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The articles had already started when my identity was first discovered. It was bad enough then, but it’s nothing compared to the present. Peters showed me what’s been published. The public has always loved a rags to riches story. Damian is being made out to be some kind of prince and Zoe as South Africa’s own Cinderella. Leon, with his false history of backpacking, has come off the lightest. I’ve gathered quite a following, most of those being eligible women who want to marry me and have my babies.
Have my babies. Fuck. What must Cas think of that? My only consolation is that she must be well over the border by now.
The sheriff calls, “All rise.”
A buzz runs through the crowd as everyone gets to their feet. The judge makes his appearance, wearing the customary black robe. He calls for order as he takes his seat on the bench.
“How have they been treating you?” Peters asks in a hushed voice.
“Well.” Surprisingly.
“I appealed the decision not to let you attend your trial in civilian clothes,” he says from under his breath. “Hopefully, you’ll wear a suit tomorrow. Even if you’ve admitted guilt, this is highly irregular.” He waves at my prison clothes.
Nothing about my case is regular, and I doubt a suit is going to win me some slack, but Peters is of a different opinion. To him, the clothes maketh the man in all circumstances.
The proceedings are set in motion. The prosecutor gets to deliver her opening speech first. She cuts me a cold look as she crosses the floor to address the judge. I get as comfortable as I can on the hard, wooden chair. It’s going to be a long day.
Her performance is good. She lists my crimes and the damages I’ve caused to companies and individuals, as well as the costs the State has incurred in investigations. She’s using hard facts, but also elicits emotions of injustice and unfairness. Fucking brilliant. By the end of that speech, everyone with a heart must hate me.
Peters’s opening statement focuses on corruption within the police force and how those circumstances turned a thief into a murderer. The public hates crime, but they hate corruption more. That’s the angle Peters goes for. The public already appears divided.
I won’t be put on the stand. Since I’ve already given my statement, testimony isn’t necessary. For now, my job is to keep my mouth shut, my eyes down, and act tormented. It’s just a great, big show. We may as well fast forward to the verdict and spare everyone the agony of sitting through the formalities for days, but procedures have to be followed. That’s how the law works. I grit my teeth and bear what I’ve signed up for.
At lunchtime, the court adjourns. I stand like I’m ordered to and move when I’m told to. That’s when I see her—a redhead sitting in the backrow on the left. I only spot her because the tall guy in front of her got up and is moving outside with the other spectators. My heart jolts in my chest. Unable to help myself, I hold her gaze. She looks right back. The connection jabs straight into my soul. I feel it in a place where logic doesn’t exist. It comes from the inexplicable seat where hunches and premonitions are born.
I slow my pace. It’s her. It’s the way she holds herself, in the lift of her chin and the subtle dip of her shoulder. It’s in the slight quiver of her lips. It’s in the way my body takes notice, even in leg irons and a jumpsuit. I swear she’s the only woman I’ll ever get hard for again. She put a spell on me. She bewitched me from the moment I set eyes on her. Now I’ll suffer the consequences for the rest of my life. Gladly.
I shouldn’t draw attention to her by staring, but I can look away from her as little as I can stop loving her. The fact that she’s here and not miles away is a love declaration like no other. Greedily, I grab the offering. She’s only said it once, and this may be the last chance I’ll get. When this is over and they lock me away, I’ll never see that gorgeous face again.
The moment is as heavy as the one on the day when I stood in front of her hotel door in Pretoria and decided to steal her life. I regret nothing, not then and not now. I’ll give my freedom ten times over for her happiness. I’ll give my life. Anything.
Our gazes remain locked as I shuffle to the door. In my peripheral line of vision, Peters, who’s walking next to me, frowns. He follows the direction of my gaze. The guard waiting at the door says something. Peters replies. I hear nothing except the thumping of my heart in my chest. In a crowd of people, we’re isolated. Just her and me like it was always meant to be.
