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With a cross carved into his chest.
Meeting adjourned, we were all in agreement that everything discussed today would not leave these four walls.
Until Céline said, “Darla is a De la Croix, Zeno. You must tell her. This concerns her safety.”
My hands turned to fists. “No one will breathe a word about this to my wife.”
I was going to keep her safe without her ever finding out about Pierrot.
Torrential downpour crashed against the stained glass windows as I entered the west wing before dinner, my soul various shades of fatigued. The conversation with my family played loops in my mind like a broken record. Especially Céline’s words.
“You must tellher.”
I trusted my wife.
The last few days proved she trusted me too.
But just because I trusted her and knew her strength, did not mean she needed to be burdened with this.
Darla had no skin in the game. I married her and unknowingly put her in danger, but I was too selfish to let her go. I needed this woman on a cosmic level and parting with her would physically tear me apart.
It was shame that prevented me from glancing at my reflection in the windows as I crossed the hallway. Pulses of lightning were followed by jolting claps of thunder.
God mocked me from above.
Every crash of thunder was an applaud for the grave I dug myself into. Like a titan, I’d claw my way out of the soil and finish this battle the way I always did: with blood and havoc.
I slowly came to a stop, spotting a silhouette in a white dress. Some liked to believe the estate was cursed and for a minute, I wondered if Violette’s ghost was haunting the walls of our manoir.
I blinked again and the silhouette turned around.
In the midst of lightning and thunder, my wife came barrelling straight for me, the clipped sound of her heels in time with the storm brewing outside.
My arms opened and I caught her, my exhale whooshing out. “Darla.”
“Zeno.” Her voice shook. “I was looking for the theatre room and I got lost and the storm started and I’m scared of thunder and—”
“Shh.Je suis içi,” I whispered into her hair, clutching her tight. “Breathe.”
She listened, breathing slowly with her face in my neck. Her fingers undid the buttons of my suit jacket and she slinked her arms underneath and around my waist. “I’m not someone who fears a lot but…thunder scares me. It always has as a kid.”
“We all have fears,mon ange. No matter how small or how big, they are all valid. Yours are too.”
She smiled but jolted in my arms when another round of thunder resonated. The rain crashed harder than ever and I rocked us gently, a slow waltz to the beat of Mother Nature’s jagged melody.
“Thank you for the cookies.” I kissed the top of her head. “They were delicious.”
“They were burnt.”
“They were still delicious.”
“You’re welcome, Zed. Am I close to becoming a master chef?”
“Gordon Ramsey has nothing on you and your crispy cookies, baby.”
She puffed out a laugh.
I hummed a soft song and she relaxed. The thunder slowly rolled to a halt.
