Chapter 119 - 121
I stagger out of the reception hall of the memorial service. I know death, and I’m acquainted with all its stages including denial and yet disbelief that wilts the edges of my sanity. So abrupt, so out of nowhere, but that is the being of death—a speed from nothing. What was most alarming was that their own father, Colton, was absent for the entire duration. Dad left early to visit his estate. Apparently, he’s not letting anyone inside—not even his own relatives. But he did grant Governor Du Pont access.
I think that despite the enmity that exists between them. His pity permits him to set it all aside if not for concern, then understanding. It’s one thing to be at war and the casualties are your own blood.
A hand claims the heart of my back. A gesture of cold comfort from Silas as I step away to let his hand fall numbly. Frustration tightens his features as he draws closer, glancing meaningfully at the masses gathered to mourn the crowned scions of the Vacheron empire.
"Look around," he whispers harshly. "Two brothers are dead and that could’ve easily been us—still could be. Life is too fragile for grudges. We need each other. And you know that."
I hold his stare. The fracturing behind his eyes, remorse bleeding through his tightly wound fervour. Luciano emerges a few steps behind him, mirroring the same silent distress.
"Let me know when dad turns up."
An arctic farewell as I continue down the concrete steps. I’ve been staying at Kelsey’s house even though she’s still away at her mom’s place. Due to come home this very weekend. My father has made it clear that it’s a short-lived solution and has only allowed my relocation to spare me time alone.
I owe you that much, he said.
Once I’m in the backseat of the car. My driver pulls out smoothly and I let my thoughts tumble into madness. Snowballing with every second and I’m powerless to the accumulation. It’s all too much. Vance and Landen’s death was an execution, plain and simple—what isn’t is cause and effect. There was a time that the absence of Vance in my life eroded my contentment like an inexpugnable stain on my favourite shirt. For them, I don’t grieve as others do. My anguish is not pain but penance. I don’t feel guilty. I feel responsible and the feeling of yet more sundered souls, a phalanx of my phantoms bound to my own. It is the core reason why I forsook my greatest love.
Unlike all the customized Bentleys, Rolls Royces that I have been traveling in with soundproof and opaque dividers. This luxury vehicle, like any other, has an opening between the front and the rear cabin. I only realize I’m crying when I spot the wet splotches on my lap. Instincts puppet my movement as I pull out my phone, calling a number and waiting as it rings with my temple resting against the window. The coldness of the glass seeps into my sweltering forehead, and that touch of coolness is enough for me to savour it, closing my eyes.