Page 2 of The Villain
Gasping, I whirl around, my hand flying to my heart, panicked when I see the form there. A man half hidden in shadow turned toward me.
He doesn’t move, not even when he knows I’ve seen him. He doesn’t even try to hide. Instead, he stands still and watches me. He’s probably been watching me since I walked in here.
I can’t see his face, but I see the sheer size of him. He has one hand in his pocket and in the other he’s holding a tumbler of whiskey. He’s wearing a suit. Black on black on black. Everyone out there is in costume. This man didn’t bother.
Our family photos hang in a collage of matching frames on the wall behind him. I remember putting them up with Dad. Was this man, this stranger, studying them? It feels like a violation.
“What—” I croak, my voice not quite making it. I clear my throat. “What are you doing in here?”
He steps forward so the lamp by the chair casts its light over his face. My breath catches in my throat when I see his eyes. They’re a cobalt blue so pure they’re almost electric. Against his deep olive skin and dark hair, they’re almost out of place, and for one idiotic momentall I can think is how beautiful they are. How beautiful he is.
He raises one eyebrow, a corner of his mouth lifting like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Like he’s used to it. He cocks his head and very openly studies me.
I’m suddenly aware of the complete silence in the room. Dad soundproofed it years ago. The only noise is that of blood pounding against my ears as my heart thuds at the surprise of finding someone in here.
Findinghimin here.
A word takes form in my mind.
Danger.
No. It doesn’t take form. It’s a feeling. And it’s not in my mind. It’s a sensation that begins in my belly and moves outward to spread down every limb.
I don’t know this man. I’ve never seen him before. But I do know he shouldn’t be in here. I know he’s no friend. Although, is anyone in that other room a friend?
The man’s eyes move over me slowly, purposefully, taking in every inch of me. My ‘costume’ was last minute. Black palazzo pants and a black, off-the-shoulder top with feathers along the bust line, a pair of too-small wings I found among old toys from when we were little, some leftover Halloween costume, strapped to my arms. Ballet slippers. The mask.
His cobalt eyes return to mine. “Moth?” he asks, his voice hard as gravel.
“Excuse me?”
He gestures to my clothes. “Your costume?”
I look down, feeling exposed. Seen. More so than Iwas in that room with two-hundred sets of eyes watching.
“Butterfly,” I hear myself say.
“Hm.” That utterance breaks the spell. I guess that to mean my costume is a flop.
I raise my eyebrows, although he can’t see that under my mask. I take one step toward him, but something tells me to stop. Tells me not to proceed. “No one’s supposed to be in here,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the pounding of my heart.
“No?”
“You should know that. Everyone knows that. This is my father’s study.”
“Your father’s dead,” he says flatly the words landing hard, a punch to my gut that leaves me breathless and stunned.
He turns back to the wall of photographs, peers closer at the one in the center. It’s a photo from two summers ago. We’re all in it, Michael, Dad and I along with Malek and his kids, Amal and Daniel. We’re all wearing white and we’re all smiling but I remember that day. How forced it all felt except for Daniel, who is laughing outright, but he was three at the time.
The man returns his intent gaze to me. “Allegra.”
How does he know my name? “You’re not supposed to be in here,” I repeat with more force.
“So you’ve said.” He finishes his whiskey, sets his glass down. It’s my father’s glass. My father’s whiskey. “A bit soon after Daddy’s death for a party, isn’t it?” he says with an air of arrogant assholery. I don’t like the way he saysDaddyor the way he saysDaddy’s death. Mygaze narrows and I look closer at this stranger who has invaded this private place.
“Who the hell are you?”How do you know usI want to ask but don’t. “What are you doing in here?”
One corner of his mouth curves upward into a smirk like this just got interesting. In three long strides, he crosses the room too fast for me to move, to give myself space. Room to breathe.
