"B-but I don't want ... I mean, I can't be here ... alone." I whined looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Can't I go with Alessandro, please? I begged.
"No ..." came my answer from near the entrance of the room.
"I will not stay here..." I said with heat as I turned to face Alessandro.
"You will stay Nicollete." He countered, closing the gap between the two of us. "You will behave yourself, and you will stay until I return." He admonished voice set with inarguable finality. "I thought you had gone already ..." I breathed, as I chocked back ire and resentment. Had he not taken me, I would not be in such a precarious situation as being held a comfortable prisoner in a house full of blood thirsty vampires. Had Alessandro let me be in my small apartment, had he allowed me to continue to live my increasingly bland life,
I ... I ... oh who was I kidding The second I woke to find myself in Alessandro Rossi's bed the quagmire of my situation alone yielded to my intellectual side, my curiosity enough to want to stay the course with this dangerous family. And beyond my curiosity I had to admit to myself that there was a small part, albeit resistant and precarious, that had come to at least care for Alessandro.
"I forgot something." He whispered sweeping me into his arms, and before I could complain or resist he kissed me deeply, and true. "Do not fight Nicolette..." He said pressing his forehead to mine. "You are safe here. I will return, and when I do, all will be well. Please have no fear ... this is your family ... you will never be alone." he admonished before stealing one last peck from my cheek, nodding his goodbye to his parents, and leaving the room.
Needing to hunt, Paola and Marco followed their son out and with everyone gone from the room, my fate for the near future decided unanimously, there was only one thing left for me to do, weep profusely. Confused and bereft of all I had once known, forced to try and accept what had just a couple of weeks ago been mere fiction as reality I crumpled to the floor in a shoulder shaking, runny nose, wet faced heap.
"I am such a mess!!" I complained to myself between sniffs. "I hate him, I hate them all..." I squeaked punctuating my falsity with a hiccup.
"Does that include me as well?" came a familiar alto voice from the front of the room. Genève ambled in bearing two clinking glasses in one hand and an awkwardly shaped bottle in the other. Her forlorn aquamarine eyes rimmed in red peered into mine. The red tint seemed to make her irises as blue-green as Grace Bay Beach. Until right then I had not considered that she was hurting too, after all it was her two time savior and lover locked in the basement cell.
"Fancy a drink?" She asked casually sitting down in front of me. When I did not respond she set a glass in front of my crossed legs and one in front of her own. It was then that I noticed the bottle was shaped just like a teddy bear wearing a bow tie. I watched as she unceremoniously cracked the seal on the bottle and filled her glass just about to the rim. Once done pouring she capped the bottle, set it to the side, and peered into her glass as if it were a crystal ball that was about to transmit some mystic revelation to her about her future.
"I'tzz pretty good ..." she slurred with an approving nod after taking a sip from the full tumbler. It was clear that Genève had been drinking quite a lot already.
"What is that I murmured" gesturing towards the bottle.
"Vodka ..." she replied taking another sip, this one much bigger than the last. When she did not elaborate I scooted my glass forward. She nodded again with a crooked smile as she filled my glass, again almost to the very brim.
"Thanks ..." I muttered almost so quietly that I did not even register my gratitude.
"Santé" she called raising her glass as I lifted my own to my lips. "Belver Bears..." She announced.
"I'm sorry, what?" I replied as the smooth liquor cascaded down my esophagus landing pleasantly warm in my stomach.
"The drink, it is called Belver Bears." She muttered before taking another mouthful. "I remember when Luca bought it as if it were yesterday, mostly because of its price tag, but that s-stupid man ..." On the thought of Luca Genève had to choke back tears before she could continue.
"He j-just had to have it ..." she sniffed. "Stupid, stupid man!" She said again. Only this time her tears would not be checked. Two diamonds streaked down her cheeks as she took a long sip of her drink. I watched her drink now in silence and wondered if it was the price tag of the vodka that made her conclude the man she loved was so stupid, or if it was the killing of his own sister. Determining that it was the latter, all I could do was nod my agreement.
"He will be alright ..." I said in a weak attempt at consolation. But inadvertently my statement passed my lips as a trepidatious question. I instantly regretted even mentioning Luca's impending well-being as I watched her hand begin to tremble as she raised the glass to her lips again.
"I do not know what Marco plans to do with Luca" She said, her voice tight. "He has to release him though?" I asked. "I mean Luca is his son, he wouldn't castigate his own child would he?"
"Nicolette, Luca killed his sister, Marco's only daughter, with his bare hands!" She half groaned through clenched teeth. "And as if that were not bad enough, by killing Donata he has ruined the opportunity for an alliance with the most powerful family in the entire world." Speaking with her hands, some of the contents of her glass sloshed over the rim and onto the pristine carpet.
"On her last breath, Luca's life was forfeit. Even if Marco forgives his son, Azazel will not."
The reality of the situation finally began to sink in. Blood is thicker than water, but things sort of begin to go sideways when fury filled murderous blood mixes with blood. Luca was in a perilous situation. He was in the proverbial rock and a hard place with no escape. But if somehow the events of the evening could repeat themselves I had no doubt Luca would take Donata's life every single time in defense of his Genève. In melancholy, we both sat in silent contemplation as we drained our glasses. "Genève ..." I began after a while.
"Please, call me Genie ..." she insisted.
"Alright, Genie, do you, and I am sorry if I am out of line, but do you ever, well, I mean, do you ever miss being human?" I asked feeling ignorant as my question, when spoken aloud sounded less logical than it had in my head, sophomoric even. But knowing that the end of my road would ultimately lead to the change, I had to know. To my surprise Genève did not flinch, nor did she laugh or mock my ignorance. Instead, Genève Renau told me a story. - "Since before I can remember I always knew that it had been a curse to have been born in such unforgiving times as the twelfth century." She began before topping her drink off. I noticed that after a few drinks in her, Genie's almost non-existent French accent became more and more evident. It surprised me how dumbfounded I was at the thought of her still having a French accent after nine centuries of life over the fact that she is over nine centuries old.
