White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Vera's hand felt warm against my shoulder. "You should never have had to witness that, Jesabel, and I'm sorry that you did," she spoke so quietly I could barely hear her.

All I could do was nod. Nathan's knee bounced erratically next to mine, practically vibrating with anxious energy.

Alfred had left twenty minutes ago. We were now sitting around the plush sofas in Nate's living room, with multiple cups of coffee growing colder by the coffee table. Vera had kindly offered a plate of biscuits as a form of breakfast. I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened.

Alfred was a scary, scary man.

And all I wanted was to go home. Yet the thought of leaving Nathan alone made me shudder, and kept me rooted to the couch. I knew the appearance of his father was eating him inside.

I would wait for his inevitable reaction – the blowback which loomed ahead in the distance.

"It's okay," I whispered. My voice cracked as I spoke. "I understand. That must've been such a shock for you, as well."

"You're right," she responded, sounding older than she should have. Right now, she looked very, very tired. Vera had always been very beautiful, with her caramel waves and bright eyes, but in that moment I could tell that being beautiful and perfect was of little interest to her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry herself to sleep.

I placed my hand on top of hers. The television was switched on, without nobody even pretending to follow along with the news.

"It's a horrible position to be put in. For all of you." I paused. This was a very delicate subject, after all.

Vera looked away and gazed blankly at the giant screen in front of her. Her face became unreadable. "Yes, it certainly is. But when Alfred stops for a visit, there's always some reasoning behind it. I couldn't tell you what the reason might be in this case."

Alfred's formidable profile resurfaced in my mind once more – and those menacing words, both clear and frightening, were difficult to shake. "I've found what I came here to find."

I closed my eyes, willing those words away. "And I suppose... the whole divorce process has made things infinitely harder."

She sighed. "Of course it has. Sometimes I still wonder whether I should go through with it at all."

"Really? Why is that?" Who would want to stay married to a megalomaniac?

She turned to me, and the pain and bleakness in her expression almost broke me to tears. "Because if it were not for Alfred, I would never have left France."

That was when I lost her. A far-away look came into her eyes, and her mouth was pulled into a sad smile. She was in an entirely different world now.

I knew that look. It was the same look my mother used to get whenever she'd retreat back into her mind. When the force of the past would push her back into herself, becoming a prisoner to her own thoughts. I felt a small pang in my chest at the thought of her. I hadn't talked to my mother in days – I almost missed her.

"I didn't come from a very privileged family. In fact, we were very poor. My father was a painter, and his income alone was the only thing that kept me and my sisters from starving. He didn't earn a lot.

"He was offered a job to paint a portrait for a local governor," she continued, "and it would take place after a large banquet which heralded the town's most prestigious guests. My father had very high dreams and expectations for me, and he took me along with him in hopes that I would catch the eye of a fellow American. Turns out his hopes had been put in the right place."