8. Once Upon a Time
Chapter eight
Once Upon a Time
Kira
M y son stood with the pencil in his left hand as he scribbled on the coloring book paper - one full of horrid monsters from a scary fairytale. He liked to color things. He was bad at it, of course. He was two years old. Children of that age were only good at one thing - wearing out their parents. A task they took to with gusto!
He crawled onto bed with his monster book in hand, his crayons dangling from his lip, held between his little milk teeth. He laid in bed while I read a book, and we silently did our tasks until I said, “Sleep time!”
We turned off the light and cuddled with our arms around one another, as I began the usual tale…
“Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince who fell in love with a common girl…”
I recited the story with no end as I rubbed Cillian’s back, his little arms around my neck as we slept cheek-to-cheek. Later, he’d flip and flop, kick and flail like a ninja in his sleep, but in the end, my son loved the cuddling as much as I did. He’d crawl across the bed to find me, if we ever lost contact, and would wrap his little arms around my head and hold on for dear life.
My sweet love.
If my son fell asleep first - which was often - I could get away for a moment of “self-care”. Usually, just a cup of tea in the dark. Maybe a glass of wine that I had hidden in the top shelf. I’d stare out the kitchen window, paint peeling from the corners of the panes, and indulge in my heart’s longing.
I crept from the bed, into the kitchen, to tell myself the way I wanted the story to end.
“The monster found the girl, and brought her back to the castle.” I whispered to the dark. “Instead of pain and destruction, there was art and music. Instead of war, there was peace.”
I sipped my blood red wine, tasting the bitter luxury that reminded me of the past. “He’d changed because he knew that’s what she wanted.”
Tears welled in my eyes at the happy ending that only existed in fairy tales. For a future I would never have.
It was in those quiet moments, when the world was asleep and no one could see me, I would dare to say the name. To whisper it out loud, as though to conjure him back into my empty soul.
I cried and wondered why I had run, when I ached to see him. My desire for him hid in the shadows, where I could see those black eyes staring at me, beckoning me back into the underworld where he was king. He’d once called me Persephone. Did that make him Hades?
I opened my laptop, and started an anonymous browser to look for sightings of my infamous monster.
Of course, in the gossip columns, he was never monstrous. He was beautiful, with that slicked blond hair and well-fitted pinstripe suit. Tonight, he’d gone to Gallery Four, hosting a charity gala to fund underinsured patients going through critical treatments.
I wondered, briefly, if Eoghan had done that for me.
Did he do it because of the story of my father? Was he sending me a sign? Was he trying to get a message to me, in a roundabout way?
But just as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it again. There was a tall, elegantly dressed woman by his side. She had sharp cheekbones, deep-set, blue eyes, and blonde hair that was braided over her shoulder. Her name was Yuliya Vasilieva - the sister of the head of the Bratva.
She was the girl who had been strung up by Alastair Green when she was a child! The one Cosima had warned me about in whispers, as she told me about Isla Green. When did those two become friends? Was it an alliance? Were they… close? Were they arranged? Another alliance?
Vasilieva had her arm around Eoghan’s waist, as they walked together into the gallery, and jealousy snaked up my throat like bile.
Had he made an alliance? Was this a romance built on a treaty? I hadn’t seen anything of the sort in the intel reports, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.
Had he forgotten me?
I cleared the screen, wiped the history, the cache, and destroyed any trace of my search. But I couldn’t erase it from my mind.
Him. Touching someone. Touching another woman.
It wasn’t right! I was his muse! He had said so! He had sworn that he would never have another!
So much for promises…
“Eoghan,” I whispered into the dark, calling to him, but I didn’t know why.
Were it not for the boy, I would be his Persophone, ruling beside him in Hell.
But I had made my choice. Now, I had to swallow it.
Thoughts swirled around in my head - thoughts of fate, and “meant to be”. He was moving on, and it didn’t make sense for me not to. My thoughts swirled to Aaron Jackson, and his copper beard, and brown hair. I tried to imagine them running between my fingers. Was he a ravenous lover? Was he gentle? Was he considerate but demanding?
I wasn’t sure.
But maybe I had to find out.