Chapter 50: Chapter 50

ANGELIC...

The noise in the garden wakes me up. The employees organize the outdoor space after yesterday's party. I put the pillow over my head and try to go back to sleep, but it's impossible. I'm giving up.

Despite myself, I get out of bed and put on my bathrobe over my nightgown. My head hurts, partly because I haven't slept enough, but I can't deny that last night I was tossing and turning in my bed, unable to sleep, thinking about my conversation with Bruce .

I knew the moment I entered the confessional that Father Bee was not on the other side of the screen. Padre's breathing is smooth and heavy, with short spaces between exhalations. And yet I confessed. I desperately wanted to go and confess to someone who wouldn't tell my father about my sins later.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I go down to the first floor. The table is already set with breakfast, but Margot and Elliot still haven't come down. I zip up my bathrobe and sit down on the chair to the left of the headboard.

I start to eat, because I have activities for today. A friend from college, Skyla, is coming over today so we can watch class together.

Shortly after, my father comes down the stairs. He is already dressed in a suit, tie and shiny shoes, which shows that the work started early today.

Elliot Donneli is different from me in every way. The hair was brown, today it is completely white. The eyes are dark. He is tall and once tanned.

- Hello - he greets - Woke up early.

At one point or another, two security guards patrol the entire house. Since the White House bombing, no place is safe enough. I started taking distance courses, so as not to take any risks in college. Margot now has three personal security guards. Elliot works from home.

- Hello. The noise in the garden woke me up - I answer.

My father sits down at the end of the table and begins to choose what he is going to eat. Since the diagnosis of his disease, he eats very well.

- I was working? - I ask.

- Yes - he twists his lips, looking displeased - Vicenzo called me.

- And even? - The subject does not interest me. I take pancakes and put them on the plate, coating everything with honey.

- He's not happy with his posture.

I have to bite my tongue not to insult Vicenzo in front of his number one fan. He has no right to place expectations of his happiness on my posture. I don't owe you this. I take a long breath.

- Why not? I ask softly.

- At the party yesterday - he takes a sip of coffee - He said you were very close to Bruce Campbell.

"Talk," I say.

"Too close," he says, as if he's seen something.

I take care of eating the pancakes. I don't want to talk about Vicenzo first thing in the morning. My father is a sick old man, I don't want to contradict him, but his decisions and his opinions on my life go too far.

- Angelique - he calls - My mandate is coming to an end, the sponsorships too. Very soon, things will be different.

- How different? - I know the answer, but I want to hear it from him.

- All we have... - Elliot stops, thinking about the best way to say - I'm sick. People are starting to think I'm not worth their time and money because I'm going to die soon - his words make me shiver - All we have is this house and these cars. We are supported by my mandate, practically. In a few weeks, when it's over, I don't know what we'll do.

- Your friends...

- Who? Senator Mares? - he mocks.

I watch my fingers entwined in my lap. My dad was diagnosed with liver cancer a year ago. He is undergoing treatment, but people's opinion of a seventy-year-old man with cancer is obvious.

- I don't want to commercialize you, my daughter. Your mother would never forgive me - her voice drops to a whisper - But I have to make sure you're okay.

- Are you staying with Vicenzo? - I ask.

Vicenzo Mares is different from his father. He's too young to care so much about money. Of course, I don't know how it will be in the future. Perhaps he is as repulsive a man as the senator. But even though I liked him, I always saw him as a friend.

Senator Mares has been in politics for a long time, so I always knew how important they were. However, unlike Elliot, he never wanted to be part of the family. It doesn't seem right to me to be with Vicenzo just to not be poor.

- Angelica - he sighs - You don't even know how to wash your own clothes. What would be the alternative?

- Learn.

"Don't be ridiculous," he breathes.

- Ridiculous? - I smile in disbelief - You put a stranger in our house, and the ridiculous attitude is mine?

- Are you talking about Bruce Campbell? - he drops the cutlery on the plate - The stranger with thirteen billion dollars on the account? Yes I did it.

- If he has that much money, why not sell me to him? - I raise an eyebrow.

- Because... - he shouts, but then controls his voice - Because I doubt that Campbell wants a spoiled girl dictating demands in her house.

Elliot's eyes are on me. His anger might warm the room. I have a lot to say but I can't. I cannot aggravate your clinical picture with my anger.

"Okay," I said. I go back to eating the pancakes, although my appetite has dissipated the moment Elliot mentions my mother. It wasn't fair.

He, realizing that the discussion is over, also goes back to eating. Our sepulchral silence is disturbed only when Margot's heels begin to click on the floor of the staircase.

- Hello, dear - she approaches.

Margot wears a closed trench coat and heels, as well as a handbag that announces her departure. She kisses Elliot's cheek and waves at me.

- I leave. Return for afternoon tea.

- Ok - my father nods - Call me if you need anything.

Margot's hand closet alone could lift ten families out of poverty, but Elliot's solution isn't to cut costs, it's to marry the first rich man in our lives.

- Of course darling. See you later - she kisses our hand and blows on us as she walks away.

- I'm going to get ready. Skyla will be here soon - I take Margot's signal to get up.

I drag the chair and head for the stairs. I feel Elliot's eyes on me, speechless. He thinks he's doing what's best for everyone. Ease doesn't matter. Since my mother died, he stopped believing in such things. If Vicenzo can indulge my whims, as he does for Margot, then everything will be fine.

New York is far from one of the hottest cities in the world, but damn it, since when is the sun so close to the Earth?

This must be my third dive in ten minutes, and every second the water is less cold. I can barely concentrate in the Bridges and Large Structures course.

I climb the pool stairs and get out of the water, then walk over to the umbrella table. Skyla is typing away on her Macbook, but doesn't seem at all interested in the activity. By the way, she is more interested in the teacher of this subject.

There are few people on Elliot's green list, and fortunately Skyla is one of them. Maybe because of his family's social standing, because my dad sees business in all his dealings. But anyway, I'm glad to know that my friendship with her is accepted.

- Bridges and Large Structures - she mocks - The only thing I'm going to build is a kennel for my dog.

- Your teacher thinks it's important for your academic life - I answer - Not that his interest is really in the academic part of your life.

I grab the towel from the lounge chair and wrap it around me as she pulls down her sunglasses and looks around, making sure no one can hear me. I'd like to lay by the pool and get some sun, but that would give my dad three different types of attacks, and all for the same reason: I mustn't show my body, because it's a temple of Vicenzo Mares.

The Mares family is traditional. Sure, they avoid taxes, but the part of the Bible that talks about honesty they choose to ignore.

Skyla is in the shade of the umbrella, full of sunscreen and sunglasses. I, on the other hand, feel the full power of the sun on my damp skin, which I think must be making me very red.

- I'd get involved with Matt anyway. The fact that he is my teacher is just a stroke of luck - he comments.

- You got involved with him to pretend that you had some control over your life. And if, in the end, you end up having a failed marriage with a rich man, then you will just remember the adventures that the age-inappropriate man proposed - I say.

"It feels like a first-hand experience," Skyla concludes with a smile.

I lie down on the lounge chair and think about what she just said. It's not an experiment, it's a guess. Girls like us spend our lives trying to get a smug smile from our parents, or a hint that we're something to be proud of. It's easy to get this stuff in older men, so Skyla gets involved with her teachers. And if I have to be honest, that's why Bruce piques my curiosity.

He doesn't care about approvals. He does what he wants, without many rules. The freedom it inspires is what interests me.

- You're right - she said - When I'm with Matt, I feel free. I am a woman, I am desired and I can desire.

The teacher continues to teach his class. The Macbook is almost a decorative object, as long as we do not pay attention to it. Skyla looks at the screen and I look at her posture. It's the result of a blow to the stomach, or something like that. His mother was secretary to the owner of an oil company and one day she found herself pregnant by him.

Skyla Parker learned early on to put herself forward. I, on the other hand, learned that many things awaited me.

- How do you feel? - I ask. I roll over on my stomach to get a better look at her, and I notice a small smile on her face as she stares at me - How does it feel to be free?

- To be free or to escape captivity? - she smiles mischievously. By the way, when isn't she smiling mischievously?

Genevieve walks through the glass doors, interrupting the conversation, with a tray, which must contain our lunch. She places it on the table, then leaves with a formal gesture.

"I was starving," Skyla comments.

- I'm going to put on a waterproof suit - I inform. I get up from the lounger and tie the towel tighter to my body so I don't risk hearing a sermon on good behavior later - I won't be long.

I enter the house, which is a little quieter than usual today, even more on the days when Margot is there. Not that she's outrageous, but she's a woman who likes to talk. And, oddly enough, I think Elliot likes it. He spends so much time absorbed in silence that sometimes he just wants to hear something.

I tie my wet hair in an improvised bun, and as I walk, completely unconscious, I end up bumping into a body, I don't know, twice the size of mine.

Under the impact, I end up staggering backwards, causing my hair to come loose and the towel to hit the floor in front of me. However, the person I bumped into grabs my arm, then my waist and pulls me up. I don't end up stained on the floor, unlike the white towel.

Part of me prays it's not my dad. He spent a small fortune on etiquette lessons. And if I say that I memorized all the rules of good behavior, it's true.

But looking up, I realize I better find Elliot. He would discipline me with hard-to-manage words. But Bruce does it with a look; this look which seems to move the waves of the sea so imposing it is.

I look up at him, feeling his arm around my waist, no barrier of fabric. My breathing is so labored that my chest touches his every time I exhale, and my heartbeat follows the turbulence.

His yellow eyes explore my face and I can feel them in every inch of my skin. Then they reach my eyes. Bruce is that kind of man, who always looks you in the eye.

I don't trust him, I said it and I can repeat it a thousand times. My dad wants him because he's a man with money, but what does Bruce want from my dad? What does he get?

He grabbed me a little too roughly, which allowed me to feel the muscles of his arm around me, and the firmness of his hand squeezing me. I feel so good against his hard body that I feel guilty. It wasn't the kind of feeling I was supposed to have for a stranger.

We duck and I wonder how fast he must have been to catch me before I hit the ground. Fast and strong. Well, that defines Bruce perfectly.

Its fragrance is not the kind you can smell from afar. It smells really good, and the proximity allows me to enjoy it. The scent itself is obviously imported, but something about his smell as a whole tells me that Bruce smells good by nature. If he had just taken a shower, he would still smell extremely bad.

After more seconds than is ethical, Bruce helps me up and walks away. He bends down to pick up the towel that's on the floor, and I stare static.

I have time to see the gray suit, the black shirt and the shiny shoes. Anyone else would be called crazy wearing a suit on a hot day like this, but not him. Bruce is not the kind of man to look ridiculous. Everything he does suddenly becomes right and well regarded.

He gets up, but slowly. His eyes, which had previously been fixed on the towel, find my bare legs. As Bruce stands up, his eyes roam my body. Your look is capable of undressing me, even if your hands never touch me. I even control my breathing because I know Bruce absorbs every detail around me.

I remember the first time your eyes landed on me. I knew, the first evening, that he wasn't worth much, and that he didn't hide it.

His eyes settle on my stomach for a second, then back up and, unsurprisingly, stop at my bikini top.

A noise from the kitchen is heard. I'm not sure, but I think it was broken glass on the floor. At this moment, Bruce shakes his head, as if coming out of a daydream.

"You better get dressed," he said finally.

I could grab the towel he hands me and run into the bedroom, because that's what a nun would do. But somehow, the hoarseness of his voice and the look he just gave me hold me back. I take the towel from his hand and wrap it around my body again.

He looks away at the garden gates, as if the plants outside are more interesting than the person in front of him. And to reinforce the distance between us, Bruce takes a step back.

"Thank you," I said.

It's only when I'm dressed, as far as possible, that he turns to me. This time, Bruce looks me in the face, but not quite in my eyes.

- Not so.

I walk towards the stairs but stop. That part of me that would die for a drop of adrenaline still wants to talk to him.

- Why were you in the confessional? - I ask.

Bruce turns to me with a smirk, almost proud.

“For the same reason as you,” he replies. I purse my lips - For adrenaline.

- The difference is that I'm practically a teenager - I smile.

- Bingo, ma'am.

He doesn't allow me to answer and starts walking towards Elliot's office, which is across the room. And if Bruce wasn't six feet tall and maybe over 200 pounds, I'd say he's running away from me.

To me?

I return to the pool after changing the wet bikini for cropped jeans and a t-shirt. The office door is closed, so Bruce and Elliot are probably still inside.

The teacher continues to teach, but Skyla doesn't even look at the screen. She is wet, indicating that she went to the swimming pool. As I approach, I place the sunglasses on my face.

"I'm back," I said. I sit on the deckchair.

- Hi - she raises her glasses - I think I saw something.

- What?

I could tell she didn't like what she saw, but her expression leans more toward curiosity than disgust.

- Who is he? Skyla asks, pointing behind me.

I turn around and find him, the one I don't even have to name. Bruce and Elliot stand outside the glass doors, engaged in a conversation that doesn't concern us.

Bruce is even more handsome now. His hair is tousled, but not in an awkward way. He took off his jacket, leaving only a black shirt and dress pants.

"Not a teacher," I finally reply.

- Angel! - Skyla scolds, but I can see her smile in my peripheral vision.

- He's a friend of Elliot's - I'm turning to her - Bruce, I think - I'm feigning ignorance.

- I love - Skyla smiles. We turn back to the direction Bruce is facing and we share the same thought.

She grabs her cell phone and starts typing.

- Do you know the surname?

"Campbell," I respond immediately.

I'm interested in the research she's doing. Not obsessively, but curiously.

Who is he? Why do you know so much? Of all?

I can't be wrong. More than knowing who he is, I want to know why he looked at me. Not as the perfect angelic everyone loves so much for never being wrong, but as a woman, someone he can tease, push to the limit, piss off, stimulate.

- The Campbell family is known in Europe for its vineyards... - Skyla reads - There is no information on Bruce.

- Pictures? - I ask.

- None - She swipes her finger on the screen, looking for something, but, from her expression, I can tell that she didn't find what she wanted - There are no social networks, nor interviews. Everything he does is private.

I sigh in frustration. It's no surprise that he's as secretive as most people.

- He's a secret - she thinks for a second - Or a criminal.

I'm not ruling out either option.

I look at Bruce once more. He says goodbye to Elliot with a wave, not a handshake. I think the English don't do that.

- You asked me what it's like to feel free - Skyla whispers, catching my attention - To be free is to know that a man like Bruce won't be nice. He likes women who know what they want, and who achieve it - she sits on the deckchair, facing me - He will take advantage of your innocence, and make you experience all kinds of orgasms that exist. You don't have to pretend to be wise, because he doesn't care about your etiquette classes or how many languages you speak.

I could bury my face right now, but all my body can do is my heart beat. I know what she's talking about, and it's all crossed my mind before. However, hearing someone say out loud what just popped into my head…that's different.

Almost naturally, I look at Bruce. I don't know what makes me associate those words with him, but I do. And as if he could feel my gaze, he returns it. Bruce glares at me before heading for the exit. His eyes land on mine, still as intense, more piercing.

Facing the distance, my mind replicates everything I feel when I'm near him. I can almost feel him, the firmness of his muscles, the raspy tone of his voice. My cheeks burn at the thought that Bruce probably knows everything Skyla says. That's the kind of thing that shows in me.

- Sex, my friend, that's what they want, and that's what makes me feel free - concludes Skyla.