𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 (𝐁𝐖𝐖𝐌) .

10ღ

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤; 𝟏.𝟓 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

A fog of sorrow carried in the De la Rue household. There was nothing but silence except for the nightly screams from Leo and the daily sobs from Francesca. The funeral of Antoine De la Rue had been short. No eulogy, no church service. Just a burial. A small circle of relatives were there, including me. Though I was laying low in fear of Matteo, I attended to show some respect.

In the days succeeding the burial, Giulio stayed with his son, comforting him through his trauma and Chiara stayed with her mother. Francesca had to be monitored throughout the day to ensure nothing drastic was done. Chiara was still fuming at her eldest brother, who was nowhere to be found. He was off the radar for weeks, avoiding any contact with everyone he knew, at least until this morning when he showed up at my apartment doorstep.

"Monet," he said an unemotional look plastered on his face. "I need you for a meeting." I could tell from his body language that he was different. His demeanor wasn't like him. It was cold and unwelcoming, scarily like Antoine. The Cristian I know would've greeted me with some cheesy pickup line and a kiss to the hand. Some niceties would've been cool. "You've got some real nerve," I spat at him. He was unfazed. "Appearing right after your father's funeral, WHICH," I emphasized, "You didn't go to." 

He sighed and rolled his eyes, inviting himself into my house. "Hey!" I whimper, "I'm only in my robe and bonnet, show some decency, asshole." He walks over to my fruit bowl and picks up an apple. "It's nothing I haven't seen before." He smirks.

Lately, I've been thinking about what I said at the piano bar- about us just being just what the contract states we are. I've come to the conclusion that I just can't. I don't know why, I just cannot. The shit has me mindfucked like it's Inception.

I walk off to my room, sticking my third finger out at him.

Once I shower, change and whatnot, we exit into his car. I take a slow, long sip of the coffee I made. "We actually aren't going to a meeting," I slowly turn my head at him and flash the smile of a psycho. My sentences were said in short breaths, "Then. What. The. Fuck. Are. We. Doing. At. 6. O'clock. In. the. Morning?" He sighs and fixes his eyes on the road, "I think we should talk." 

Really, nigga?

"We can talk when," I start in a calm fashion. "A MOTHERFUCKING PSYCHO ISN'T CHASING US." He looks to his rearview mirror, "Who's chasing- oh. Nevermind." He crosses his arms at the stop light. "You really got to be more specific than that, Monet." Defeated, I stayed quiet, I don't have the nerve to feed an argument with this man.

The silence in the car fades when we pull up to a flamboyantly large estate. Greek and Italian statues basked in the rising sun in front of the mansion. An identically textured fountain laid in the middle.  

'Make his pockets hurt.....' Was relaxing in the back of my mind. 

"You haven't been here before," he says before getting out of the car and opening the door for me. "Welcome to Chez Cristian."He extends an arm to me while I give him a skeptical look. "Bipolar-ass nigga," I muttered to myself and exited the car.

Once we were inside, a lady greeted me, she looked no older than 50. She had black hair with a streak of gray and sandy brown skin. "Hello! May I take your jacket?" I looked at Cristian but he was busy typing away at his phone. "I-uh...sure?" She nodded and removed it from me. I shivered a little bit. "Your house is cold." He finally looks up, confused as hell. 

"Did you say anything?" 

I deeply inhaled. "Nah," he shrugged it off and started walking away. His eyes lingered at the piano sitting in the grand foyer of the house. "My Dad hated it when I played piano," he said. All of the servants rushed out of the room once the mention of Antoine arose. "Why?"