Chapter 48: Chapter 48

ANGELIC...

Marcos holds the back door of the Rolls Royce open so I can enter. This is the first time in two days that I have appeared in public with a scarf over my face. I leave the church and walk with big strides towards the car. As soon as I get in, Peter, the driver, accelerates.

Even if I go home, my thoughts remain in this confessional. I left the guilt there, but it brought another feeling with me. Curiosity. It wasn't Father Bee, or anyone else who lives in the diocese. I know them all.

I lean my head against the glass and close my eyes. I have to do my penance so that everything goes well. I felt guilty because, considering everything that had happened that night, the only thing that stuck in my mind permanently was Bruce.

I take the rosary out of my robe and hold it. Maybe if I use it often enough, I can get rid of the sin I've had for two days.

We got back in no time. The church is really close. Peter parks under the marquee, Marcos opens my door and I walk out, heading for the kitchen as soon as I enter. Looking around, I'm pretty sure my dad and Margot aren't home. There is a lot of silence.

Elliot Donneli never goes back on his words. When he says he's going to do something, he actually does it. I admire him for that, maybe that's the reason for all his success. But sometimes his harshness rubs off on me in the worst way. His presidency, for example, is the reason I can't go to the mall like a normal person.

But the worst part is pretending, day after day, that I'm perfect. My mind weighs when I make a mistake. The fear of being discovered consumes me. However, after confessing, that weight eases, even if today's confession was a bit bizarre.

Of course, I wasn't entirely honest.

Before reaching the kitchen, I smell the wonderful smell of Geneviève's cooking. My mouth is watering. I walk into the kitchen with the biggest smile on my face.

- Hello.

"Hello," she replies. Geneviève is behind the counter, taking a tray out of the oven.

I sit down on one of the stools, facing her. On the bench is a book on business economics. My father read it, because it is the favorite book of Senator Mares, father of Vicenzo Mares.

- Girl – Geneviève leaves the tray on the counter and faces me – I'm sorry.

I know she's talking about the bombing. We haven't had a chance to talk before. Although he appreciates the company of Geneviève, my father is not the type to appreciate the contact between his family and his servants.

- Everything is fine.

My father knew all the risks he was taking, security was failing. But in the end, no one was injured and all those responsible were arrested. In addition, the police are working tirelessly on the case.

- The news is on all social networks – she comments.

I can't even remember the last time I opened a social network. Ever since I decided to disappear from the world's sight, I haven't heard from him.

- I think so.

- The senator has spoken.

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Yes of course. My father and Senator Mares live almost like a marriage. They make sure they're happy with each other, and at some point they decided it would be great to reunite their families.

- What did he say? I ask.

"That's nonsense," she says, and I laugh.

I pick up the book on the counter and start flipping through it. Geneviève continues her lunch preparations while waiting.

"The party is today," she whispers.

- It's not a party. Just a dinner”, I correct.

Today is Margot's birthday. If she were the least bit smart, she would know that throwing a party the week of the attack is stupid. But she really doesn't care.

"She prefers people to think it's a party." Genevieve smiled. She is a lady in her sixties, who has worked for the family since she was young – Was the senator invited? She gives me a worried look asking me.

I can't ignore the twinge of discomfort. Senator Mares and his son are sensitive subjects for me.

I've heard a lot of things in my life, and I've listened to most of them. Every time I did something wrong, I apologized, even if I disagreed. Everything to be the perfect girl. In the end, my dad repaid me with a potential boyfriend.

"I'm not sure," I reply.

- Ange, your father wants you to marry the senator's son. You haven't even finished your studies and you already have a ring around your finger.

I wish I could deny it, but I can't. Ever since the senator suggested I would make the perfect stepdaughter, my dad embraced the idea. I was about fifteen when Dad decided that politics and family were one.

“He won't make me … ” I jump, but Geneviève stops me.

- He won't force you, but if he says he would like to be part of the senator's family, you will accept it.

It is not a lie.

"I don't want to be a disappointment," I admit, lowering my head in a way my etiquette teacher would hate.

"Honey." Genevieve places a hand over mine on the counter. I look up - You would never be a disappointment to me.

I tend to be strong all the time. But at times like this, when me and Geneviève, a white-haired lady with a knack for cooking, are together, I don't need to be indestructible. I can fail.

- Thank you - I smile.

You know you can't live without me

I got caught up in the game

That you're playing with my mind

The dinner to celebrate Margot's birthday was supposed to be intimate, for friends and family. But nothing is like that in the political world. Everything is an average reason.

The party takes place in the garden. As I exit through the back door, I see the long red carpet stretching out to the white chapel, with flaming torches burning on either side of the entrance.

My Saint Laurent heels are incredibly high, but I've had enough etiquette lessons since I was thirteen. The dress I'm wearing is red satin. It's a strapless style, with the bodice very tight and the skirt full, reaching halfway down my thighs.

The chapel is not full. It is still early, and the final preparations are still in progress: like testing the sound and the organization of the orchestra.

I find my father near the stage, and the fact that he is talking to Senator Mares surprises a total of zero people. I approach the two men, always with a smile on their face and the best posture possible.

- Good evening, gentlemen – greetings.

- Angelique – Dad nods.

- Angelique, darling, you are beautiful. Vicenzo will be very happy to see you.

I smiled, as if that made me really happy. Vicenzo is a good man. He is funny and handsome, with his brown hair and eyes, fair skin, and ripped body. He is polite and as disciplined as me. However, that never meant that I wanted to marry her.

The senator is an old man. He is small and has a very large belly for his size. Your head is missing many hairs, and all of them are already gray. But, surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly), he married a beautiful young woman and had three children.

Conversation between the men ensues. I understand everything, because I was asked to look for topics to talk to Vicenzo. But I was raised not to speak without being asked.

- I plan to extend the activity in England. I met an English investor and we are very determined to start a partnership – comments dad.

- I'm going to the toilet, excuse me - I ask.

After a nod from my dad, I start to walk away from the totally boring conversation. It's one thing to have to read about economics, it's another thing to listen to a free lecture on economics.

The room is getting more and more crowded every minute. I see important faces, like businessmen and politicians, and I smile at each of them. Angelic Donneli is a very well educated girl.

The orchestra subtly began to play Mozart. They're good, and the music is even better.

I leave the chapel and cross the garden to the outdoor toilets in the recreation area. I walk down the hall and notice that all the doors are closed. I lean against the nearest wall, knowing that's the only time I don't have to be a woman; when I'm away from prying eyes.

I wait about three minutes, and when none of the doors open, I think of returning to where my father and his dear mares are. However, as soon as I line up, I begin to hear a voice not too far away. I cannot define the distance, nor the language that is spoken, only the resounding forms of the voice.

And instead of walking to the chapel, I head straight down the long hallway. I don't visit this part of the house often, but there is a balcony at the end of the hall, overlooking the pool.

I try not to make noise in my heels. The voice becomes clearer, and I realize it's a man. The voice is thick and raspy, and she doesn't seem to make an effort to sound nice.

- Non è quello che ho chiesto. Rispondi alla domanda – the man displays Italian of an impressive quality, and I only know that because I have been with the best language teachers.

"That's not what I asked. Answer the question"

- Che cazzo ti aspetti che faccia? - he keeps on.

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

I stop when I realize I'm too close. The balcony door is partially closed, leaving only a crack. I can see the man's dark gray suit, brown hair, but not his face. He has his back to me, holding his cell phone in one hand while the other is fixed to the balcony railing.

- No, the answer is no.

"No, the answer is no"

I should leave before my disappearance becomes suspicious. Yet something about this man's posture reminds me of Bruce Campbell. And something stupid in my mind wants to stay here to find out if it's him.

I've never heard it before. I was too stunned to pay attention to those whispers in the closet. But God knows how attractive your tone of voice is when speaking Italian. It makes my skin warm and my intuition soars.

- Dille che al prossimo foglio verrà licenziata – his tone gains in gravity, as if he were more irritated.

"Tell her the next slip, she'll be fired"

The man turns slightly so I can see his profile. Yes, it's him. The shaped nose, as if it had been under God's scalpel a hundred times before it was perfect. Lips drawn, dark brown hair combed back.

- Unripened. Capisci? – I'm sure he didn't wait for an answer, because he hung up the phone the next second.

“I will not repeat it. Do you understand ?

Bruce puts the device in his trouser pocket and leans on the edge with both hands. A strand of hair falls over his forehead. He takes a hand through his hair and slicks it back, then lifts his head. This assures me that Bruce doesn't spend hours in front of the mirror staring strand by strand. His perfection is relaxed.

He turns to walk towards the exit. I would need to run to the bathroom before he reached the door, but I can't do that at about six inches.

As soon as he turns around, his eyes land on me. The crack in the door is enough for him to see me, and this color of red doesn't help me go unnoticed.

Again, I feel my body go into a state of alert. It's like a part of me knows it's a bad track, something toxic.

Bruce goes to the door and opens it. His gaze scans every detail of my face, and I'm sure he's noticed it all: the light makeup, the shimmering lip gloss, the higher lashes.

At first, he is not interested in his gaze. It's like he wonders who's getting in his way. But after fixing his gaze on my face in a way that warms my skin, he seems to recognize me.

Then her green or yellow gaze goes against the bodice. Finally, I can see Bruce admiring my heels. And God bless Saint Laurent for this moment.

"Hi," I say, and his eyes naturally fall to my lips. I approach him, but not too much, just enough to hold out my hand and say hello – Angelique – I introduce myself, because we didn't do that the night of the attack.

For some reason, I avoid saying my last name. My last name is associated with good behavior and excellent etiquette. No one knew of the failure of a Donneli, for example. I want this man to know me in a way unlike anything I've ever been accused of.

- Angelica - he repeats, testing the name on his tongue - What were you doing?

His tone of voice, with a European accent, reminds me of the priest in the confessional earlier. I couldn't tell they're the same person, but... right?

- I was... - What was I doing, by the way? "I'm waiting for a toilet to be free." I nod towards the bathroom suite. Bruce frowns and I turn in the direction he's looking. The three doors are open – they were occupied before – complete.

Congratulations Angelique.

"Of course," he says, and then, just then, he squeezes my still outstretched hand.

"Now I have to go," I said. I may not have been very bright on our dates, but at least I know when to leave - Goodbye.

I quickly turn around and start walking. My father must be wondering what hole I'm in.

"Wait," Bruce said.

I expected to be far away, but as soon as he grabs my wrist and stops me from walking, I know I've barely taken five steps. Or maybe it was his infinitely longer legs that made up for the distance.

His fingers are firm, but not rough. I believe that everything about him is an invitation to stay, not just his grip. I look up at his face, those cat eyes that can see into my soul. He knows how I feel, especially when my pupils dilate and my skin crawls.

Bruce.

Bruce Campbell.

You smell even better than I remember. And even if I remembered it perfectly, it wouldn't compare to the feeling of experiencing it in person. It inspires cleanliness and expensive fragrance. Probably, all this admiration I have is the result of living too modestly.

"Your jump," Bruce said. I could be delirious (which wouldn't be difficult), but I see his eyes darken and his voice grow hoarser. It's not the kind of hoarseness he used to talk about on the call.

I look down and notice that the strap on one of my heels is loose around my ankle. I'm about to bend down to stare at it again, before tripping over it and falling in front of the senator, when Bruce tightens his fingers around my wrist, preventing me from doing anything but pay attention to him.

I look at him instinctively and have to check that my chin isn't on the floor as he kneels in front of me.

- Allow me.

Bruce drops to one knee like a perfect English gentleman and touches my ankle. I thought his touch couldn't make me more alert, but it could. And how can.

He pulls his ankle closer to him and I reach out to help him. I place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle under my palm. Calmly, he reached the jump and reattached the strap.

- Is it good? Bruce asks, and something about his less than innocent tone makes me think he's not talking about the jump.

His eyes move up to my face, but not before moving to my legs. And when he finally looks me in the eye, being on his knees, I think I feel something different tightening in my stomach.

- Tighter, please.

Bruce looks at my ankle again, then tightens the strap a little more. At this moment, I notice that the lock of hair has fallen on his forehead. I really should ignore him, but I didn't think twice before leaning forward and running a hand through his dark brown hair.

- Thanks.

Bruce stands up, and now we're closer than ever. He examines my face again, which is now definitely flushed.

" Not really. His hands cup my face casually, like it's not weird coming from a stranger, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

- Who are you? I'm asking, and I'm not talking about your name or your social status.

- Bruce – said a voice, but it's not his.

I turn around in record time and see my father, Senator Mares and Margot walking towards us. The senator's suit, while large, doesn't seem to support his weight very well. As he walks, his stature looks ridiculous next to Elliot.

- Hi, dad - I salute.

I automatically distance myself from Bruce so that the situation does not escalate. I turn my back on him, facing the trio that has just arrived.

- This is Bruce Campbell, senator, the man I was talking about – my father walks past me as if I was one of the walls, and approaches Bruce.

"The Englishman," said the senator.

I turn to them, and I am more than ever in my place. Bruce is a little taller than my father, and infinitely taller than the senator. However, they are all businessmen, and Margot and I are just decorations.

- It's my wife. Margot Donneli - Elliot introduces his wife. She smiles and holds out her hand. Bruce kisses her politely – And you met my daughter – complete dad.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Margot.

- It's my pleasure.

- Angelique, this man is responsible for the largest vineyard in Italy, one of the largest in the world! - Dad explains. I nod my head to indicate that I heard.

- Vicenzo should arrive soon. Why not wait for him in the main hall, Angelic? - proposes the senator.

My father gives me a meaningful look, indicating that I can only give one answer. Heaven forbid, I refuse an offer from the senator. And may God forbid my father not to join this family for years to come.

- Yes – I shake my head – Excuse me, gentlemen.

I casually lift my head and meet Bruce's gaze. He knows we've been caught in a compromising situation, but he doesn't care. His look is almost amused, which proves my theory that he likes to take risks.

I turn away from the trio of men (and Margot) and walk back to the tent. Now it's even livelier and the orchestra is playing another song.

I see Vicenzo near the stage. He is handsome, unlike his sleazy father. It's the only thing that comforts me. If I ever marry her, at least I won't have to go through what your mother went through, marrying a fat old man.

Vicenzo wears a light blue suit because he always wears light colors. He sees me too, waves at me, and starts walking towards me.

"Angelica, darling. He kisses my cheeks.

- Hello Vincent.

Vicenzo puts his arm around me, then we walk to the tables. It has a good scent, and almost automatically I compare it to Bruce's. The latter wins.

- Birthday party, huh? - Comments Vicenzo with a certain irony looking around the room.

There are millionaire investors, elegant women, old men in suits. No cakes or balloons, not a single one of Margot's parents. No, it's just a party to promote Elliot Donneli's campaign.

"Dad is making a deal," I said.

- Always – even if I imply it, I know what Vicenzo means. We ourselves are businesses that our parents want to shut down.