Samantha's death felt more on his hands now. His eyes peeled off to the ceiling and he tried to remember those lines he had read. What was it again? Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
His phone buzzed. Lazily he answered it. The voice on the phone was calm "We have a problem" And this time Vincent didn't know if he was the cause—or the solution.