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Lost in thought, I walked down the steps to the hall on the first floor. This house was my home. Here, I had grown up; here, I was born. I knew every nook and cranny, as my brothers and I had searched the house together for secret passages or hiddendoors while playing hide and seek. Unfortunately, we had been unsuccessful, although we were sure this building was old by New York standards and contained some secrets.
The memory of how I had listened to all the walls with Grandpa's stethoscope and swore afterward I had heard someone breathing loudly behind the old walls made me smile. Of course, my big brothers didn't believe me back then. I couldn't sleep for nights, fearing that at any moment, the breathing shadow would emerge from behind the walls to kill us all.
My brothers had seized the opportunity and played pranks on me for weeks, breathing and scratching against the wood outside my bedroom door. Until Mom caught them at it and grounded them for a month. My mother and I, armed with a stethoscope, had walked all the walls again for hours. Until I was convinced, no one was hiding behind them.
In the salon, my gaze brushed her portrait above the large fireplace, and I couldn’t help but stop just then. My mother had been a beautiful woman. She had the reddish hair of her Irish ancestors, brown eyes, and the most loving smile one could wish for as a child.
As if hypnotized, I took a step toward the painting. Suddenly, someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. Startled, I cringed and quickly turned around, suppressing the instinct to use one of my self-defense moves. No one could know I could defend myself, even though my last training was five years ago.
Two piercing blue eyes looked at me cruelly. It was Stephan, our butler, who had often let me know that, in his opinion, women had no right to exist and that we were all sinners. He was clearly a spy for the Knights of the Seals, and I was the personal target of his mission.
CHAPTER 4
Stephan, you startled me," I said surprisingly calmly. "I was just on my way to the dining room. Is my father already here?"
The butler raised an eyebrow suspiciously, glanced briefly at Mother's portrait, and then turned his icy eyes back to me.
"Excuse me, Miss Myrina. I certainly didn't mean to startle you," he said smugly. He took a step toward me. And another. By now, he was so close to me. I could see the little icebergs in his irises.
Suddenly, he sucked air loudly into his nose while he bent towards me. Nausea from his cologne, as well as his sweaty hand, with which he now held my neck and pulled me even more towards him, spilled over me.
"Do I smell Mr. Alexander on your skin?" he whispered with a catty grin. Alex didn't use cologne, and I had showered after our night together. Stephan was bluffing, provoking, hoping I would fall into his trap.
"Stephan, you know as well as I do this is impossible. Mr. Alexander last visited two weeks ago, and I remember too well you were present with him the entire time, as were my father and brothers. And we both know Mr. Alexander sat on one sideof the room and I on the other. Far away from him." I laughed artificially. "My dearest Stephan, we can agree your nose is playing tricks on you."
"Is that what you think?" my counterpart asked sardonically. But instead of being provoked further, I let a sugary smile curl my lips.
"Yes, I think so. Maybe you should use less cologne, then your nose will work better," I replied with an innocent look.
In Stephan's eyes, the ice melted and turned into an inferno of rage. His fingers dug painfully into my neck.
"Myrina!" I suddenly heard the voice of my brother Chris behind me.Last-second rescue. Why could I never keep my mouth shut?
The butler's face became a mask of concern as he loosened his grip on my neck and stroked my arm. "Miss Myrina, go quickly to breakfast. I'm sure your father is waiting. And don't worry about your wedding. It will all go according to plan," he said softly, giving me a knowing smile. Before I could ask him what he was alluding to, he had already disappeared through the side door.
"Myrina? Are you all right?" My brother wanted to know. His suspicious gaze had followed Stephan. Chris also suspected the butler served only one purpose in our household: to spy on us. But, unfortunately, he could not be fired. Otherwise, the next spy would soon be knocking on our door.
"It's all right, Chris!" I said quickly and walked towards my brother. Joyfully, I hugged him. Chris was a priest at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on Amsterdam Avenue and hardly ever came to visit because of his parish activities and the continuous working hours.
"What are you doing here? Not that it's terrible to see you again after so long, finally," I laughed and hooked up with him as we walked to the dining room.
"Oh, a big brother can't even visit his little sister outside of her wedding plans?" he winked at me. I knew that facial expression that accompanied the wink all too well. His smile was fake, as was his cheerfulness. Worry was reflected in his brown eyes. His reddish hair stood out on all sides, almost as if he had rushed here straight from his bed.
"What's wrong?" I whispered. But Chris just shook his head, barely visible. Something was bothering him that could not be discussed in this house.
"My dear Myrina, I'm here to invite you to take a walk in Central Park after breakfast. The weather is beautiful today, and I know how much you love the park," my brother replied exuberantly, opening the dining room door simultaneously.
"Good morning, Father!" he immediately deflected from the subject, and I realized his concerns seemed to be about me. In Central Park, we would be able to talk undisturbed.
"Good morning, children!" my father answered from behind his every-morning newspaper. Another thing women no longer had access to. However, I found this only half as bad since the newspapers were only full of praise for the new governments, the Knights of the Seals, and the subsequent executions. What happened in the world was that my father learned about his ports and the ships anchored there.
Chris sat at the table and reached for one of the freshly baked rolls. Heartily, he bit into it. He had grown thin since taking his place at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
Light-footed, I circled the table, kissed my father on the cheek, and he stroked mine.
"Good morning, Dad. Did you sleep well?" I asked the question to which I already knew the answer. The dark circles under his eyes had been there ever since Mom had passed away, and I often wondered if they would ever go away, probably only when the two of them were finally reunited.
If I were asked for an example of infinite unconditional love, my parents' story would immediately come to mind. That was the kind of love authors described in their romance novels. Romeo and Juliet, Catherine and Heathcliff, Bella and Edward, Feyre and Rhysand.
