Page 31 of Beautiful Deception

“They’re just superstitions!” Joe hollers, intending to calm her down, but it has the opposite effect.

It offended her to the core when she gasped so dramatically.

I peer up from Dr. Kian’s arms, following Remo’s tall figure as he drags Peter’s limp corpse onto the bed. The springs groan as the pieces of bedposts collide against everything they come in contact with.

“Until the rescue team comes, I’m staying in my room.” Kimberly shudders and violently shakes as if she’s flinging off the spectral hands. “Put the food and beverages on hold. Hunger keeps me focused.”

She bolts down the corridor, the stomping lasting several seconds before it fades away. Joe’s throat makes a stumped chirrup as his finger dangles aimlessly in the air. He’s the host’s son and has some obligation to the guests, so he runs after Kimberly.

Junnie comes around the corner and asks, “What’s with the ruckus?”

Her epiphanic smirk widens as she rakes her eyes up my and Dr. Kian’s bodies, pausing on his arm snugly wrapped over my back, then to Remo, who is busy searching for evidence of foul play on Peter’s body.

“Mr. Peter passed away,” the maid says, her eyes never leaving the horrifying scene.

“Oh,” Junnie pities, slapping her hand over her mouth. “How?”

“Possible overdose,” Remo interjects while holding a vial of the same medication he showed me before.

Poison seems more appropriate for what happened to Peter. It’s a minor distinction, but overdosing sounds like he committed suicide to me, but murder screams from the depths of my soul.

Whether the assumption is influenced by Junnie’s outward hatred or Remo’s amateurish inattention to holding the vial without retaining potential fingerprints, I truly believe someone got to Peter.

Even so, I keep my mouth shut. Whether it’s karma or a crime, someone shouldn’t be in prison because of a vile cretin. With him gone, the world is cleaner.

“What should we do?” the butler frets, distressed as he stares at Peter’s body with pity. “We can’t leave him like this.”

“You can bury him,” Junnie proposes.

I don’t believe she meant any harm, but the rashness of her abrupt suggestion raises the butler’s suspicions. He’s good at keeping his façade, a skill likely learned from his stage performances, and he flatly rejects the idea.

The butler poses one final piece of advice. “We need to contact the cops.”

Remo motions for everyone to exit the room and grabs the master key from the butler to lock it from the outside. He hands the jangling keys back without another word, only directing a reproachful scowl at me.

It’s then I remember Dr. Kian is holding me rather intimately. I escape from his arms and clear my throat quietly, heat painting my cheeks as I cross my arms like a miserable wall to deter his keen eyes.

“Please excuse us.” Dr. Kian meddles and obliterates the carnal hunger lining Remo’s narrowing pupils. “We need to replace her bandages.”

Remo blinks almost innocently as if he doesn’t realize how predatory he appears. Dr. Kian scoops me into his arms as Remo nods at the rest of the bystanders before stepping on his friend’s shadow to follow us like a wraith.

Junnie’s eloquent “huh” impales my heart as I close my eyes, physically blocking out the entire world when mortification floods my veins with vengeance.

I open them when I’m dropped onto the cushy mattress with two men hovering over me. The fever in their eyes, the strain in their muscles, and the emotions in two pairs of destructive eyes smooth out the serrated edges of my tattered nerves.

When people strive to prove themselves on a point, everything becomes biased. I shuffle the idea of them feeling anything for me into a small, keyed box and hope with a wicked smile that they open it themselves.

The admission of my feelings—well, I don’t know, honestly. This is the first time I’ve felt such intensity from a man, let alone two. Perhaps my reliance on them got confused with feelings. Infatuation, I’d hazard a guess, and that’s understandable because they’re extremely attractive. Two different kinds of style; one is of a gentle spring rainstorm, and the other is of taciturn winter solace.

Someone speaks, persuading me out of a haze, and the other imitates a sin on his fingertips.

A warm mug presses on my cold cheek, forcing a fitful gasp from my cotton tongue. I take it from Dr. Kian, determinedly observing the habit and trust I have for him as I sip the herbal drink.

Then I look at Remo with almost the same trust, but very different. Protection and security—that’s what my body feels when I’m near him. How can these emotions form and continue to get stronger when I haven’t known him for long?

There is no such thing as love at first sight or soulmates. Sexual attraction, definitely. Love? Absolutely not. I’m not words written in between ardor, and they certainly don’t resemble the love inscribed on pages.

But I want to be with them.

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