Page 26 of Beautiful Deception

Remo opens his palm to show me the rectangular tracking device again before fastening it behind the collar of my shirt. I forgot to put it back on my clothes once, so he now does it for me. Remo should know where I am at all times, and given the circumstances, the money is well-spent on him.

Remo is the only one here with the physical capabilities to protect me. I’m not sure about Dr. Kian, despite the fact that his body is built for combat. With his fists, no. With a fountain pen, I could easily imagine that.

“Kian will keep an eye on you,” he instructs as he pulls on the thick gloves. “Don’t leave his sight. We haven’t found whoever poisoned Peter yet.”

“Where are you going?” I ask when the butler approaches the corner in full winter gear.

“The hospital,” Remo answers promptly while nodding to the butler. “He’s coming with me as a backup.”

“Is it far?” I frown at the amount of snow piled onto the cars. “Can you even walk there?”

“It’ll take longer,” he agrees after a whistle of wind. “You wanted to leave.”

“Not at the expense of hypothermia,” I mumble, judging the thickness of his winter coat and laced boots.

Remo could make it to the hospital with his stamina, but I have worries about the butler, who looks like he could sail with the wind if it’s strong enough.

“We can wait another day,” I say, recalling how past snowstorms emerged from the unseen corners of the horizon. “Tomorrow is the last day.”

“We don’t have a car, cell service, or enough food to last the extra days. I don’t know how long your family will wait to send help if you’re not back on time. And my partner will report me missing if I don’t check in.”

“That bad?” I wonder as a draft of breeze skips over my ankle.

“Only when I’m on the job,” Remo explains after an ill-timed swoosh from the trees. “Better safe than sorry.”

His gaze is drawn to the wide window as the fireplace crackles ferociously, sending waves of warmth into the vast space. I watch the side of his face, the clench of his jaw accentuating the sharp curve, and down his neck where the blue vein peeks from under his skin.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay out there?” I can’t help but ask, needing something to quell the unease in my stomach as he clips the last button over the zipper on his coat.

His eyes move down to my lips, blinking candidly as the tip of his tongue darts out briefly when the reflective window hits across his eyes and onto the floor.

“For good luck,” he says with his arms open.

There’s a loaded silence before I dive face-first into his arms. Here, in his arms, is where famished wariness falls to the void, where it dies at the budding roots.

My face presses tightly onto his soft but firm chest, and suddenly, there’s a lump in my throat as I squeeze my arms around him. He places his palm on my back without ever putting pressure on his arm, yet the scattered warmth builds a menacing fortress.

When solace reels, an inherently wrong tug at my spine compels me to hastily put distance between us.

The butler clears his throat with his neck twisted away from us and memorizes the boring muntin window. When he can’t take the strain on his neck any longer, he turns the other way while sneaking a glimpse at us.

“We should be back by nightfall,” Remo says and waves a sheet of paper with directions on it in Dr. Kian’s handwriting.

I watch them leave the room, imagining the steps it takes for them to make it to the front door, and Junnie comes in just mere seconds after I’ve counted to twenty.

“Hey,” Junnie whispers as she cradles my cheek to face her. “We’re going to be fine.”

I place mine over hers and nuzzle into her palm, sighing softly as her Jasmine-scented lotion creeps into my lungs.

“I know what happened. Remo told me everything,” she reveals, pain baring teeth in her voice as she sniffles weakly. “About Peter and why he did that.”

Months ago, I would’ve cared to hear the reason—a justification, an excuse, or a manifesto, but I couldn’t care less now. It’s evasive cowardice in a way and an obstacle to recovery. Nevertheless, desperation strings together a cinematic film with a butterfly bow signifying an ending, a wrap of the chapter.

“He was jealous,” Junnie scoffs, disdain seeping through her teary eyes. “Jealous of us being born with a silver spoon, never worked for anything and have everything, being happy daily—he was jealous.”

Her mouth is agape with amazement and disbelief, but whatever clever line she has sitting on her tongue breaks.

“Wow. He buried me because he’s a weak bitch.”

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