11
When Lincoln and the security guard lift Mateo onto the stretcher and then on the road, the police and medical personnel has arrived as well.
Mateo is loaded into the ambulance, and a police car leads the way with its sirens blaring.
At the hospital, I sign the surgery consent form for Mateo and then follow the stretcher as Mateo is taken into the operating room.
Since I found him, he has lost consciousness. He is severely injured, his entire face covered in blood.
Lincoln stands beside me, watching the doors of the operating room close. He shakes his head and says, "My brother looks really ugly right now."
I frown and reply, "Half of the blood running through your veins is the same. Insulting him is like insulting yourself."
I'm surprised at myself for joking with Lincoln at a time like this.
"Really?" Lincoln rubs his chin with one hand. "But I still think I'm a bit better than him."
We sit on the bench outside the operating room, waiting for the results. The butler arrives from the old mansion. He hears that Lincoln and I haven't had dinner, so he brings us food packed in two thermos containers.
As I open the lid, I remember something and ask the butler, "By the way, you should inform the person who called the mansion today, so they won't worry."
Mateo is extremely busy, dealing with business partners in sixteen countries, handling transactions worth millions of pounds.
The butler looks a bit embarrassed but nods and says okay.
This makes me curious, "Who called?"
"Mrs. Ali," the butler coughs.
"Who?" I ask again.
"It was... Miss Luna who called," the butler pauses, looking down, avoiding my eyes. "Miss Luna said she is pregnant."
Oh.
I nod. The chickpeas in the container look delicious, but I can't seem to scoop them up.
Lincoln suddenly takes the container from my lap and places it on the chair.
He stands up, pulling my wrist to get me up. "Let's go."
"Mateo..." I glance at the operating room.
"The butler can stay here," Lincoln says.
He drags me to the parking lot and pushes me into the passenger seat. He walks around the front of the car, gets into the driver's seat, and reaches over to fasten my seatbelt.
"I can do it myself," I say.
"Bastard," Lincoln pushes my hand away, sneering. "A person like him should die in the mountains, with no one to collect his body."
Then he fastens his own seatbelt and starts the car with a jolt.
The scenery outside changes rapidly. When the car stops at a traffic light, he takes a cigarette from the drawer, but after looking at me, he puts the lighter back and just fiddles with the filter. "He's exactly like his dad. Bastard."
I glance at him, "His dad is your dad too."
Lincoln restarts the car, "I didn't inherit those lousy genes."
The rain hasn't stopped.
The car drives towards Canary Wharf, splashing water from the roadside. I smile and quietly watch the raindrops on the window.
Lincoln's apartment is elegantly simple, with a sandalwood incense burning, its smoke slowly winding around the lamp before dissipating. After my shower, I ask Lincoln where I can sleep.
I don't have pajamas, so I'm wearing his, which are so large they look like a sack on me.
Lincoln waves me over to the island counter in the open kitchen, "Come have a late-night snack."
On the table are fish and chips and wild berry jelly.
I remember I haven't eaten anything since the afternoon, so I sit down.
Lincoln looks at me and asks, "Why aren't you crying?"
I pause, "Why should I cry?"
"Do you hate him?" Lincoln changes the question.
I think for a moment, "Not really."
He chuckles, "I thought so too. If it weren't for my brother, you wouldn't have gone to St. Martin, right?"
I look up, wide-eyed, "How do you know?"
"I know everything about you."
I stop talking to him, picking up a fry and putting it in my mouth.
"Do you want some ketchup?" he asks.
I shake my head. "I like dipping fries in ice cream, and they taste better when they're a bit cold and soft."
Lincoln chuckles. "You are really like a child."
Then he orders ice cream delivery.
Being in a commercial area with many 24-hour stores, the delivery arrives in ten minutes.
After eating the fries, I feel much better but don't feel like sleeping, so I curl up on the couch to watch a movie. Lincoln sits on the couch as well.
The movie is a comedy about an ordinary middle-aged woman in Paris who is actually the biggest drug lord in the city, with her Chinese neighbor handling the money laundering. They work together, and I can't help but giggle. I sense Lincoln's gaze on me when I laugh.
"What's wrong?" I turn to look at him.
His gaze is fixed on my shoulder, which is exposed because of my laughter.
His pajamas are really too big for me. I sigh softly and adjust the neckline to cover myself better.
But Lincoln continues to stare at me.
"Don't have any more expectations from my brother, okay?" After a long silence, he suddenly speaks. "I'll save your mother, I'll protect you."
"Why?" I know there's no such thing as a free lunch.
"Because I love you," Lincoln replies.
I find it a bit amusing. The last time he said he was interested in me was during winter. I remember clearly, in the snow, he said he initially wanted to use me to get back at his brother, to make him angry. But he changed his mind because he found my lips very kissable.
But I still appreciate Lincoln's sweet words. They are like a piece of clothing, making it less awkward before I have to give him my body.
I turn over and straddle Lincoln's waist, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Let's make love."
The air is silent for a few seconds.
"I didn't expect you to be so direct," Lincoln's eyes shine in the dim, warm room.
"All I have left is my body," I bury my head in his shoulder, my hands sliding under his shirt, caressing his chest. "People without value won't be saved. I know how the world works."
"What should I say to you, Ali?" He seems to be reacting to my touch, his body trembling slightly.
My hand continues to move lower.
But Lincoln suddenly grabs my hand.
"Hmm?" I look at him, puzzled.
He sighs softly. "You should let your claws out, little kitten. I find it more hurtful when you hide them."
The next second, I feel my body lift off the couch. Lincoln carries me into a bedroom and wraps me in a thin blanket.
"Where are you going?" I struggle to sit up, wrapped like a cocoon.
"I'm going back to my room to sleep," Lincoln says.
"But we..." I look at his back, confused.
"I do want to make love to you, Ali," Lincoln turns around.
"But you obviously want sex for different reasons than I do. It doesn't matter who I am to you."
"I don't..."
My voice trails off. He is right. I just want someone to pull me out of this hell. Anyone.
Lincoln comes over, helps me lie down, and wraps me in the blanket.
"Goodnight, Ali." He kisses my forehead.