33. Kingsley
33
KINGSLEY
I continue eating my food in silence, opting not to ask any more questions. I’ve been bored beyond belief holed up in this house. But what is there left for me to go back home to? My father is gone. I don’t really have any friends here. No relatives to speak of. Tate will be fired the day I get back– no reason I should put up with his bullshit any longer. I will hire my own security detail. Brand new, fresh blood. Maybe I’d get lucky and find a female to run the show; men always have a way of ruining things. I’d hire a team of advisors and make some sound investments. Maybe I could even start my own charity, or a foundation in my father’s memory.
“Where did you go, Moneybags?”
I turn at his voice. Dante is standing next to my chair, watching me carefully. At which point did he get out of his chair and come to my side without me noticing? I lift my head until my eyes meet his. Such beautiful, unfathomable eyes. The colour of molten honey.
“You were a million miles away.”
He speaks softly, caressing my skin with his rich, decadent voice. I could die and come back to life on that sound alone. Everything about him is pure, unadulterated perfection, and his proximity is eviscerating me.
“I think I ate too much. I need to walk it off.”
I stumble out of my chair, as though in a daze, ignoring his skepticism as he looks down at my unfinished meal. I walk through the rose garden, my fingertips gliding against the roses as I take in their scent. I continue on through the long hall of shrubs, past a bench that looks like it has been curated from a medieval castle, and straight into the maze of trees visible from my bedroom window that look like a puzzle I really need to crack. I hear Dante behind me, realize he’d never let me enter the maze alone, knowing even the most seasoned enthusiast could get lost and never find their way out of this puzzle.
I stumble, then right myself, turn and notice the discreet distance Dante keeps between us. Watching me without crowding me. Studying me like I am an enigma he can’t understand. Questioning. Questioning. There is always that questioning look in his eyes. Like he wants to know more. As though he wants to own every facet of me, every corner and every angle; he wants to dissect and digest every morsel of information about me that he could possibly extract. I feel heat rise from the tips of my toes to the top of my head as I continue to stumble further into the maze. This is one puzzle that I will not crack.
My thoughts become a jumble with every step I push myself into the web of perfectly clipped hedges. Dante. What does he want? Why had he been following me that first night? What does he want from me? There has to be something. No one would go to such lengths to protect someone without gaining something in return. But what is it that he wants?
My foot catches on something and I surge forward through the many layers of the maze; it feels as though I am weightless as I fly through the air.
Something is not right.
Oh my God. Had I eaten something? Had I ingested something I wasn’t supposed to?
A thin film of sweat materializes on my forehead, the heat from earlier a sudden rush through my blood as the maze suddenly feels dark. Everything has gone dark. And hard. Everything around me is suddenly cloaked in darkness as my mind continues to fray at the seams, the world seemingly tipping on its axis and taking me with it.
* * *
“Kingsley. Kingsley. Moneybags?”
My eyelids are heavy, and I’m unable to keep my eyes open as a throbbing ache penetrates my head. My eyes flutter, trying hard to keep up with their needs, and I can feel and hear myself moaning as light pierces the back of my eyes painfully.
“She fainted,” a small voice says, at the end of a long and winding tunnel.
I feel a heaviness against me, something pushing me away, then pulling me back, an isolation I have never felt before.
“South entry, closest to the chapel.”
There is that voice again, giving directions. Like I want to go anywhere.
The heaviness persists, migrating to every inch of my body. There is a heady smell. Not roses, no. The woods. I am in the woods. Timber and man and spice. My hand fumbles with a switch, trying to bring back the light, but it is as though I clutch at empty air. I try again. Still no luck. The stars are not aligned tonight.
I wonder if I am drunk. Am I so drunk that I can not even stand up straight? But that’s ridiculous. I rarely drink anything stronger than water. And even that, I filter.
The throbbing pain in my head continues, drilling through me like a jackhammer. What I wouldn’t do to have the drill stop. What I wouldn’t do to stop this pain. This all consuming, never ending, overpowering pain. This loss of sight. The loss of strength. The loss of power.
I have money. Could I possibly buy back all those things with that much power? Could I just pay some money and open my eyes again? God, please, just make it go away. Make it stop. Pain. Pain. So much pain. I can’t stop feeling the pain radiating through my body.
All I want to do is sleep. To close my eyes tight and keep them that way, never to open again. But that force, that force that keeps bumping into me heavily. Pushing then pulling. Surging then falling. Up and down. Heavy thumps and bumps.
My heart. Oh, my heart. I think my heart is giving out. First it was my brain. And now it is my heart. This is certainly death. Not even an extended sleep. Most certainly, death has come, squeezing the life out of me. Sparing me none of its remorse. Death leaves no prisoners.
There’s that pulling again. That pushing and pulling. That heaviness against my body, a steady stream of curses as the small voice weaves in and out of my conscience.
A slow and steady series of beeps. A finality. A flatline. And then the world lays dormant, my life defined by five short spurts…
“Kingsley, come back to me…”