Chapter Eleven
Matthias Fifty years ago
I couldn’t stand another minute of this party.
All that brown-nosing and acting like a herd of peacocks was giving me an ick.
It didn’t help that I was too large, too strong, too brutish for their dainty sensibilities.
All the upper-class socialities were the same no matter which country we were in, though over the last years, I had grown used to the peculiar brand of snobbery the proud-and-loud Americans displayed.
Tristan dragged us here to have a one-on-one conversation with some posh woman on behalf of the kitsune and he didn’t need me at his side, just in the general vicinity, in case there was trouble and he needed to call me, so I didn’t feel any guilt over secluding myself on the other side of the mansion the party was in.
This wing was blessedly empty of high society people and only the working gals and guys sometimes scurried past. They saw my large form and even with the monkey suit draped over my frame they knew I was closer to them than to the aristocrats and oil tycoons so they left me alone.
It wasn’t the first time I found myself on a balcony to escape the sneers and the mind-numbingly boring conversations but it was the first time I saw a balcony so long.
It spanned almost the whole side of the building, without being separated into smaller areas.
An utterly ridiculous and impractical concept.
What, did they try to make a catwalk? Alright, this tomcat could walk and stretch out his legs!
I strode leisurely, peeking into the windows I passed.
Most people were sensible enough to draw the curtains, so I only saw shadows dancing on the drapes, but one room with an open window showed me the serving staff bustling around.
They were too busy to pay attention to me so I slipped past with no problems. I walked to the end of the balcony but flinched when I looked at the last window.
It was not only open but there was a man sitting right there by the window. And by the look of his perfectly coiffed blond hair and the top-notch suit (I hated that I could tell the difference now) he wasn’t a worker but one of the rich folks.
“Sorry man, I won’t bother you,” I lifted my hands in a no harm gesture and took a hasty step back.
The blond man didn’t react. He just sat there, perfectly still, his hands laid demurely on his knees. He didn’t even track me with his eyes. Miffed, I studied his profile. Was he even breathing? Upon inspection: yes, he was. I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest.
I should have left him in peace but something bothered me about this scene. His eyes looked so empty.
Tristan once told me that my instincts were sharp and I should follow them. He probably didn’t have jumping through a window into a stranger’s room in mind, but eh, details.
My hunch that something was deeply fucked up here was confirmed as correct when the young man, who looked no more than twenty-one, didn’t look at me even when my boots hit the floor of the room. Even if he was blind he would have felt the disruption...
“Hey, are you alright?” I crouched down in front of him, to be in his line of sight.
No response.
Shit, was he drugged? Or in one of those states of shock I saw during the war?
“Wait... aren’t you the one who played the piano for the guests? Mr. Feliciano’s son...” I wrecked my brain for the name. “Theodore, right?”
That got me a twitch of an eye and a barely there curling of fingers.
“I’m going to get someone for you, alright?” I said, extremely worried. “Maybe your dad?”
“No!” the shout escaped the young man’s lips unbidden, his eyes wide with fear. He moved out of his position for only a second before his hands were placed on his knees again, his gaze aimed straight ahead. “Don’t tell him,” Theodore whispered. “I’m not supposed to move.”
Uh... what? This was some fucked up game?
Or a punishment? Over the years I had seen parents beat their kids black and blue but the ‘elites’ liked to pretend everything was perfect behind closed doors and leaving physical evidence, like bruises, was seen as unseemly and rarely done.
But this was on another level. A creative cruelty that made me sick.
“Hey, no one is here but me,” I said gently. “You can move. I promise I won’t tell.”
But Theodore shook his head then went back to keeping absolutely still as if he was just a thing and not a living man.
I closed the curtains to lower the chance of being caught then took a seat on the floor.
“Then how about I keep you company?”
Theodore was still and silent.
Talking someone’s ear off wasn’t one of my strengths but, for this guy, I tried.
I mused about the recent media war on tobacco and how I disliked its taste and smell myself, then told Theodore how I couldn’t go through our neighborhood without petting at least three dogs.
I could swear I saw him relax a bit at the mention of animals so I followed up with describing all the animals I met during my travels with Tristan, from wild zebras and lions to domesticated camels and goats, and even a pet chinchilla a very peculiar merchant carried on his shoulder everywhere.
I lost track of how long I spoke but triumph swelled in me as I saw Theodore progressively relax. He let himself slump a little first, then his eyes closed. One of his fingers slid back and forth over his hand. He still wouldn’t speak to me but he lost that terrifying rigidness.
It snapped back in place when we heard steps outside the door.
“Go, you have to go,” Theodore croaked out in a terrified whisper.
I sprang to my feet and a second later I was out through the window. I plastered myself to the wall outside and crouched down.
The door opened and a voice I recognized as Mr. Feliciano, Theodore’s father and the host of this party, filled the room.
“Theodore, my boy. Were you good today?” the man asked jovially.
“Yes, father,” the young man responded quietly.
“Ah, and here I thought I would give you a chance to come clean. I can see you have moved. The curtains are in a different position,” the man’s voice turned cold as ice. Fuck, that was my fault. “You will learn, boy.”
I had to listen as Theodore was dragged away, deeper into the house, and I could only imagine what was going to be done to him for his perceived infraction.
Guilt churned in my body but what could I do? It’s not like I could storm through a millionaire’s house and steal his son.
But the matter wouldn’t leave my mind even after we left the mansion behind.
“I think investing in construction materials could be a good opportunity,” I said to Tristan a few days later, trying to be casual.
He shot me a surprised look. Usually, I avoided the economic part of the business like fire.
“Sure, we can do that,” Tristan nodded.
“Wait, just like that?” I blinked at him. “You would invest in a new venture just because I said so?” I had a whole speech prepared to convince him and it turns out I didn’t need it?
“Matthias, it’s your money as well,” Tristan said with exasperated fondness. “I always welcome your suggestions on what to do with it. But I admit it would help to know why you have this sudden interest in construction materials?”
“Just... I had a conversation with Mr. Feliciano’s son about them? I would be interested in learning more. So, I thought you could talk with Mr. Feliciano about investing in his company...”
Tristan’s gaze pierced me until I was sweating. I didn’t want to tell him about Theodore until I had a better measure of the situation. A grown man wasn’t a puppy I could just bring home.
“Very well, I will see what I can do,” Tristan agreed and I nearly sagged with relief.
Mr. Feliciano was a busy man, so it took a while for Tristan to insert himself into his schedule, but a month later there was another party we had been invited to.
As before, Theodore gave a beautiful performance, this time on a violin instead of a piano, and Mr. Feliciano boasted eagerly about his son’s musical talent.
When the man and his son took to the floor to schmooze I observed from afar.
Theodore smiled and laughed and praised and listened with wide-eyed interest. He was a picture of a perfect socialite.
I knew it was a mask when I approached him and his smile faltered only for a second before it was back in full, the wide stretch of his lips masking fear as his father patted his back proudly when Tristan mentioned how lovely the violin concerto was.
Using the fact Feliciano was drawn into a business conversation with Tristan, I gave the excuse of being hungry and dragged Theodore to the hors d'oeuvre table with me.
I grabbed the first little morsel I saw and gestured for Theodore to do the same.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” the blond man responded with that fake smile. Maybe I would have believed him if his stomach hadn’t made a gurgling noise at that moment.
“Here, try this, it looks good,” I scooped up a little tartlet and pushed it at him.
His eyes flared with want. It was more than a mere hunger of someone who was slightly famished. He was starving.
Still, he put his hands together, one over the other, the position mirroring the pose he was bade to hold the last time we met, and shook his head.
Blue eyes flickered to the side for just a moment but it was enough for me to know Theodore was worried about his father’s reaction. Something clicked in my mind then.
“You won’t eat because you can’t ,” I said. “He forbade you from eating.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Theodore said with that fake smile. His eyes begged for me to drop it.
I laughed as if he told a joke and threw a friendly arm over his shoulder, positioning us with our backs to the crowds so that no one could tell what we were talking about.
“Listen, I can help you,” I hissed in a furious whisper. “If you need to run, I know some guys, all right?”