Chapter 2 #3
I'm completely speechless, my back so tight against the metal door behind me I'm becoming one with it. Or at least I hope I am, because it's too late to turn back, and it's too late to make my presence known. So, I better stay invisible.
"Sophie," Achilles calls out. "Sors de la voiture."
The back door of the town car opens slowly, and a head pops out shyly. The one of a little girl who’s a carbon copy of the mother. Blonde hair, steel eyes, and the same aristocratic traits as Achilles.
She smiles brightly when she sees the furious man.
"Achilles!" she squeals excitedly.
The second that French way of saying his name resonates in the air, his entire body relaxes, and a sigh of relief leaves him.
"Salut, crapule. Missing me?"
The little girl opens her mouth as she starts to come out of the car.
"Sophie, rentre dans la voiture."
"Mais Maman—" she tries, only to be cut off by her mother.
"Tout de suite."
The little girl's eyes widen with fear and her head drops.
"Tu me manques," she tells Achilles before the door closes again.
I barely understand French. Only a few words from when I used to have an obsession with films d'auteurs in my teenage years. Those super dramatic independent French films taught me about impossible love, strange metaphors, and smoking. So much smoking.
From both the little girl and Achilles calling the woman maman, I can safely assume Sophie is his younger sister. And I don't need a translator to understand that woman won't let Achilles see her.
The real question is why.
"Protège-nous, Achilles," his mother finally says in a rasp. "Protège-nous et on pourra enfin être réunis."
"Maman—"
"Goodbye," she says in English before going inside the back of the car.
"Maman, come on…please."
I was right about the chauffeur because the car starts right away, pulling out of the spot. As it turns around, Achilles slams the back window with the palm of his hand.
"Maman…s'il te plait," he begs harshly. "Reviens."
The car rolls forward, and he follows it.
"Come back…Maman!" He slams the trunk, but the car pulls onto the road and disappears among the traffic.
"Fuck!" he spits as he turns back around.
That's when his deadly eyes land on me. Flat against the door, eyes wide, crushing an envelope I had forgotten about in my left fist. In less than a second, I become prey to a dangerous hunter.
There isn't a trace of the Achilles who was pleading to his mother. All there is, is a tall man with a lethal gaze and a clear need to take out his rage on someone.
He stops a couple of steps away from me, looking me up and down. His mere presence takes my breath away, and I'm incapable of finding any excuse as to why I'm here and didn't give them privacy. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to make a sound.
"My mother left too," I blurt out, and my eyes round at my own stupidity.
What was I going for? A list of things we have in common?
A slow, contemptuous smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and it looks like all the rage is gone, replaced by that arrogance I always see him sport in the pictures online.
"I see," he purrs, coming closer.
I press myself harder against the door, but there's nowhere to go.
"So." He places a hand on the metal, right above my head, and leans down to speak right in my face. "She wasn't there to tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop on people's arguments."
My mouth drops open. "I-I'm so sorry. I came out for my break. I didn't realize… I didn't mean to pry. Are you okay?"
Ignoring my question, his eyes trail to the envelope in my hand, or whatever is left of it.
His fingers touch my wrist first, and my heart threatens to escape the confines of my ribs.
Those are the same fingers that play the strings of his violin.
That create the art he plays so effortlessly, so beautifully.
With a slow and delicate touch, they remove the envelope from my hand, and he takes a step back to look at it.
"Silver Falls University," he reads calmly.
Feeling slightly dizzy from his proximity, I shake my head as I realize what’s happening.
"Don't take that," I panic, almost breathless. "It's personal."
He takes another step back. "Like a family argument? That kind of personal?"
"I said I was sorry," I repeat, following him as he casually walks backward while he opens my letter. "Give it back."
"You listened to my secrets, so at least share this with me. Oh, admissions? Are you trying to get in? Aren't you from around here?"
That horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach comes back tenfold. I am from around here, and I hate it.
"Seriously, please, give it back. This is important to me."
He shrugs. "Private conversations with my mother are important to me."
Pulling out the letter, he drops the envelope, and I hurry to pick it up. When my eyes snap back to him, he's got his back to his car, reading my admission letter.
"Oh my God," I gasp, my heart kicking as I rush to him. "Don't!"
I go to grab it, but he lifts it high above his head, and there's no way I'm getting it now. His steel eyes land on my wide-open ones. My heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard between us.
"Did you read it?"
He nods, tilting his head to the side as he observes me. "Do you want to know if you got in?"
"Give it back," I repeat on a defeated sigh, avoiding answering his question at all costs.
"Look at you." He chuckles. "So desperate to join our side of town. It’s not that great, you know?"
"Anywhere else is better than here," I rasp. "A scholarship to SFU is my way out."
He can sense the hope in my voice because his mouth twists.
"What?" My hand shoots to my mouth. "What is it? Did I not get in?"
"Your desperation is so sad." But there's no sadness in his voice. In fact, he sounds like he feeds off of it. And his next words bring a chill to my spine. "One could make you do anything in exchange for a spot at SFU."
I instinctively step back. I've been surrounded by dangerous men my whole life, but none have the kind of power Achilles Duval does. Lena is right. He could do anything and get away with it. He certainly sounds like he wants to.
"Just give me my letter."
He bites his lower lip for a few seconds, like he can't wait to eat me whole.
"You didn't even say please this time," he says with a fake pout.
I gulp, feeling the back of my neck starting to sweat.
"Please." There's no real pleading in it, but I'm not above giving him what he wants to finally have an answer.
He drops his arm, but he doesn't give it back. Instead, he shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Maybe next year."
I snatch the letter from his hand, barely holding back a sob. He doesn’t stay to console me as my entire world falls apart. I hear his door open and close, his car starting at the same time as I scan through the letter with tears blurring my vision.
And then I see it. That I've been accepted. That I got awarded the Virtuoso Scholarship. All the air leaves my lungs.
I look up, confused. The emotions swirling through my entire body are making my knees weak. Why would he do that?
He opens his window, a sadistic smile on his handsome face as he rolls past me.
"See you in September."
And he's out, so happy with himself that he made me believe I hadn't achieved my biggest dream.
I finally had an interaction with my idol. And I found out for myself that he gets a kick out of breaking someone's heart.