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I shower quickly, dry off and walk back into the bedroom with the towel tied loosely around my waist. Maybe I was not as quick as I thought because now Maria is up and sitting on the chesterfield by the window with a sketchbook in one hand, a brush in the other, and a color palette on the center table in front of her.
“You are up,” I smile at her, but she keeps her eyes on what she is painting.
“Yes,” she exhales, “And you are almost ready for the day,” she lifts her head and smiles slightly. “Tell me my sleep talking didn't chase you out of bed.”
“Not today, no.”
She nods and continues with her painting. I go to the walk-in dresser and swing past the two-way wooden door to look for something simple for the day’s business.
It wasn't all rosy at first, even though she agreed almost immediately when I hinted at the idea of us getting married for the sake of the scoundrel she cared for so dearly. But at some point, we had to find a way to make it work. At first, we shared different bedrooms but with time came the human need to be touched and cared for and I showed her in more ways than one that I could care for her body and mind. So she let me. It was the best day of my life when I showed up in her bedroom that day to console her after I deliberately planted things around that would make her miss Benito and saw her run inside to cry. She was vulnerable and I used the right words to take advantage of that.
I walk out now in blue jeans and a white shirt. I go to kiss her softly on the lips, lingering a little to test and see if the kiss can become more but she seems too engulfed in her painting and I know her enough to not come in-between her and that hobby. She says it's the only thing she has left over from her life with Benito that' still has to keep, especially since she lost her son’s affection. And to think the little miscreant got his talent from her.
I bounce out of the room, and as expected, Lawrence is already in the hallway waiting for me.
“Claudio,” he closes the distance but I keep walking till I'm in front of my office.
“How's the preparation for your father’s burial going?” It has been two weeks since the fool died, we need to get on with it already.
“It's going well,” he clears his throat, “It was last weekend.”
“You buried him?”
“Yes, I wanted it to be close and personal,” he blows out air. “I buried him alone,” he nods, probably answering to my arching eyebrows at his stupid talk.
“Close and personal indeed.” There's no end to how much of a shame it is to have children, is there?
“You asked to see me.”
“Where is your sister?”
“Somewhere with Benedetto or in the kitchen,” he shrugs, “You said you wanted to see her too, why?”
“Did you tell her I wanted to see her?”
“Yes, I told her yesterday and she said…” he puffs, “She’s probably still in the kitchen, I saw her walk in there a few minutes ago.”
I narrow my eyes at him, “Are you on something, Lawrence?”
“A little,” he shakes his head, “My thoughts won’t stop and I need to keep them away.”
He looks miserable. But not so much. At least not as miserable as a man who killed his father for no valid reason other than greed would look.
I blow out air. “I will see your sister and then get back to you in my office. I need to get an update on her and Benedetto and on what you will be doing to get this to work out fast.” I look him over, “This is your chance to be of worth, make it happen.”
“It’s going well. He seems wrapped up by her pussy,” he barks a one-sound laugh, “you have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t have all the time in the world, your position with me depends on her getting me what I need, and if she doesn’t,” I lower my voice, “this won’t end well for anyone, especially her.” I know he won’t feel scared if I threaten to hurt him, but I have noticed that whenever I mention her, he gets edgy.
“You have nothing to worry about, I’ll talk to her,” he assures me. “Since you are seeing to her first, I need to get something done. I’ll be with you shortly,” he points in the direction of his room.
I know he is either going to smoke or take pills to quiet his thoughts.
I bounce off to see Benedetto’s new play thing. I don’t care if he rips her apart as he used to do with his toys when he was younger, all I care about is that I get what I need from her.
I walk into the loathsome chocolate brown kitchen to find Rose behind the cooking island, brewing herself some coffee.
“Claudio,” she smiles, “Lawrence said you wanted to see with me today.”
