The dull throb in my calves is slowly becoming more than a mild irritation. I think about stopping, putting my bag down, and just rubbing out all soreness from the miles today. Maybe someone will try to snatch my purse and Leo would have to chase after him. It would serve the fucker right. Six months of playing muscle and not one word out of him. No nod, shrug or even giving me the finger behind my back. I get that he doesn't have a choice to act as my bodyguard or whatever, but it's not like I'm making him do it. How many times had I gone out alone, telling my fiancée that just because he was rich didn't mean someone was going to kidnap me? But, oh, poor Leo still had to tail me from afar. At first he was pretty good about it, blending in with the crowd and disappearing just as I would turn around, but as time went on he got more lax with his stealth surveillance. In a way, it's the only kindness he's ever shown me. Having at least a modicum of respect for my intelligence, he simply started trailing behind me at a steady distance, never losing sight of me for more than a few seconds. I yelled at him the first few times, but when I realized what was going on I simply acknowledged the fact he was going to be there regardless so he might as well walk alongside me.
We continue walking along the crowded street, cars blaring their horns and a multitude of voices conversing about whatever inane bullshit the nouveau riche think is important at 10am on a Tuesday. The shops are mostly empty; with a smattering of spoiled bitches sipping coffee, mimosas, or just straight champagne while critiquing the latest fashion trends. God knows I'm no better though, maybe worse because I know it's all pretty veneer for the emptiness. Yes, my darling Nicolas Greene may have saved me from the woes of Middle-America by sweeping me off my feet and into his self-made fortunes, but it didn't hide the void. He simply made it disappear from view whenever we were together. The man came out of an overdone harlequin romance novel: strong, dark and brooding, yet passionate and tender. The way he made love was a work of art, and to use a clichéd metaphor like how he played my body like a finely tuned instrument would be to cheapen the very essence of the act itself. And he could be savage as well, fucking me like an animal at a moment's notice and always leaving me satisfied.
But as soon as he left, it was back. Eating away at me more and more each time we parted. I tried at first to confide my new penthouse friends but soon saw it was useless.
"Oh Katrina, you're just being overdramatic."
"Poor you, having such a rich boyfriend who's generous and great in bed."
"OMG Katrina, what are you talking about?! He's perfect!"
Okay, they didn't really say OMG but the point is still valid. The only one who seemed to understand was Leo. I had to believe it otherwise I'd go insane. He never showed the slightest inclination one way or the other, but I knew he was on my side. Nicolas's friend from early childhood, Leo was one of the few people Nic trusted now that he was wealthy. Even though Leo only twenty-nine, he looked like he was approaching middle age. The man smoked like a chimney and had partied hard on Nic's way to the top. He'd stopped all but the smoking in recent years, but the damage had been done and he looked worn. That's not to say the man didn't have his charms and appealing flavor. A hair over six-foot, Leo is well-muscled and handsome in a European way. His nose is bit crooked from several breaks over the years and the few scars on his face testifies that he'd seen a fair share of action in his time. The tats are what draw me in the most though. He has several throughout his body from what I'd seen, depicting everything from a 1700s naval battle to a bird soaring down into hell. The one that fascinates me most is the ouroboros on the back of his right shoulder. It's much simpler than his other markings, and older than most too. I've never asked him about it, but I've often caught myself staring at the spot through his shirt when he walks in front of me.
It was this tattoo that made me think that he knew the truth. The deep flaws that we all possess, that the world possesses. The pain of perfection and mediocrity, the loneliness of being caught in the middle and trying to please either master while disappointing both. The vicious circle that most of us live in but few realize. If I knew, he must. He'd lived this life too long not to.
We reach a boutique that I frequent and I stroll in, motioning for Leo to wait inside at the door. I chat with Celeste, owner of this particular overpriced pit, and felt the gnawing hatred rising up as we make polite chit-chat for a grueling ten minutes. I'm one of four women in the store so I make my escape as one of my fellow princesses has a desperate need to know if the new Alexander McQueen collection is in yet. I browse the displays and bring a ridiculous gown back into the changing room. I think about tearing to shreds and have the tattered remains hang from my limbs. 'A new fashion statement,' I'd say 'despair on display.' Then Nicolas would come, save me, and make me forget again about all those silly notions. Who needs freedom when you have everything?
I pop out and grab another gown, this time waving Leo over to help me out. One of the helpful aspects of having a personal escort is that they can help you in and out of some of these extravagant disasters. As Leo finishes zipping me up, I look at myself in the mirror. It hangs beautifully, fits in all the right places and compliments my skin, hair and eyes.
