TWENTY-NINE
"Blood!…Blood!… That's a good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!"
—Gaston Leroux
JENNIE
Sitting at my vanity, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the idiotic toy. My mother was like the Joker, playing mind games with people all while reminding us that she was always there, lurking. Somehow she had gotten this toy to me without appearing on any cameras and without alerting any of the men on guard. Lisa had already taken it apart and stuffed it back together, there were no cameras or wires in it. It was just a toy. I didn't get it. Even with how fucked up I was, every time I looked down at my stomach, I felt my throat close up as I tried to fight back the emotions building their way up. He wasn't even here yet and I knew I would die—that I would do anything—for him. How could my own mother be so hell-bent on destroying me? Even with her issues with Dong-suk, I'd come from her, I was part of her, and she still wanted to kill me.
"You look stunningly beautiful," Lisa said as she stepped up behind me, and met my gaze in the mirror.
I couldn't help but grin as I turned to face her. There she stood, not even a foot away from me, dressed in a full tuxedo, shiny black shoes and she'd even bothered to comb her hair.
"Where are we going?"
She had gotten me a brand new dress; long, blue, draped silk, chiffon, bustier with an internal bodice by Alexander McQueen. It fit my stomach perfectly, and I knew that she'd had Adriana's help with this, but it was beautiful and a little grand for a normal night.
"The right response is thank you, sweetheart and you look amazing as well." She pouted, trying to fix her bowtie.
Rising, I grabbed a hold of the tie myself. "With the exception of your hair, you look amazing. Now where the fuck are we going?"
"You have no idea how to do this either, do you?" She smirked, looking down at my failing attempt to tie her bowtie.
"Not even a little bit." I laughed, letting go. "But isn't that what good wives do? Fix their partner's ties?"
"Is it? I think the fact that you can't tie a bowtie is charming." She kissed my forehead before looking into the mirror.
Crossing my arms, I simply stared at her for a moment. "You're laying it on thick, wife. And you haven't told me where we're going yet."
She sighed. "We're going on a date."
"Lisa, I've told you—"
"You don't date. I know, but I date. And since marriage is about compromise, I'm going to ignore you."
"I'm sorry, asshole, but how is this a compromise?" I was not going to be steamrolled by her only hours after her mother's little stunt. Having a baby shower with women I didn't know and didn't like; I was still a bit ticked about it.
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out two tickets from her jacket and handed them to me.
"Bianca e Falliero." My eyes caressed each word slowly, like they couldn't believe what they were seeing, before I glanced up at her.
How did she know?
I loved this opera. It was the very first one I had ever seen with my father.
I wasn't sure what else to say, except, "You don't like opera."
"No." She leaned against my dresser. "That's why it's a compromise. Tonight, I just want you to enjoy yourself, not as a boss, but as yourself."
"They're one and the same, but thank you," I whispered. She really didn't understand how much this meant to me. I had to fight the urge to cry. What in the hell was wrong me?
"Shit. Ugh, these damn hormones!" I groaned, trying my best to stop my makeup from running.
Placing her hand on my waist, Lisa pulled me closer to her, and all I could smell was warm honey and cinnamon. She didn't say anything, she simply held onto me as I held onto her. This wasn't the first time in months I'd cried over the smallest things in front of her. Crying wasn't something I liked to do. It was foreign to me and I preferred it that way. She didn't tell me it was okay, and she didn't bring attention to it. She just held me until I was calm enough, and then she never brought it up again. I was grateful for it. It made me feel more in control of myself, in control of my surroundings. It made me feel safe. She made me feel safe when I had never realized I needed to.
"Lisa?" I whispered.
"Yeah?"
"We have to go or we'll be late."
Laughing, she let go of me, but before I pulled away from her, I ran my hands through her hair a few times. I wasn't expecting her to moan, and lean into my hands, but she did. It was like petting a lion.
"Don't ever comb your hair. I love it as it is," I whispered to her, pulling slightly and causing her to lick the corner of her lips as she stared at me; her eyes were glazing over with fire and lust. "I love you as is."
Her chest expanded quickly before relaxing. It was like she was releasing a deep breath she never knew she was holding. Cupping my cheek, she brushed her thumb over my lips, which most likely smeared my lipstick but I didn't care. I could see the amount of control she was exerting. I could also see her cock throbbing against her black slacks, fighting against her zipper, wanting nothing more than to be freed of its fabric prison and embedded deep within me. Her thumb graced my lips before going to my cheek.
"We should go," she repeated in a whisper. "We're going to be late." She pushed herself off of my dresser and stared at her fingers on my skin. She seemed memorized by the trail she was making from my face to the valley of my breasts.
"That only depends on how fast we are," I whispered back, grabbing hold of her hand and kissing her palm before turning around.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Jen." She moaned, lifting my hair with one hand and cupping my breast with the other. Kissing down my neck, she squeezed my breasts, palming them almost reverently.
"Hmmmm…" was the only sound I could form once her hand left my chest, moved to my thighs, and slowly lifted up my dress.
"God, I love you," she whispered, biting my ear.
Reaching behind me, I pulled at her pants. "Lisa, I need you right now."
"With pleasure." She gasped, pushing my hands away and quickly undoing her pants.
Bracing myself on the edge of my vanity, she wasted no time grabbing my hips, and rubbing herself against my ass before she buried herself within me with one swift thrust.
"Ahh!" I moaned, my mouth dropping open. The mirror in front of us added to my excitement, making me gush as I watched her dominate me. She also watched, with a wicked grin on her lips as she thrust deeper and deeper, one hand on my hip and the other in my hair. I could feel her throbbing inside me, filling me. It was fucking beautiful and I wanted more. Leaning down, she kissed my back, sucking hard on my skin.
"Fuck," she moaned, releasing my hair and hips, as she grabbed onto the dresser as well. She fucked me so hard that everything, even that damn bear, fell onto the ground.
"Lisa…" I moaned, "I'm Ahh…fuck"
"Come with me, love," she whispered. "Ride it with me." She picked up speed. I couldn't even see straight, let alone speak coherently.
"Fuck, Lisa!" Through squinted eyes, I watched as she came, her eyes rolled back into her head, her lips parted slightly to release a pleasurable sigh before her muscles relaxed.
"Great sex while pregnant, check." I gasped, totally fucked and happy.
"If this is just the pre-opera sex, I can't wait for the post." She grinned, as she slowly pulled out of me.
LISA
God, she knew how to make a me crazy. My plan was simple: get her to the opera house, accept my award for wife of the year, spend the night in each other's arms and try to ignore the shit that had gone down at her baby shower. But the moment she said 'I love you', I couldn't control myself. I wanted her, and by God I was going to have her any way I could. Our sex life had been placed on the back burner for the last few weeks, but in one moment, one thrust, it came back with a vengeance and I wondered why we'd slowed down to begin with.
It took her an hour to hide the fact that we had just fucked like wild dogs before we could finally leave for the opera. Those who were lucky enough to get tickets would have to wait until we got there. After all, I was funding this production. The entire car ride over, her hands were squarely tucked into mine, but she wouldn't meet my gaze and I knew it was because she was processing. She was always processing, sometimes overthinking. She was used to being emotionless, cold as ice and yet, her walls were breaking. I could see it. And if I could tell, so could she. She was trying to find a balance between who she had been forced to be, and who she really was. She was forced to be, by all attributes, a ruthless sadist.
But the woman who sat beside me, leaning against the rail like a young girl in a candy store and watching the opera singers below belt out their souls was my real wife. Under her ice, under the screwing, fighting, and bullets, was a woman who held so many different passions. She looked completely amazed by the singers on stage; she smiled effortlessly. Even in the darkness of the booth, I could tell she was completely carefree.
She watched them, and I watched her.
"Love."
"Shh," she hissed at me, not even bothering to look up. "Contarino is offering his daughter, Bianca, in marriage to Capellio, who is from a rival family in hopes to end years of feuding between their houses."
"It sounds like us."
That caught her attention. She glanced up at me, her delicate little brown eyebrow raised.
"Not exactly. Listen to her." She took my hand, leaning against the red chaise lounge in which we both sat up.
Breathing in deeply, I listened to the sorrow in her voice as she wept at her fate. It seemed as though she was begging the audience for help. However, my Italian was not fluent enough to understand a word she was saying.
"Why's she so sad?" I whispered.
"She's in love with Falliero, a military hero. Her song is called Della Rosa Il Bel Vermiglio," she replied.
I wasn't sure why she loved this so much. Part of me wondered if she had once loved someone else and was unhappy that she had to marry me.
"Lisa, my hand."
I hadn't realized I was squeezing. "Shit, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
"You think I like this because I can relate to it?" She shook her head. It was odd how she could read my mind.
"No," I lied.
Thank God we had a private booth.
Or else we would actually have to see all the dirty looks I know were directed at us.
"This was one the first plays my father took me to," she said. "I hated it up until he told me this was my, Scarlet's, and his story. He told me he was Falliero, the lengths he had to go through to stop my mother from marrying the wrong man. Ever since then, every time I went to see it, I imaged them on stage acting out their lives."
"Do you want to leave?"
She didn't answer; her brown eyes widened as she stared down at the singers on stage.
"Jen? Love, what is it?"
She shook her head and pointed to the red curtain on the side of the stage. She shifted forward in her seat to get a better look. I followed her gaze, watching the small Italian actress dance around the two men pursuing her, but no one was there. Looking over to Jen, she sat back, her eyes void and completely glazed over.
"Jen…"
"I thought I saw her—Scarlet—standing in the corner. She was in white and then she was gone. It happened so quickly."
Again I looked, and again I saw nothing. Luckily for us, the lights slowly brightened as we reached intermission and the curtain fell.
"You're leaving." I rose, pulling out my phone. She was here. I would find her, but I couldn't do that with Jennie so close to danger.
She rolled her pretty brown eyes at me. "Lisa, I'm not even sure I saw her."
"When have you ever doubted your senses? If you saw her, she's here. I trust you."
"Or it could be baby brain. I swear some of my senses have been totally…"
Her phone vibrated loudly in her in purse, cutting off the rest of her sentence. We both looked at each other before she pulled it out and of course the caller's ID was blocked. I reached for it but she simply pushed my hand away, answering herself.
"Mother dearest, was that you hiding behind the curtain?"
"You've made my job so much harder, Nini bear," Scarlet's fake sweetened voice travelled through the phone. "You are not going to be safe anywhere."
"You would know, seeing as you're the one apparently stalking my every move." Jen replied.
"Enough of these games Scarlet," I hissed into the phone. "Show me your face so I can bash it in." I wanted to do more than make her unidentifiable, but unfortunately, she was still my wife's mother.
"Correte lungo piccolo bastardino irlandese. Le donne stanno parlando." And with that, she was gone.
Run along, little mutt. The women are speaking.
The fact that I knew what she said proved my Italian knowledge was increasing, and so was my temper.
Jen's jaw tightened as the lights dimmed and the voices that carried through the opera house drifted off into gentle whispers and then disappeared altogether. Scanning the seats below the stage, I searched for her phantom of a mother who came with no other purpose than to make our lives hell.
"Damn her for ruining this too," Jen whispered, rising from her seat and grabbing her coat. I held open the mahogany door to find both Antonio and Chanyeol, dressed like they were part of the secret service, waiting on us.
"Ma'am, is everything alright?" they asked, already reaching into their coats.
"Get the car, we're leaving. Be on guard, Scarlet is somewhere nearby," Jen commanded before I could even get a word out. Even pregnant, she still demanded respect and radiated authority.
Drawing their weapons, we walked as quickly as Jen's belly would allow through the draped corridors and down the grand blood red carpeted staircase that overlooked the front entrance. Chanyeol walked two paces behind us, Antonio to the right of Jen and I right in front of her. The moment we exited the theatre, the wind blew past us as we stepped into the thunderously loud and frigidly cold Chicago night. Hanbin pulled up so fast the tires skidded on the pavement.
Before he could even open the door, one single shot tore through the wind beside me and a spray of warm blood splattered across my face.
In that moment, my heart stopped. I turned and caught a glimpse of her bright brown eyes, widened in absolute shock as she went down. Blood drops seemed to hang in the air, time slowed, and for what felt like hours. I couldn't hear a thing, couldn't even remember how to breathe. All around her was just so much blood, like red wine spilling over a white rug, staining it forever.
It's not hers. It's not hers! My brain screamed, forcing me to move again to see past the blood. Blinking for what felt like forever, Chanyeol and Hanbin both shielded Jen as she sat up on her knees, blood soaking her dress and her hands. The bullet had missed her. She had stumbled because of the weight of Antonio's body as it came down.
Hanbin yelled, glancing back as the sirens descended upon us. "The police are on the way, ma'am. We need to go."
"We aren't leaving him on the fucking street!" Jen hissed, staring into the hole that was now between Antonio's eyes.
"Jen, it's not—"
"I said NO! And that was a motherfucking order," she snapped. "We aren't running, we aren't leaving him, and we are going to make that bitch pay!"
I kneeled beside her, not caring that the rapidly cooling wetness underneath me was blood. It seemed to be flowing out of him like a never-ending river. Neither of us spoke. I was grateful it wasn't her. When I watched her fall, when I thought she'd been hit, it was the worst moment in my sorry excuse of a life.
"Are you okay?" I whispered, and she glared at me as if I had asked her the dumbest question ever to leave a man's lips. I looked at her stomach. Her stomach spattered with stains of blood. It wasn't hers, but she had still fallen.
"He's fine. Chanyeol caught me before I went down," was all she said before she tore her gaze from mine and back to the man I barely knew but owed everything to.
"The cops are here," Chanyeol said, holstering his weapon and finally facing us. In his eyes a storm was brewing harsher than anything even Mother Nature could produce.
"What do you want us to do?" he asked, finally looking at me.
I glanced over my shoulder as four cars with stunning red and blue lights pulled up. The occupants didn't even wait for their vehicles to come to a complete halt before jumping out. I knew these were just the tip of the iceberg, the first of many public servants who I could only imagine were chomping at the bit to get some sort of recognition or in with the Manobans. Whether to try to use it for personal gain or thinking this would be their shot at law enforcement glory, only God knew.
"Give the police a statement," I said. "Then go drink on my dime. We grieve for our loss, and then we find this bitch and burn her alive."
It was all I said before the yelling began as they came to save us.
"Ma'am, come with us! We're clearing the area! Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"
All I wanted was a date, not the fucking flood gates of hell to open.