twenty-eight
I’ve never felt more out of place than I do walking into the dining room.
Mirabelle collected the archangel and me only a second after his unexpected compliment, coughing subtly to announce her presence. She led us down three hallways: two lefts, one right. Then we climbed another golden staircase before following another hallway to its end and reaching two large golden double doors that mark the dining room.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and I find myself wondering if this man really is some sort of royalty. The cornices are made up of golden swirls that interlace with each other and blend seamlessly from corner to corner. The walls themselves are fern green, with Victorian-style panelling along them. The floor is the same white marble as the foyer, so sparkly clean and smooth that I almost slip in these damn sandals.
The dining table is crafted from a rich mahogany, with swirls that match the cornices crusting the sides and the legs. It’s large enough to seat at least twenty guests, but there are only four place settings, all in the centre, two pairs across from each other. Crystal glassware, gold-plated cutlery, and gold-rimmed crockery are set perfectly.
Oh, worlds, I’m going to make a fool of myself.
Two guards approach the seats on the left side and pull them out for us. The archangel looks just as uncomfortable as I do as he sits down and waves off the guard before shuffling the chair forward himself. I follow, but allow the guard to push my chair in for me, not wanting to accidentally catch the dress.
The seats across from us are empty, but I expect to see the sleazy man sitting there shortly, along with his so-called wife.
I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. How do some people wear this sort of thing regularly? I shuffle in my seat, playing with the skirt of my dress until the slit sits at an appropriate position, exposing most of my right thigh. I shift my weight anxiously, grabbing the top of the bodice and pulling it upwards to try to cover some more skin. This damn neckline is digging into my chest.
As soon as dinner is finished, I am finding my own clothes.
“What is wrong with you?”
My head snaps to the archangel sitting to my right. “You try walking around in this contraption”
– I gesture to the tight bodice of my dress – “and see if you can go more than two minutes without wanting to rip it off.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them, even before I see the archangel’s teasing smirk. I sigh and wait for the flirty comment, the offer to rip my dress off for me. But it doesn’t come, and when I do look back at the archangel, he doesn’t look at me, nor does a playful smile haunt his features. They’ve merely returned to their cool look of indifference.
“Well, don’t the pair of you scrub up nicely.”
Vince’s voice snaps my attention away from the archangel and towards the door as he and a woman enter. He wears a forest-green velvet suit with a white shirt underneath. His long hair is slicked back into a ponytail that sits just below his shoulder blades.
The woman, who I assume is his wife, strides in behind him. Her long dark hair is twisted into a braid and her striking green eyes radiate the warmth that’s missing from her husband’s. She wears an elegant gown that matches the colour of Vince’s suit. She walks along as a shadow of the man ahead of her.
My eyes follow his every movement, watching him act as a sort of aristocrat. He gestures towards servers and nods at guards. The lines of his face are tugged into a smile that says he believes himself better than them, than us. He pulls a chair out for his wife across from me, before seating himself. The gesture looks unnatural for him.
Vince looks to the archangel first, nodding in quiet approval before looking at me. His eyes flicker with an emotion I’ve seen many times before in men whose reputation precedes them. Repugnant men.
“Don’t you look beautiful this evening. I knew the maid would work miracles on you.”
His teeth flash as he smiles at me.
I force a smile back, reminding myself that Jeremy may be somewhere in this building, and that if I play Vince’s game, perhaps I have a chance at finding him. I’ll let him see me as a trophy on the archangel’s arm. Let him think of me as a girl who needs protection and hope his guard slips ever so slightly because he doesn’t believe that I’m a threat.
For Jeremy.
I look to his wife and my smile softens into a more genuine one. “Hello. My name is Jessica. Thank you for having us in your home. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes go wide and she blinks as if my gratitude surprises her, then she smiles back at me. “Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you. My husband loves to bring home guests. My name is Rosemary.”
Warmth radiates from her, accenting the coldness that seeps from her husband. I wonder if this is a marriage of love or convenience. My stomach twists.
“Please, let’s eat.”
Vince waves at the servers before leaning back in his chair and surveying the two of us again.
“Tell me, how often does your husband bring home guests?”
I return my attention to Rosemary while plates are placed in front of us with piles of food. Meat, vegetables, soup, bread, all plated with precision and delicacy. All calling my name as hunger eats away at me.
Rosemary’s eyes cut to her husband and her hands cross over each other in her lap before she looks back to me. “Whenever he comes across any lost souls in the woods, he is always generous enough to offer shelter.”
I scan her face, searching for a hint of a lie. Nothing but warmth shadows her features. Either Rosemary has no idea what her husband is really up to, or she’s mastered the picture of perfect innocence.
“If I see someone in need, I feel an obligation to offer my services,”
Vince cuts in, attempting to draw my attention towards him, but I don’t look away from his wife.
I take a breath before speaking, ignoring the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “How long do these guests usually stay with you, Rosemary?”
The archangel shifts in his seat beside me, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.
Rosemary’s smile falters. For just a moment, the corners of her lips twitch. A crack in her performance.
“Tell me, do you always ignore the host of the evening?”
Vince’s tone turns sour with the question, and I finally turn my gaze to him.
I lean back in my chair and unfold a napkin over my lap. “Oh, I do apologise. I thought I was addressing the host. Rosemary strikes me as more of a people person – I suppose I assumed wrong.”
I let venom seep into the words, willing the sharpness of them to cut deep.
The archangel almost chokes beside me, but I don’t tear my eyes from Vince’s. I want him angry. I want him to want to hurt me. I want him to see me as a silly girl who needs to be taught a lesson. That’s when they underestimate. That’s when they make a mistake.
Vince’s eyes rage, glaring daggers through me. Oh, he’s mad. “Hmm. This one’s got quite the tongue on her, doesn’t she?”
He turns to the archangel, who has nothing but amusement on his features.
The archangel cocks his head, as if assessing whether or not he deems Vince worthy of a response. “You should see what she can do with a blade.”
Satisfaction flickers through me and I fight the smile that starts to grow.
Rosemary clears her throat. “Shall we eat?”
She gestures to the plates cooling in front of us.
I stare down at the food, my stomach grumbling. In any other circumstance, I would devour this meal within seconds. But there’s a feeling that creeps up on me, a warning not to eat. They pre-served the food, bringing it to us on individual plates rather than in a shared dish from which we’d serve ourselves.
The archangel seems to be contemplating the same thing, though I assume poison wouldn’t have an effect on him.
“Is there something wrong?”
Vince watches me closely, his eyes daring me to tell the truth, to show my cards.
The archangel takes a bite.
“Nothing at all.”
I stab my fork into the steak more aggressively than needed and cut at it with just as much enthusiasm. I lift the fork.
Vince’s mouth quirks to the left. He’s waiting for me to eat it. He wants to watch me do so.
The meat hovers in front of my mouth while my brain races for a way to avoid the risk of eating.
“I truly want to thank you for having us stay here this evening. We probably would have been dead by now otherwise. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
I look over to the archangel and raise my brows, hoping he takes the hint.
He frowns at me before noticing the fork hovering in front of my mouth and the plea in my eyes. He grunts and shuffles in his seat. “It truly is very generous of you. Tell me, have you always lived here? It’s a masterpiece of architecture.”
The archangel takes another mouthful and turns his attention to Vince.
He and his wife look away from me now, Vince’s eyes gleaming at the opportunity to speak about the estate. I lower my fork slowly, stopping below the table, sliding the piece of meat off and dropping it into the napkin on my lap. I continue to cut the meat, pretending to eat and waiting for the right moment to fill the napkin.
Vince talks about his estate with passion. He explains that he inherited it when his father died in the war. Their family came into possession of it over a hundred years ago when his great-grandfather bought it from a wealthy woman who was ill.
The archangel asks carefully worded questions about the layout of the property, discovering that the gardens are nearly as large as the house itself, but not much else. He also asks how Vince and Rosemary met, how they came to be married.
“Rosemary and I met years ago, introduced by our parents. She was stubborn at first, much like you seem to be, Jessica. I wined and dined her, but it was ultimately my charm that won her over.”
I almost think I see Rosemary roll her eyes at his words, but she maintains the facade of warmth. “Yes, indeed,”
she says through a tight smile.
“And what is it that you both do for work?”
Vince tilts his head, contemplating my question carefully. “I work in security.”
I almost laugh. Sure you do.
“And you, Rosemary?”
Vince scoffs. “She does not work. She is a housewife. Tending to me is her job.”
Even I almost hit him at the statement, but it’s his wife’s fury that surprises me.
“Vince.”
Rosemary says his name with nothing but contempt, the perfectly placed mask starting to slip at his remark.
Vince’s amusement fades and he stares at his wife with annoyance at her outburst.
“I would like to speak to you in the hall,”
Rosemary demands, throwing her napkin onto the table before pushing up from her chair and standing.
His jaw ticks. “Of course, sweetheart. Please excuse us for a moment,”
he addresses us and slowly pushes back in his chair. Rosemary doesn’t wait for him before storming towards the doors we entered through. Vince leans over the table, but only addresses the archangel. “You know what it’s like with women – so short-tempered.”
And with a wink, he follows his wife.
Sexist pig.
The archangel chuckles beside me, muttering under his breath, “Some of them are.”
I turn to him to see the amusement tugging at his lips, and before I can stop it, my foot meets his shin with a loud thump.
He flinches and glares at me with annoyance. “Who kicks someone in the shin?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that must’ve been my short temper.”
The archangel chuckles. “You’re only proving his point.”
I move to kick him again, but this time he’s expecting it, quickly grabbing my thigh. He pins my leg under his strength, under the burning sensation of his palm on my exposed skin.
His voice is low as he growls, “Do that again and you might not like the outcome.”
“Get your hand off me,”
I say through gritted teeth, mostly to fight against the warmth spreading through me at his touch.
His lips twitch. “Can you be trusted not to attack me as soon as I let go?”
I tilt my head, snapping back, “I don’t know – can you be trusted not be an asshole for more than five minutes?”
“Hmmm.”
The sound comes from low in his throat. “I guess it’s a tall order for both of us.”
The smile that escapes me feels foreign. It’s not forced or tight. It’s not born from sarcasm or amusement. It’s real. For the first time, I give him a real smile.
The archangel’s eyes light up with delight that reflects my own. He stares at me for a long moment, as if he’s memorising the curve of my lips. As if he’s not sure when he’ll see it again.
His hand remains on my thigh, but I don’t fight against it anymore, no longer feeling the desire to kick him. I search his eyes, studying the way the silver dances with the blue. The way it flares when his mood is strong; the way that it softens when he’s neutral.
The doors open again. Vince and his wife return to their seats. He coughs when he enters, demanding our attention. We don’t give it to him, not straight away. Whether it’s because we don’t want to give him the satisfaction, or because we can’t look away, I don’t truly know.
The archangel moves first, his hand slowly sliding off my thigh. I force myself to tear my gaze from his, my smile falling as I do.
Vince sits, his eyes darting from me to the archangel. Rosemary sits next to him. Her hands fall into her lap and her chin drops low, her gaze following. A queasy feeling rises in my stomach when I take in her demeanour: the way she refuses to look at us, the downwards turn of her lips, the slight blur of red around her eyes.
My fists clench at my sides and I narrow my eyes on her husband. “Is everything okay?” I ask.
Vince tilts his head, one eye twitching as he studies me. “Nothing for you to be concerned about. My wife and I were just deciding that it might be nice to give you a tour of the property.”
He flashes a smile of deceit yet again.
I look to the archangel. His jaw is clenched and the silver in his eyes flares as his gaze bores into the man across from him.
He’s done playing Vince’s games.
“That sounds lovely,”
I interject before the archangel can shoot him down. A tour of the property sounds like exactly what we need to find what we’re looking for.
Vince claps his hands together, leaning over the table. “Julia, would you like to join me for an evening stroll around the estate? I believe I know exactly what you’d love to see.”
He asks too sweetly.
“It’s Jessica,”
I correct. “I’d be delighted, thank you.”
Vince’s lips twitch ever so slightly. “Wonderful. Rosemary can take care of your man. I’m sure she will be an excellent tour guide for him.”
Rosemary glances over to her husband for the first time since they returned, her brows rising and her lips parting slightly. She didn’t expect him to offer that.
Vince stands, as does his wife. They retreat to separate corners of the room; Rosemary speaks to the servers quietly while Vince whispers to his guards.
When they turn away, I slowly slide the steak knife from the table, wiping it on my napkin before tucking it into the space between my breasts, the tightness of the bodice clutching it in place. It’s uncomfortable, but better than nothing.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to take the silverware.”
The archangel’s low voice tickles the shell of my ear and I jump ever so slightly.
My eyes flick to his, narrowing as I say, “They took mine, I take theirs. It’s only fair.”
I look over to where Rosemary stands with the servers, her demeanour kind as she instructs them to clear the table.
“Be careful with him. He’s more dangerous than you think.”
My attention snaps back towards the archangel. I wait a moment for him to explain, to give me any more of the information he’s withholding from me.
“His mouth twitches to the left before he lies.”
I nod, offering him a small smile as a thank you for the tip. “If I didn’t know any better, archangel, I’d think you might be starting to care.”
He shrugs. “Can’t cash in my favours if you’re dead.”