Page 162 of Vicious Saint
“I’m doing no such thing.”
“Evading the truth then. Same shit.”
“You’re confused, baby. Take a breath.”
Vic reaches over to Mom, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “Juniper, dear, that’s enough.”
She concedes through a smile, and he lets her go.
“May I have a private word with you, Hendrix?” Vic asks, and unlike most powerful men is humble enough to actually allow me to answer.
Everything in my body is screaming for me not to agree, knowing the sucker I’m slowly becoming to his kindness.
My body wins…at least until I watch Vic’s eyes go from soft to troubled. “Please.”
“Fine,” I mutter and stand, sliding my chair back.
Saint eyes his father closely as he stands, making his way over to where I am, but he doesn’t intervene.
For self-serving purposes, I’m sure.
Vic gestures to the dining room exit. “After you.”
It never ceases to amaze me how big the Lavell mansion is on the inside, and how easily the outside can be overlooked up against the surrounding buildings.
The halls are narrow, but go on for days, stretching well into the street on the opposite side of the front door, and the high ceilings make even mountains seem like molehills as I walk through them.
My attention gets drawn to a painting of an old lady wearing a headscarf, sitting on a stool holding a bouquet of sunset peonies.
The dark shadows under her eyes, lining of her wrinkles, even the peach color of her skin captures such a realistic image.
Her face tells a story I can almost hear, which is one of my favorite things about visual art.
It’s subjective, yet still speaks for itself.
“That’s my great, great, great grandmother Esme Lavell,” Vic states, pointing to the picture I didn’t even realize I stopped to keep looking at. “She was a wonderful woman.” He pauses, a familiar charm lifting the corner of his lips. “Or so I was told.”
I let out a small chuckle. “Was gonna say…you look great for your age.”
“I’ll still take the compliment if you’re willing.”
I roll my eyes. “As if any of the Lavells need a reminder.”
Vic’s deep, genuine laugh warms my insides. “Fair enough.”
Silence fills the space between us as we each return to examining the portrait.
“I know this situation isn’t ideal for you, Hendrix.” Vic looks straight ahead, hands intertwined behind his back. “And I completely understand why.”
I huff an irritated breath. “Would love to hear your theory.”
“For starters…you feel like I stole someone important from you.”
Another huff. “Go on…”
I can tell how experienced of a man Vic is by the way he chooses not to make direct eye contact with me. A similar rule of engagement followed by humans encountering a wolf.
Or a psycho explosive son.
