Chapter Twenty #3
Dinner… is held in the dining area that isn’t set up for the party but is set up with the same holiday décor.
At the table long enough to seat twelve, John sits at the head, Sofia to his left, Axel to his right and the two places set up, are beside Ax.
I take my place beside him, Jonas beside me and keep my head down, not meeting any gazes.
I want to go home. I want my daddy, and I want my beast. I want pizza. I want my books and my bed. I want Kronos and Luci – even though I’m sure he hates me, but I can’t ever tell with him.
“Raven, it’s good to see you. Jonas.”
I look up at John, shoveling food onto his plate from the platters before us.
I’m so twisty on the inside I can’t fathom eating an actual meal.
I serve myself small portions, but Jonas grabs my plate and piles more food onto it.
I want to tell him to stop, that I’m too anxious and don’t want to eat too much or I’ll get sick, but he smiles at me and my heart twists.
“Thank you for having us,” he says, setting my plate down to start adding food to his.
I see meat and potatoes and other veggies, but I don’t want any of it, even though I know Galvina probably spent so much time in the kitchen preparing this. I feel bad they made her set up my room. I should say hello. I should go and thank her.
“Nonsense, Raven is always welcome here.” Sofia scoffs, taking a sip of her wine. “This is her house.”
Jonas' smile turns wide and almost creepy as he stares the woman that gave birth to me down. We both know this is not my house. “Good to hear it.”
The conversation is awkward to say the best, with me avoiding the parts of the food I don’t really like, plus the entire conversation.
I’m mostly drifting in and out, keeping my thoughts on Maverick and Damon, wanting to go upstairs to call them.
I don’t like being away from them. My knee starts bouncing and I can feel the anxiety rising.
A hand on my thigh squeezes and I look up. “Baby?”
I arch a brow at Jonas in question.
“I told your mom you’re playing your cello again.”
Truth be told, I never stopped. They were just never home during my visits from Lorne Wood, so how would they know?
I nod once to confirm and go back to pushing my food around my plate.
“It…” I stare at Sofia, so posh, so beautiful, so perfect. So unlike the woman that laughed when things were funny and cried when she was sad. She breaks my heart. Where did my mommy go? “It would be nice if maybe… you played something tomorrow night?”
I look over at my handsome demigod that fingered his cum back into me while we showered then tried to fill me with more just forty minutes ago. He shrugs, telling me it’s my choice and I… I look back down at my plate. It’s chicken. The meat Jonas served me, I mean. Chicken. Christ, where did I go?
I push my plate forward, putting my napkin over it then grip Jonas' hand that’s on my thigh, letting him know I'm done and would like to retire immediately to my room. I can feel Axel’s eyes on me, but I can’t meet his gaze.
Not because I’m ashamed of what happened upstairs, although that does make my cheeks heat, it’s more like…
I just don’t have anything to say anymore.
I do miss him, and I do still love him… but I miss me more. I love me more. Maybe that’s selfish or brutal of me to even think… but sometimes holding on to someone just because they were in your past causes more damage than just letting go.
I cast a glance at the boy that knew my deepest, darkest secrets and fears, held them close, never judging me for them, simply wanting us to succeed together.
He looks so perfect. So well put together as he swirls his wine in his glass.
Pristinely pressed white shirt, not one strand of dirty blonde hair out of place, clean shaven with not a scar nor acne.
He’s beautiful, my Axel, and as much as I wish we could go back to who we were, I’m too far gone and he’s in way too deep for me to drag him out with me.
In a way, I guess it is how it once was – I’m a stranger in his home again. Except now, the tables have turned. Now I’m the sickly one dipped in darkness and death.
And yet, there’s no music when I look upon him – only longing for what I could have been – perfect and well put together.
Jonas takes my cue and kisses my temple. “Okay, baby. Let’s go. Mr. And Mrs. Monroe, thank you for dinner, Raven and I are exhausted, and we’d like to retire for the evening.”
“Yes, my father did tell me you stopped by the other day to meet him then flew straight home in time for your game.” She says but I don’t dare look at her.
I don’t look at anyone. I tense, and Jonas' hand does too, but on the small of my back so it’s hidden from view.
“Said you asked for her hand in marriage.”
This time I do look, at the way her light green eyes shine a bit with… pride?
“Gave me the green, Mrs. Monroe. Expect my mother to extend an invitation to the engagement party.” He lies. A beautiful, wonderful lie.
What my grandfather really said was, “ break her heart and I’ll make sure you and every hijo de puta in the Syndicate are murdered.” And a surprised Jonas replied, “ Not if we get to them first.”
And then they shook hands, like they were old business partners and friends. My abuelo then kissed my cheek, told me how beautiful I still am, and then whispering to me , he found Jonas and my men worthy of me. And that I always had a home with him in Spain.
“Yes, I’ll… I’ll be happy to attend. We will be happy to attend, won’t we, amor?” She says to John but there’s a certain timbre in her words.
“Yes, of course.” John replies, cold stare meeting mine.
I’ve concluded that Axel must look like his mother because he barely resembles John.
Although there were never any pictures or portraits of her that I can remember, not even in the attic.
Neither of them ever spoke of her like she was just some dirty, repressed secret.
There’s ghosts at the Monroe Mansion and I always thought one of them was her.
John seems to be choosing his words carefully while sipping on a glass of wine. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” He lifts his glass and tips it in our direction, the smile never reaching his eyes “To the happy couple.”
I bow my head in small thanks as Jonas says it out loud, and up we go, back to my room, to replace old memories and create new ones.
________
If you thinking slipping around your old mansion in the middle of the night while there are twinkling lights in almost every room is easy, you’re fucked in the head.
Even though Damon has access to the cameras now, we can’t be too careful.
Slinking around in a balaclava from my room on the third floor to the kitchen in the back of the house where all the champagne is being held, is still tricky.
Jonas maneuvers easily enough except every time I turn, he bumps into me and the man is sporting a raging hard-on.
What even causes that? It pokes me in the back every time I have to stop and make sure the coast is clear.
I’m pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose because he keeps groping me .
I stifle a giggle, really wanting to laugh at how silly we probably look wearing all black clothes and balaclavas – two Grinches wearing fucking fanny packs about to ruin someone's Christmas and one of them has tented pants.
The fanny pack of course holds a fuckton of syringes.
Mine is holding the vials of strawberry extract, courtesy of my abuelo, who, after Jonas told him everything I’ve been up to, (little traitor) simply told me I was adorable, and he was so proud of me for taking back my life and bringing down those ‘hijos de putas.’ Sons of bitches, if you will.
I stop at the edge of the hallway to make sure there are no staff wandering about, Jonas stabbing me with his dick, and his hands land on my hips. “Can I cut a hole in this later and fuck you in it, please?”
I nod. Absolutely, he can.
“Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna come just thinking about it.”
Now my nipples are hard.
I roll my eyes, and push back against the wall, using my arm to push him back too when I spot one of the housemaids, Lucinda, venturing out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron.
Jonas moves my hand down to his dick. I give him a firm squeeze (or seven) and when I’m sure she’s not coming back, I stop fondling him long enough for us to tiptoe past the sunroom and make it to the kitchen through the back entrance.
The lights in the kitchen are off, but very convenient crates of white wine instead of champagne are everywhere, perfectly opened and ready to be placed in the large ice boxes Sofia rents that will be here tomorrow.
Did Damon cut the cameras? I ask with my hands.
Yeah, before we came down here . He signs back. He has them looping back-to-back.
I breathe out and give a quick jerk of my head. That was our biggest concern – anything coming back to us via CCTV.
We get to work immediately, filling the syringes we got from Damon, full of the extract in the vials to the brim, shove them through the corks, only letting but .01 ounces into each one .
It takes us two hours, but all two hundred bottles of wine are now laced with strawberry extract.
Not enough to change the taste. Not enough to change the color.
Only enough, that if someone with a severe strawberry allergy consumed, say four half-poured crystal flutes could begin to feel a certain itch that needs to be scratched.
________
Jonas is still asleep when I wake up in the morning, lightly snoring but highly naked under the comforter. I put my pajamas on, then my robe because where I’m going, there’s always a chill.