Page 13 of Seth
Propped against the wall, Gustavo folded his arms over his chest, opting to watch the man a little longer.
Someone whistled. Gustavo turned to see Diego lean against the wall, next to him, sipping his Dirty Martini. “He is gorgeous.”
“He is…” Gustavo replied without enthusiasm. He hated when beautiful things got broken. On the construction site, he’d wanted to play with and break the beast, just as he’d broken that beautiful boy. Right now, looking at the smooth movement of the man, his dignified features, he thought that breaking Seth would destroy another masterpiece and commit unforgivable vandalism himself.
“What are you going to do?” Diego pressed.
Conflicted, Gustavo didn’t reply. His gaze sank into the pale face.
In the rare moments when Seth was alone, his eyes hazed as if he drifted in the depth of his mind. Whenever people approached him, his attitude changed. His lips thinned out, chin lifted as Seth looked at everyone with a condescending expression. Even with Arnold Alby, the director of the Global National Bank and his employer, he comported himself with such autocracy that it was hard to say who hired whom. His fleeting smiles never reached his cold, dissecting eyes. Despite the haunting, neurotic air, his face rarely expressed anything but occasional amusement and contempt. He was bored, and he did a poor job of hiding it yet, for some reason, no one seemed to mind.
On Gustavo’s watch, many approached Seth, talked to him, but not even once did he condescend to reply. Somehow, that disappointed. For such an expressive murder, Seth lacked emotions.
A piece of cold marble indeed.
“What, not happy with what you see?” Diego nudged him with his elbow. “Not what you imagined?”
“I don’t know. He kind of lookslike a spoiled, rich brat patching up his biography with his daddy’s money.”
“Well, isn’t he?” When Gustavo didn’t answer, Diego added, “You are just like that boy who fell in love with the Moon, but once he ascended to the sky, he realized it was just a piece of rock, nothing more. He died, heartbroken, and we still can see the imprint of his crying face on the Moon’s surface.”
Gustavo turned his face, looking into the tawny eyes of his friend shimmering with laughter. “That’s a terrible story. Who wrote it?”
“I just did. Do you think I should publish?” Diego’s lips twitched.
Gustavo blinked. “How is this helpful?”
“I don’t know; you tell me?” When Gustavo didn’t say anything, he added, “Well, if you are giving up, I humbly accept your yacht as a cancelation payment. Also, if you aren’t going after him, may I? I agree he looks like a prick, but what a fucking gorgeous prick. Ten thousand says he’ll be in my bed in a week.”
The thought heated Gustavo’s blood. With a possessive instinct, he glared. “Roll your tongue back into your head. I never said I’m giving up. Bring the chest.”
“Here? Now?” Diego’s thick brows did a funny flip as if he wasn’t sure if he should frown or be amazed. “Okay. A thousand on the police arriving within an hour.”
“You’re on.” Parting from the wall, Gustavo drifted through the ballroom. On his way, he grabbed a glass of red wine from a waiter, then rested his forearm against the table next to Seth’s. Avoiding staring directly, he kept looking at the door, but still observed Seth from the corner of his eye.
Seth drained another glass of wine, his Adam’s apple bobbed. The neurotic air around him aggravated as the chain of people coming to chit-chat never subsided. Every time someone touched him, his neck corded. Gustavo thought that Seth hated physical contact too much for someone who had carved a heart out of a living person.
A few times, media representatives tried to approach Seth, but he waved them all away, ruining Gustavo’s last hopes of hearing his voice.
After doing a round of handshaking, Arnold Alby returned to Seth’s table and monologued the conversation. It looked like he didn’t need a debater but a listener. Seth, relaxing a fraction, seemed comfortable with that role.
Getting bored, Gustavo faced his friend. The chest stood by Diego’s feet, large enough to be a dog kennel if it had an entrance hole.
Gustavo nodded. Diego said something over his shoulder, and two bodyguards lifted the chest with effort and carried it through the room. They set it on the red carpet, opposite to Seth.
“Herr Mayr? A delivery,” one of them said in a rusty bass.
Seth gave them a slow once over, then examined the chest, one brow edged upward.
Gustavo tugged absently at the white tablecloth. His glass, slipping along, dangerously approached the edge of the table, but he barely noticed it.
Seth didn’t say anything but lifted his chin as if giving them permission to elaborate, explain themselves.
“We were ordered to open it upon delivery,” the same bodyguard said and creaked the lid open.
The color drained from Seth’s already pale face, stripping him of his permanent arrogant look.
Small hairs bristledon Seth’s nape. His lungs refused to draw the air in as he stared into the chest with unblinking eyes. There, in plain sight, the evidence of the murder shimmered under the orange light of the crystal chandeliers. Laid out for everyone to see, yet no one noticed.
