Page 111 of Eyes Like Angel
“I had something else in mind,” he stated, positioning himself.
As I hang the apron, I turned to face him again. “Where to?”
He smirked, his hands running on my curves. “I think you’ll like this event we’re about to be heading. So, shall we head over there?”
***
He drove and parked at the aperture inside his home. Lights inside were open, and noise-free, a perfect way to end the night after a day’s work. It has been a while since I’ve set foot in his estate.
Adrian led me to the lavish kitchen and gathered two champagne glasses and a wine from the glass drawer.
“Drink this,” he told me, hand outstretched the spare champagne glass.
“What is it?” I uttered, rather more like a whisper, studying within the crystal glass holding a white substance and an herb—a mint leaf. The drink was foggy yet it’s refreshing, couple of blocked ice cubes placed inside and several thin shreds of white strings above the contained beverage, prepared just for me. Beside it, there was green lime, a sliced citrus slipped in between the line on a crystal glass.
“Mojito,” he introduced the drink, pressing the glass to lips for a quick sip. “Try it.”
My head whipped behind me, not knowing if someone’s spying or tailing on us. Gut instincts has been a ruckus, unsure if someone’s hiding. Watching us, watching him entertaining me to an unfamiliar notions, unfamiliar scenarios, unfamiliar…concept of what normality is. In fact, my mind is filled with qualms and misgivings of consequences aligned, as well as my hazy and dreaded journey to my regular routine, day and night.
Like the man in a Fawkes Guy mask when I was asleep in the church attic in a dead of the night, or how fresh-baked meat and sweets and steaming bitter coffee appeared by my side in a dead morning. And an unlike appearance of a masked stranger, it hadn’t been easier. Mysteries after mysteries, wondered who was behind the mask.
His voice snapped the slight thread of my daydreaming curiosity.
“Don’t be afraid. I swear you’re not going to get in trouble,” he addressed, reading my worrying features, predictable as usual.
Another silence plunged in.
“If it makes you feel better, my parents were on a one month vacation to Malta,” he defused the tension. “One and a half month, maybe.”
“One month,” I repeated, eyes widened in puzzlement.
“Oh, not just Malta,” he stated, laced in teasing tone, “they’re also heading to Italy, France and Croatia—visit two weeks each. Apparently, they hated staying in one place—they got tired of the grey-sky, flowing-river town, and needed a full break, needed something new and exciting. Glamourous, isn’t it? Italy, to think I was about to go in person.”
“What was it like?”
He chewed willingly on his delicacy. “Italy is Italy—a very beautiful country. I was anticipating from going to the colosseum, history from the Romans and all, known for its grand tournament. But it’s whatever, since Mom and Dad might spoil it all, making everything about themselves and forcing everyone in Italy they have connections with to be as their lapdog for a translation or as a tour guide. Either way, I feel sorry for the locals.”
I bit my lower lip, knowing a little bit of Romans, due to a fact they’re mentioned in a Bible in several occasions. Romans are powerful members in the society during the time of Jesus in the New Testament. Neither of the Romans believed Jesus and is being crucified. But Jesus forgave them at the end in his own salvation. And with a soul-wrenching heart of his mother, the Virgin Mary, devastated by Jesus’s mistreatment, the crown of thorns and a whip-lashed skin, she stayed by her son’s side when her son had a cross to bear and burdened at the cross with nails on his palms, soon to be brought down.
One time, Father Divine has a miniature statue of Virgin Mary carrying her deceased son, Jesus Christ himself. He mentioned once that the famous sculpture was made by Leonardo Da Vinci, and he wanted a small replica, and hence he got it, but broke the souvenir by Brother Josh’s canine from dashing in the premise, peeing on a broken figurine, which resulted in enormous receive of slaps by the leather belt and a shock collar on a dog’s neck, electrifying to the system.
“Who else is going for a vacation?” I wondered aloud.
Adrian was unresponsive, like he’s questionably contemplating his life choices.
Tilting my head, I asked louder.
“Who was it?” I tried again, leaning forward.
“My brother,” he answered, tinged in rough and edge sound. “Bjorn was usually a busy, during his office work in later hours. So Dad wanted Bjorn’s assistance to go, and be as their luggage carrier.”
My head tilted slightly. “So, they’re not here?”
“No.” He flashed a quick smile, pouring another drink. “He doesn’t come by until,” He checked his watch, “around 5 A.M. to pack his luggage and follow them at Malta. Recently, Dad and Bjorn were working late again, gain more source of income, Dad had the late minute business. But Bjorn’s working later than usual, hence why Bjorn didn’t go with them.”
“They aren’t satisfied with what they have? Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, I mean.”
Playfully, he scoffed, shaking his head in genuine dismay. “Even buying a Bentley or the latest Ferrari won’t do any good to docile their inner peace. They need something of a…lesser headache. Besides, if they stay in the other country for a long-term vacation, I don’t mind. Everyone wins.”
