[ S E R A P H I N E ] “You sure you're okay?” “I'm fine.” I nod and give Paolo a quick smile, keeping up a calm voice. “I'm just gonna take a shower. Rest for a bit.” “No one followed us,” he mutters with a straight face. With his handgun tucked under his leather belt, he grips his phone and stands on the black doormat. The concern in his eyes is directed at me and me only. “I just called the guards at the entrance. They double-checked the logs, and the CCTV.” Crap. Now I'm causing a fuss in this neighborhood, though I don't even own an inch of this property. “Okay. Thanks.” “Don't worry about it. I'll be outside in case your friend shows up.” “He's not my friend anymore,” is what I should say. Instead, I just give Paolo another weak nod while my fingers curl around the cold doorknob. I don't think Pierre knows where I live. Not yet, anyway. Then again I can't know for sure unless I ask him myself. I still have his number. I just don't wanna call him. If I encourage him
[ D O M I N I C O ] “What? No. I-I didn't mean it like that.” Stuttering. Minimal eye contact. Hands fidgeting. The topic's making her uncomfortable. Or me being unusually candid is the reason she's feeling uneasy. “But you did think I was making it all up. For a second at least.” “I-I just didn't expect it.” Sephie blushes, then glances down at my crotch area, her voice even fainter than usual. “What you said about your, um...” “Performance issues,” I say before she could think about changing the subject. I grin when she covers her mouth. I sit closer to her, trying not to crack a smile, but I already feel my poker face slipping off. Not because I find her reaction hilarious. I'm on the verge of cracking up because sex talk still makes both of us uncomfortable. Like we're two clueless, horny teenagers dancing around the issue just to not seem desperate. Like she forgot that we already have an actual priest's blessing and permission to live as husband and wife. Or I'm ju
[ S E R A P H I N E ] I'm a liar. Maybe the biggest hypocrite he's met. But I have to lie. If lying to Dominico's face is the only way to keep Pierre out of trouble, so be it. We may be estranged, but I can't put him in danger. I don't need another reason to feel shitty. Another reason to hate myself. If Pierre gets seriously hurt because of my involvement with Dominico and his family, I'll be carrying the burden of guilt for the rest of my life. “What did he say exactly?” Dominico eyes me with a scowl, his tone making me even more nervous. “What does he know about me?” Tension hangs thick in the air. I sit cross-legged on his covers, my fingers distractedly tracing patterns on the smooth fabric. “I don't know. I kept telling him to get lost. I was scared Paolo or Fico would see him and...” “It's just their job.” Yeah. They know a threat when they see one, but I still don't think Pierre would hurt me like that. “Why didn't you just tell me?” Dominico turns away from m
[ S E R A P H I N E ] That first time didn't suffice. Now he's cornering me in this small and smelly convenience store restroom like it's the only way for us to have another conversation. A more serious and private one, at that. Does he want to kidnap me or something? Detain me somewhere far from Dominico and the bodyguards just so he can get all the answers he wants out of me? “What the heck are you doing?” Pierre locks the doorknob behind him and steps forward, his plain short-sleeved shirt a stark contrast to his dark slacks. “What does it look like I'm doing?” he mutters with fairly wrinkled brows. Without taking his eyes off me, he gets even closer and glances down at my dress. I avert my gaze and hold back a sigh. My heart is already banging against my ribs, but I can keep it together. For longer than a few minutes, I hope. Shucks. I want to hit my forehead for not locking the door the moment I stepped inside this restroom. But, too late. In my defense, I was on my phone
[ D O M I N I C O ] Another familiar street. Another unpleasant family dinner. Another awkward confrontation to sit through. Or hostile. Depending on my father's mood. I focus on the busy road. This place has given me more bad memories than good ones. I've probably made more enemies than friends here in Genoa. But I don't mind the long drive. I'm alone tonight. For personal and safety reasons. Sephie will be safer at home with Paolo and Fico keeping an eye on the house. Also, she doesn't want or need to catch up with my parents. Seeing Pappa in person will only traumatize her again. As the sky dims, I step on the gas and grip the steering wheel. A tense knot grows in my stomach the more streets I pass by. Half an hour later, I'm pulling up to my father's mansion. The garage isn't empty. The front yard looks more crowded than usual. Mostly security staff. The guards stare and greet me with faint nods and smiles. I massage my neck and prolong a stoic expression. I get out o
[ D O M I N I C O ] This won't take an hour. It shouldn't take that long. This late "business meeting" isn't even on my calendar. No one else knows about this. Not even my secretary. For now, that is. I close the spreadsheet on my screen and steal another glance at the 40-something blonde sitting in front of my desk. Don't know if she's actually in her 40s, but her demeanor and the lines around her pale mouth and on her forehead tell me so. Her thick sweater looks the same shade of white as her collared shirt. They don't hide all of what looks to be years-old freckles. Naomi flips to another page. I don't wanna call her by her first name. But she's been trying to build rapport, for a number of obvious reasons. And she insists on me not calling her "Officer Roux" all the time. Her ID says she's a Criminal Intelligence Officer, although something tells me it's not her only title. She's here on behalf of Mathis, the lead investigator from Lyon. We're in my new office. Bigg
[ S E R A P H I N E ] “Where is he?” “Nasa kusina pa din.” [Still in the kitchen.] I sit up and stare at my mother's name on my phone until the black letters blur. I'm alone here in the living room, lounging on the sofa with my new textbook, waiting for the drilling noises to stop. They're not helping this stupid headache in any way, but I can't really complain. After all, not one room in this house belongs to me. I'm just the cook and part-time maid. Gardener, too, sometimes. “Making dinner?” my mom asks on the other end, sounding genuinely curious about Dominico's pastimes. “He cooks, too?” “Tapos na 'ko magluto. Wala na naman sa mood. Ayaw makipag-usap.” [I already cooked. He's not in a chatty mood again.] “Bakit?” [Why?] “I dunno,” is all I say, not bothering to feign a pleasant tone. Dominico and I haven't really talked last night. And the other night. I'm still not sure why he came home so late. My first guess is: he's been working on some backlogs. But my gu
[ S E R A P H I N E ] No. No freaking way. Shit. We're in trouble. We're not gonna make it through the week. If his father finds out... “Last night?” Dominico just nods. Crap. I can't believe he... “Why didn't you say anything?” I grip his arms, our voices still hushed. My heart's already beating too fast, and I think he can feel it, too. We're still stuck in an embrace. I'm not letting go until he tells me the rest. “She said it's better I don't tell anyone.” “Hold on. You...” So he came home late because he was cutting a deal with someone else from Interpol? I don't know if it means he's not being investigated anymore. Or if he's never going to prison just because he snitched on his dad. Gee. I hope and pray to God my hunch is right. “Where's your phone?” Dominico pulls a face, his hands busy checking my skirt's pockets. My clean clothes rub against his sweaty arms and torso, but I couldn't care less. I just want to hear answers. A good explanation. “Not in there