Page 107 of The Kiss Of Death
Levi lifted himself from his seat and stopped at Sylas’s height, a glint of steel in his eyes as he cast a shadow on him, the air around thickening with an unspoken menace.
“Kay may be an annoying asshole sometimes, but he’s my best friend, and he’s hurt because of you. Dalia may help you again because she fears her father as much as yours, but I won’t give you a free pass next time.”
“Ten years ago, Pantheon faced the harsh reality of a terrorist attack that shook us to our core. We remember the lives lost and the unity that emerged from the ashes. Today, standing before you as the minister of the French army, I am compelled to reflect on the strides we have made in our relentless pursuit of a safer tomorrow.”
Sylas’s father stood proudly in front of the ornate plaque by the facade of the opera house. He emanated a commanding presence, much like my own father, and had a professional video team recording every nuance of his speech.
Sylas tapped his foot impatiently, his fingers fidgeting with his tie. With each deep breath, mist escaped from his mouth. We stood in the far back, away from the standing crowd. I couldn’t keep my heart in tune. So many people had come.
“Kay keeps looking at me,” Sylas mumbled, attempting to brush off the gaze of his ex. “I hope he doesn’t do anything reckless.”
Levi leaned casually against the stone facade in the distance, flanked by Kay and Cillian. Kay’s glare bore into both of us, but Levi gave me his word that they wouldn’t intervene.
“I’m with you, okay?” I reassured Sylas, feeling the chill nipping at my ears, exposed by my low ponytail.
Underneath my Pantheon blazer, I wore a black turtleneck, and my winter tights were snugly tucked into my boots. I looked the part, my hair lacking any ribbon.
“In the face of adversity, we find our strength. In the aftermath of tragedy, we discover our resolve. I vow to you that countering terrorism is not just a professional duty; it is my personal commitment, and I stand resolute in ensuring that the shadows of terror never cast us under their darkness ever again.” Sylas’s father wrapped up his speech to a round of applause.
He descended a short flight of stairs, striding across the field while shaking a few hands along the way. We approached, the students dispersing on the different paths, clearing a way for him.
His father greeted us with open arms and smiled, his white teeth contrasting with the tan of his skin, and his neatly combed dark blond hair. “Son, and my favorite girl. I’m so glad you could spare me an hour or two to have breakfast together before I fly back to France.”
I forced a polite smile back, drawing upon years of experience in dealing with controlling old-fashioned fathers. “That was a great speech. Your son has been a great mentor and guide; we won some precious house points thanks to his rowing win a couple of weeks ago.”
“Right, rowing. Not really a sport as esteemed as fencing, am I right, Son?” He gave a tap to Sylas’s shoulder. “How’s fencing? A man needs to lead his group by example.”
“It’s going okay. I’m acing most of my politics classes.” Sylas cleared his throat. “Unifiers may have a stab at winning this year.”
“Right, if you don’t get distracted by the Tacticians.” His father shot a pointed glare at Kay even though he stood meters away. Nothing escaped that man. “Like last year. I believe you ended your friendship with that troublesome boy?”
“I did. He was a bad influence for us, as you said, Father.” Sylas belittled himself in front of his father, not betraying an ounce of the tumult under him.
My stomach contracted, my hands becoming clammy despite the cold freezing my fingertips.
“It’s not safe outside, Dalia. If anything happens to you, your grandma and I will be the saddest people on earth. Why don’t you play in your room?”
“I’m sorry, Dad, I’ll never leave you. I’ll never go to the park alone again.”
“My eternal little girl, you know that God watches each of your actions even when you’re alone. I hope that you don’t have impure thoughts.”
“No, Dad.”
“You can’t hang out at your friends’ houses; I don’t trust their parents. You’re too young for that.”
“You’re right, Dad. Sixteen is still young.”
I saw myself again through Sylas with his father—accepting everything for fear of disappointing him. All my life, I’d felt guilty for being the imperfect way I was, just to make him love me.
“Right, Dalia?” Sylas’s father turned to me, holding the café’s door open. It was then that I realized we had walked all this way to Guardian territory by the lake without even noticing. “I said that Sylas would soon follow in my footsteps with his humanitarian work and perfect public image. All he lacks is a good wife like the Kennedys. What are you planning for the future? Music is not a long-lasting career; your father said it’s just a passion.”
The knot in my stomach tightened, and I prompted Sylas to answer for me with a look while we made our way into the café. It was housed in an old half-timbered mill, and I calmed my nerves by inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed teas and coffee, mingled with the scent of herbs and flowers.
“Dalia is still young, and she is a talented musician. I’m sure she’ll have a great career ahead before she settles down if shewants to,” Sylas said, gesturing for his dad to take a seat on the warm-colored couches.
His father readjusted his suit before settling in with a grimace. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of the organic charm of the place. He snapped his fingers at the server. “Two ristretto and one—” He smiled at me. “Darjeeling tea with milk?”
“Sure,” I agreed, noticing the server’s frown directed at Sylas and me. Sylas didn’t drink coffee, and I usually had matcha with almond milk. However, neither of us contradicted his father.
