Page 88 of The Kiss Of Death
The tall iron gates of Pantheon’s entrance loomed before us, adorned with elaborate scrollwork and menacing spikes. In front of the gates, rows of luxurious cars stretched out, their sheen dulled under the heavy blanket of the overcast sky.
“Honestly, I thought you’d be a gray kind of guy. Unfeeling and not entirely black or white. You never really take part in things, and you don’t like excess emotions—apart from pissing me off.”
“You’re wrong. I’d have to go with rainbow.” He opened the door of his sleek black sports car for me. “But your analysis was decent.”
“Rainbow?” I chuckled. “It doesn’t fit you.”
“Who said it was about me?”
His gaze locked onto mine, and I knew. He absentmindedly touched my hair.Mamma said I had rainbow hair.The sun after the rain.Ignoring the fluttering sensation in my stomach, I climbed into his car.Could I really trust him?
“Where are we going?” I diverted the conversation. “It’s only morning after all.”
Before I could protest, Levi fastened my seat belt and revved his engine.
“You’ll see.”
“My first official date is at a cemetery,” I mumbled, trying to wrap my head around the idea.
Levi wasn’t the type to date either, so clearly neither of us had any clue on how to do that properly. The cemetery sprawled across the island like a slumbering beast, with tombstones jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. The distant cries of seagulls and a scattering of mourners framed the somber scene. It was the day we celebrated the dead in France.
He crossed the entrance gates, bearing carvings of angels and saints.He couldn’t know about Mom’s and my tradition?Unlikely, but not impossible. I followed him inside, weaving through the rows of crypts and mausoleums. Moss clung to the headstones, and the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth. We reached a spot beneath a weeping willow, and Levi removedhis coat to settle down. I prepared to join him on the grass, but he casually placed his coat beside him.
“You could sit on my lap if you prefer,” he suggested, his gaze ensnared by this grim realm of death.
I took the spot next to him, somehow liking the fact he would sacrifice his expensive coat for the sake of mine. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you brought me here?”
“Because the world is ugly today,” he said. “They all lost someone. Are they only here because they have to be? How long will it take for their love to go away? Most of them will never come back. The world is chaotic today. Ugly. Pathetic. It’s…”
“It’s how you feel inside.”Hurt. Lonely. Sad.“And today, the world mirrors you and your pain, so you feel… understood and not so alone by coming here.” So Levi didn’t know we shared the same ritual on a different day. “I have a tradition with my mom. On her day of death, Grandma helps me sneak out, and I go to the cemetery to mourn her. I’ll play on her tombstone because music must continue on this day.”
“You can’t let the ugliness of the world win for once, right?” Levi’s scowl deepened. One moment, he was vulnerable. The next, he was distant again. “You wish you’d have said no to this date, now, don’t you?”
“As if I had a choice.” My chuckle died in my throat when my gaze fixed upon the Hungway’s family manor—Pantheon’s founders—nestled among the craggy cliffs. It towered above the trees like a looming, haunted dollhouse, standing just beyond the cemetery. Its windows were opaque, veiling any glimpse of what lay within. “It’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” Levi mused, tilting his head. “Most people would call it creepy.”
“That’s because they don’t see the love the youngest brother had for Corvina. They only see the tragedy,” I said beforeswallowing. Love wasn’t the best subject to talk about with Levi. “What did you usually do on your birthday? Before…”
I wasn’t sure if I should mention Lucie again with what had happened with the music scores last time.
“You won’t like my answer, and you’ll have to answer my question afterward.”
“It’s a deal,” I beamed.
“My mother didn’t like the whole attention-seeking of birthdays, even hers. She was absent, uncaring, noncommunicating. As for Patrice, he was drunk and stole the show.” His stern and sharp tone didn’t betray an ounce of pain.
“I’m sorry. Patrice sounds like a horrible stepfather.”
His cruel smile was on. “Is that pity? I thought I knew you better.”
“How was he?”
“Why?” A muscle worked in his jaw, and he deflected my question with his usual sarcasm. “Would the perspective of my tragic backstory make youloveme?”
“I think you hide who you truly are from most people.”
“So do you.” His lips curled. “I already had weekly therapist sessions to cure what was wrong with me and make me normal. He was unsuccessful, even if he believes the contrary.”
