Chapter Eleven
You sure you don't need a ride out of the city? If anyone can get through the crazy out there is my mom…where did you say your foster mother was?
Baltimore. I'm taking the MARC train so it should be fine.
Okay…well if you change your mind just call, k? She said she'd be here in two hours so… Just be sure you leave k? I know you're not into Christmas anymore, but I don't think it'd be good for you to be alone either.
I won't be alone. Thanks Meg.
It was Christmas Eve and as much as Christine wanted to forget just what she would likely be reliving the following day, it was impossible. All the internet cared about were Christmas ads so she decided to go outside and try to run. Her lack of shape showed as she got to the end of the block and was already out of breath. A brisk walk would have to do. She went past house after house with trees in the windows or lights over the doors and fences. She huffed in frustration. Nowhere was safe.
The wind was picking up and the snow wasn't scheduled to stop until the next day. Despite her past misfortunes, the thought of happy kids over a white Christmas made her smile. Part of her mind went back over a decade of when she was so excited that she ran outside to see the snow fall after a Christmas Eve concert with her father. They danced and spun in circles under the giant fluffy snow flakes somewhere in Ohio. Columbus? Maybe it was Columbus. She remembered his big wide hands and how they completely covered her own so easily, light brown hair reaching all the way to his fingers and how gross she thought man hands were even if they produced such a safe feeling. She missed his hands.
The cloud of air that came from her mouth was enough to wake her up. There she was standing on the corner of C and Tenth Southeast looking like a dazed idiot. Picking up her feet she pressed on, this time running again. It didn't take long for her to slip on some tightly packed ice and land flat on her backside.
"Dammit!" she said through her teeth.
"Are you alright?" A middle-aged man Middle Eastern man in front of a natural brick-colored house and a fair sized yard asked, putting his snow shovel aside to attempt to help her up.
She waved him off politely, "Sorry, yeah I'm fine."
"You picked some day to run. The snow froze over last night, you know."
Trying to stabilize herself again, she stood up and put a hand to her tail bone where the pain was collecting.
"You sure you're alright?" He asked again.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. No problem."
She took another look towards him as he now stood just above the first set of steps to his house. Her eyes tightened as she recognized him from too many pictures she had been looking at recently.
"You work for Representative Underwood!" The words came out faster than she could stop them. She quickly recovered, "I mean, I've seen you in pictures. Sorry, I don't want to sound so rude. I work as head-secretary for Raoul Peters."
He straightened considerably and appeared more professional even in his casual brown wool jacket and thick black scarf. "Apologies, I didn't recognize you. You're relatively new to the position, correct?"
"Hardly a few months."
"He runs through people quickly, if you don't mind my saying."
"I know." She let herself smile a little as she didn't take his words in a cruel way. He did not seem to have negative intentions, "We've been having a lot of intern issues, otherwise I probably wouldn't have been able to move up in the ranks as quickly as I have."
"Ah, interns. Say no more. We had our run-ins when Erik was just starting out. It took him three weeks to decide it was worth the expense to hire more experienced employees. He preferred his sanity. I did too."
They both laughed half-heartedly.
"Well," Christine picked up, "I think I'm going to give up on this and go back home. It was nice meeting you Mister…" she caught her memory before he could remind her, "Nadir."
"Likewise, Ms Gallagher. Have a pleasant day."
There was a moment, just a fraction really, where the two of them looked at each other with the same understanding. Her thought was hardly completed when his face revealed that he already knew exactly how she knew his employer. The soft embarrassment in her eyes hardened as she squared her mouth, nodded to cover the lump in her throat, and walked away. Of all places to fall on a patch of ice!
XI
Of course, it had not taken long for Nadir to catch onto Erik's new interest. It was a rarity when he was ever able to catch his employer playing music above ground as he didn't want to cause attention to the house. While Nadir had his own key to the front door, he knew he was not welcome to Erik's basement, he simply knew that it was there and all of the private work was done there. It was at the rarest highest stakes of times that Nadir was taken down there and every time he was, Erik was sure to keep the lights off so that no visual understandings could be kept. There was a reason why Erik did not keep around-the-clock security team: he did not need to be protected when he could protect himself. Privacy was his ultimate protection.
Interests such as music were an exclusive matter and Nadir was sure that he was one of the few in the universe to hear Underwood play. Doug had to admit that his talents were beyond exceptional and was offset when the violin playing unceremoniously shrieked to a halt when he opened the door the afternoon before.
"Do not stop on my account, Erik." He smiled strangely in an attempt to feel out the mood of the man before him, "I enjoy the strings, you know."
"I will not waste your time," Erik said somewhat remorsefully and placed the violin delicately in the open case atop his desk.
Nadir laughed at that, "Today was supposed to be a day off and you had me walk to your house despite my dislike of the cold. My time has already been wasted considering all I wanted to do was read today."
"Good thing I did." Erik said as he leaned against the desk, "My house is warmer than yours. You need to renovate your insulation."
"Your house would only be warmer if you ever lit a fire. I don't know how all your pipes haven't burst or how your paint hasn't started to peel."
He shrugged dismissively, "Quality the first time requires little upkeep. If you're cold, you may light a fire. I'm fine as I am."
Nadir sighed and bent to flip the switch to the gas fire. It was not lost to him that the flames had been high enough recently to scorch part of the inner area. Erik kept a clean home and he concluded that this meant the fireplace had been used very recently, most likely within the last twenty-four hours, but not so soon that the house kept any sort of warmth.
"If you're between thoughts," Doug started slowly, "I'm happy to leave you be."
"No need." Erik snapped, "Let's work on where we're leading the secretary next."
Nadir noticed Erik trying a little too hard to focus. His eyes stayed down to papers and his laptop, but his finger would tap clear rhythms every so often. At times, and besides that Erik was still present in work and able to multi-task, Nadir could tell something was playing so deeply in his mind that it would not be leaving in any sort of short period. Instead of calling him out on this, he chose to watch and speculate just what Erik might have been up to. Hours later Underwood was the same way, but suddenly he looked up as if he just had noticed it has become dark.
"Well, I believe that will be enough for one day."
Nadir was surprised. It had only been three hours, but he chose to say nothing on that matter. "Anything you will need by tomorrow?"
Erik looked to the window, very, very, deep in thought. He spoke coldly, "We will need someone to replace Raoul Peter's head-secretary. Someone who can make that much of an inappropriate spectacle of themselves should not be on his team. He already has a bad reputation with who he hires and just what he hires them for. She should be replaced to improve what little respectable imagine he has left. Otherwise, come the next election, we won't have our pawn anymore."
Nadir was still very aware of the younger Christine Gallagher and tried to not let his suspicion falter when he counter-acted Erik's words, "I was in the understanding of the opposite. Granted, what happened at the ceremony was pitiful, but I have only heard positive things on her being his head-secretary. Other congressmen are looking to try and steal her from him at the first chance he makes a mistake-"
"She's sleeping with him and I want her out! Understand now? Replace her immediately."
Erik's sudden burst of stern anger caught Doug off guard. A simple act of business should not have stirred him in such a way. He spoke his next words cautiously, "She would not have been the first secretary to have sexual relations with their employer. I was not in the understanding that either of them was with anyone else so it would not appear scandalous. To have him fire her without reason would not be on legal grounds which could hurt his image further. That is unless," Doug took a breath, "This has something to do with your secret meetings with her."
"She will be the one to leave," Erik said quietly, avoiding Nadir's eyes.
"And why is that?"
"She has no reason to stay."
"Then she has a lead elsewhere?" he pressed.
"Yes."
He watched his employer stand still without a single flinch. This proved to the thought in Erik's mind. He was no longer distracted. This was the real reason he had been called over that afternoon as he didn't want this conversation to be had over the phone.
"Is Ms Gallagher a part of our plans for Peters?"
"No," Erik turned to him, "Unrelated really, though it would look far better for Peters to be surrounded by hard workers he doesn't want to bend over in the middle of the workday. Find him someone with better credentials. They will be needing to start when congress opens up for the new year. I'm certain this will not be difficult for you."
Nadir chose not to push the subject farther. Instead, he nodded and exited with full intentions on looking further into just who Christine Gallagher was. It was more than clear that Erik was planning something with her in mind, but what interest could that be? While her talents were noticed by other freshman congressmen, it was unlikely Erik would seek after her for their office. Granted, her performance, or public display of panic, did turn out to be far better than anyone could have expected, Nadir saw that nothing was left to be improved upon. She had all of the pitches, all of the notes and words, but it was as if a part of the soul of her voice were missing.
Erik was not interested in lost causes or pitiful puppies. This had to be something more.
On what Christians celebrated as Christmas Eve, Nadir decided to brave the cold to scrap his steps clean of snow, it only so happened that he saw the young woman pass by. He noticed how far away her gaze was and how she clearly had no idea he had stopped shovelling to observe her long before she fell. When they first spoke he kept to being casual as he was comfortable without the formalities, but when she noticed who he was the game was over.
There was nothing particularly striking about their short passing conversation. She did not appear as strikingly intelligent or anyone who had secrets or power to share. If anything, Christine Gallagher appeared as a very normal young professional and a relatively poor one at that. As far as he was concerned, there could be no reason why Erik Underwood would be interested in her at all and that was the exact point of why he had to determine exactly what was happening between them.
XI
Dinner had been an excruciating play of power. Every time the Peters' family sat at the same table, Raoul was reminded that he was, in fact, the youngest of the youngest. In other families, he was sure that at least one of his older sisters would have had a kid by now. Not that he was fond of the idea of them being mothers, but at least then he wouldn't be treated like a child anymore. He looked up to the two women sitting across from him. Both of them deathly thin, their cheeks cutting out of their faces harshly. His eldest sister, Lucy, seemed to have taken up cocaine again. The makeup caked under her eyes couldn't hide the discolor.
Raoul's mother sat at one end of the table, a glossy look over her eyes as she sipped from her choice drink of the evening. Gin. Always something or another with gin. He couldn't remember the last time both of her hands were empty without their being a glass of her choice pink or orange cocktail within arms reach. Despite it being the end of the day, the time where she would usually be on the angry side of intoxication, she smiled stupidly as she looked at her family.
On the opposite side of Raoul's mother, was his father. With deep wrinkles and dark holes under his eyes, he looked far too tired to be breathing anymore. He and Raoul did not share many similarities in physical features, not that it ever seemed to matter. It was clear that the marriage had been about money. Raoul's mother never worked a day in her life and was willing to do what was necessary to have her drinks and dresses paid for. All of the children took after their mother which made it near impossible to distinguish that Phillip was from a different father than the rest of them.
Beside Raoul was the all-enveloping cold demeanor of Phillip as he sat straight-backed and pale as always. They shared no glances without a requirement.
"Kids," Mrs Peters slurred, "It's always good to see all of you together. We have such a pretty family, don't we?"
"It'd be nicer if Lucy hadn't divorced Kal over a bagel," Bridget teased.
"That bastard was trying to kill me with all that goddamn gluten," Lucy clipped back, her teeth not completely opening between words.
"Didn't we already talk about this over Thanksgiving?" Raoul asked warily.
"Yes," Phillip said softly, but everyone heard and looked at him, "We're done with this subject."
"Phillip, dear, won't you…" Mrs Peters started, but couldn't find the words quickly as her head drooped to the side a little, "You…prayer, please?"
It was clear some time ago that the real patriarch in family gatherings was no longer Mr Peters and so Phillip nodded.
"What is it that we believe in again, Mom?" Bridget asked, a finely plucked bleach blonde eyebrow shooting up, "It's not like anyone around here does religion."
"Everyone here was baptized Catholic," Mrs Peters chanted.
"Will you shut up already, Bridge?" Lucy said back, "Why did you decide to stop smoking yesterday?"
"Girls," Phillip said with a full voice, "I'm hungry. Feel free to discuss this after dinner and far away from me. Now," he bowed his head and everyone followed soberly, "Let us thank the creator for that which we are given and for our time together. Amen."
"Amen."
For a few moments, the only sounds heard were that of gold plated silverware lightly hitting fragile China plates. Classical music could be heard from the sitting room down the hall. Mrs Peters was the one to ruin the peace.
"So Raoul," she started, "How are things on the Hill? Is everyone so excited that Phillip is going to be Vice President?"
If only I could forget. Oh and now I work for Erik Underwood and he doesn't pay me to do it, Raoul thought bitterly, but rather than bring up that huge embarrassment, he muttered, "Not much to report."
"I suppose that means everything is going well? Phillip, would you say he is doing well?"
Raoul scowled. She never believed him and always had to get her progress report from his stepbrother.
"He does what his position requires," Phillip answered quietly, but Raoul could hear the disdain and disappointment in his undertones.
"Well, he is young to be in such a high office, isn't he?" She took a sip of her drink, "Now Phillip, I know Raoul won't tell me this, but I wonder if you know. Is Raoul seeing anyone?"
Raoul gulped and immediately wished he hadn't. Lucy stopped chewing in recognition and Bridget looked up.
"Uh-oh," Bridget grinned, her perfectly sculpted teeth shined against her dark purple lipstick, "Raoulie's hiding something."
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Lucy chatted back.
God how he hated when them teamed up on him like that!
"Tell us, Phillip," Lucy said back, "You know everything."
"If only he were a gossip." Bridget chimed in.
"Unfortunately for you," Phillip commented, "I'm not. If Raoul has something to share concerning his personal life, he may."
Everyone looked at the youngest Peters. Raoul feared to tell his family that he had fallen in love with his chief of staff. She was of the working class and would never be considered his equal in their eyes. To old money like them, there would always be a strict line between white and blue collars. Still, he couldn't escape the fact that with her, he was happy. It wasn't like what beer made him feel, or being surrounded by women, or even the few and far between praises he received from his stepbrother. Christine had this way of looking at someone and seeing something there that made him want to smile without being forced. No one else had that effect on him. How he wanted to protect it, to keep it for himself, but there were so many hurdles to obtain that kind of simplicity.
This was his family life and it was all he knew. The thought of bringing Christine into it was hopeful and dreadful at the same time. The only association she had with family was beauty followed by death. Raoul wasn't really sure what that would mean for him. He thought they could be happy. They were sure to have beautiful children, for sure, and despite his upbringing, Raoul did want to be a good father. He wanted to be around for children so that they would love him and wanted a mother who didn't always have a drink in her hand.
Christine would be right for him even if she didn't appear right to his family. He would be good for her too. There was a fear tucked away behind her stares as she worked. Sometimes stressful situations would come up and just when he was sure she would burst into tears, her face hardened, she barely breathed, and he could see something click into place as she trudged forward into fixing whatever problem lay at hand. They only spoke over her past between the time of her father passing and her employment when she brought it up and he knew from the way that she talked that the nice little girl swimming in the pool had broken to give him the woman she was. Raoul did not know everything that she had gone through, but she knew that she worked hard to tuck money away. Christine wished for stability and Raoul wanted to be the one to give it to her…if only he knew how.
Raoul only had to bring up the concept of being with Christine to his family. He couldn't afford to lose their financial inheritance on Christine and was willing to struggle through as many repulsive family "bonding times" as it took to prove that he was making the right decisions with his life, that he wasn't a waste of space or time, that he was, in fact, just as much a Peters male heir as his brother. Christine made him a better man and he needed to protect that, he needed to protect her.
"Well?" His mother asked.
"I'm seeing my aid." Raoul blurted out then added, "Secretly."
"Fascinating," Lucy said rudely.
"Scandalous," Bridget followed.
Their mother coughed, "I don't want to know any more about these stupid habitual girls, Raoul. You're getting too old for that. You need to settle down."
Raoul gripped his fork, "She's not another one of those girls, Mom."
"Raoulie, you can't be serious." Lucy interjected, "You know she's after our money. You have to know that."
Before he could stop it, his fist hit the table making the China clink, "Goddammit she is not!" He looked across at everyone's shocked faces.
Mr Peters slowly looked up and grumbled, "No need to get angry, son."
Raoul sighed, "Look, she's not after my money. She a good person and for once Mom, I'm actually considering a life with her. God, you could never be happy with that idea, could you? She isn't after our money. I know how little she is paid for all she does because my office never has enough money to pay her what she's owed, but she always takes her own bill. That's the kind of person she is-"
She waved her hand, "We can't have you supporting some servant for sex, honey. Not publicly. We're an old family, that's not how things are done."
"Did you hear anything I just said?"
"And they'll be nothing to gain when you divorce," Bridget added practically.
"Maybe I don't want to be divorced." Raoul spit back.
"A girl from little means who has to work a job like that will likely try to divorce you," Lucy nodded, "Especially if she's that tight on what she sees as hers. I think you should be even more on your guard with a working woman like that."
"I'll be smarter on my prenuptial than you were, then."
"Fuck off," Lucy gritted.
"Stop that!" Mrs Peters cried from a tired cracked voice. She took a huge swig from her drink before continuing. None of them made any moves to stop her. Trying to stop that long swig was a failed fight from too long ago. "Dammit can't we have one meal without all these obscenities?"
"From example? Nope," Bridget answered under her breath before taking a sip from her own glass.
"Raoul," Mrs Peters started, "Just find someone else. That won't be hard for you. You've always been so handsome. Find a nice girl from a good family with means and connection."
"You don't even know her." Raoul said as his fist shook, "None of you knows her."
"Christine Gallagher," Phillip started with his usual even tone, "Age twenty-five, orphan daughter of a dead violinist, with only a cheap degree in business to hold to her name. Prior to her employment with you, she was likely homeless with no other occupations on her record. However, only having worked just under a year at your office, she has risen to the highest position. Her only singular public appearance resulted in a panic attack at the Capitol Crusade. Her face is nicer than plain, but she appears unskilled with makeup and expensive tailoring during business days. I take it you were the one to supply her with the dress for the Crusade?"
Raoul sat unable to grasp the true emotion he felt. Was it anger? Fear? No, it was sadness. He had not known that Christine was ever homeless. Doubt began to swell in his head. Everything that Phillip had said struck him. How could Phillip know everything like that? Why did he have to know everything? Like some bomb always ready to explode, but no one but him ever knew when. Phillip always held the codes of detonation close to his chest and waited until the opportune moment to strike. Raoul's throat was dry and he made no move to take a drink of wine. Everyone stared at him and he felt both his hands curl to fists as he fought the urge to cross to the other side of the table and knock Phillip's nose out of place.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Raoul?" His mother inquired as if he were in trouble.
"If he won't say it, I will: She's after your money," Lucy stated.
"So," Bridget started slowly, "I guess she's good in bed?"
"Fuck you! " Raoul stood and pointed at his eldest sister, "That's enough! None of you knows her and she, unlike any of you, is a good person. A really good and nice and an honest person. No one in this family knows anything about that!"
"Being nice won't get you anywhere in this world." Mrs Peters bit back, "Ask Phillip. Why don't you seek his advice more, Raoul? He clearly knows better than you do."
"I'll never be perfect like Phillip will I?" Raoul roared, "Why don't you ever get on his ass about never marrying?"
That was it. That was the topic they all knew better than to discuss and for reasons that Raoul never knew why, but could only suspect. The air sucked out of the room. A tear slid down Mrs Peters face. Lucy's eyes narrowed. An evil smile crossed Bridget's dark purple lips. Mr Peters sighed. And finally, Phillip stood and faced Raoul.
"Grow up Raoul. It was the best thing to have happened for Underwood to give you the position of House Whip's dog. Maybe he can do with you what you never wanted from me. Put down your drink, stop getting caught with whores, and find a wife. Do it, or get out of this house and its inheritance."
Raoul's face was white. Phillip knew everything as per usual. Or course. Of course, he did. He and Underwood never spoke in public, but there was sure to be private conversations in quiet. There always were. And Raoul would never be apart of them. Despite his feelings, Raoul laughed and pointed back and forth between his sisters.
"You're really saying that to me when they've both been divorced twice?"
The girls were quiet in anticipation for what Phillip would say. Even they knew better than to pick an empty fight with him.
"They're not in the public position you're in, Raoul," Phillip responded in his usual demeanor.
Raoul yelled louder, "I never wanted to be in this position! You were the one who forced me into politics!"
Phillip crossed his arms, "You showed no other worth anywhere else. It wouldn't be appropriate for our image if you were to be a playboy forever"
"It's all fucking money to you, isn't it?"
"At least I know what matters and how to keep it."
Phillip's lack of emotion fueled him further, "Fuck this family and fuck you!"
Phillip sighed, "Leave, Raoul, before you say something you'll really regret. Dinner's over."
"Good!"
XI
"I met your Chief of Staff today," Christine announced as she took off her scarf and coat. Dr Underwood had a fire blazing before she arrived and she couldn't be more thankful for it. The wind outside had been brutal
"Did you?" She noted that one of his visible eyebrows was raised, "And were you sure to tell him of our rendezvous?"
Christine gave him an annoyed look in response, "No, of course not. You said this would be a secret and even aids don't always have to know everything."
"And what don't you know about Representative Peters?"
They began to walk into the study, Underwood a few steps ahead of her.
"I'm sure we could compare notes, Dr Underwood."
"What a boring idea for another otherwise eventful evening." He said dryly, "Are you ready to begin? Chit-chat involving Representative Peters is not in my interest tonight."
"Right," she sighed.
For another long gruelling night, they worked on her breath control. The only change that had been made was that she was now expected to keep the same pitch. He took to walking around her now like he was some kind of vulture and she already felt like she was dead anyway, so it sort of made sense in a twisted way. He made remarks on her stance, having her move her feet wider to match her shoulders, then back closer when she moved too much due to the anxiety caused by her environment.
Most of the time she was nervous with the way he looked at her. It was piercing, consuming, and she obeyed what he asked of her every time without thought. His reaction to this was to not insult her or be cruel to her and she was more or less grateful when she only had to worry about listening and responding in a single mindless note. She avoided his eyes. There was something so deep and dark within them that she didn't want to encounter. She took to staring at the fire instead. That was the perfect distraction, really. No thoughts had to come, only breathing and occasional sound. It was getting easier not to think about all of the pain she was worried would come from this sort of exposure. By the time he was speaking to her again, it seemed all too soon from when their time had started.
"Your breath support should return as it's evident that it used to be there." He was walking back towards his desk, the fire had started to die down and he did nothing to save it, "You've matured since that time so there will still be something to become accustomed to in that respect." He poured himself a glass of red wine as he had only nights before in the same spotless manner, "You are to practice your breathing for ten minutes each hour. Set yourself an alarm so that you don't have to think about it and be sure that you've eaten and had plenty of water before doing so. Passing out would be pointless to achieving results." He turned his attention back to her so suddenly that she nearly jumped, "Is that understood?"
Part of her head went to a sassy comment of, Am I supposed to wake up each hour too? But she decided against it.
"Yes, I can do that."
"Good," he let the word slide lazily off his tongue as if the word had become wine on its own.
Christine lingered there awkwardly and waiting for any further instructions as the fire nearly extinguished itself. The sound of wind pressing itself on the dark windows made her turn around. Snow was everywhere, blowing every which way all over the streets and yards. She was not looking forward to trekking out into it even if she was less than a mile away.
"You walk most of the time, don't you Ms Gallagher?"
Christine turned back around, "Yes,"
"Are you close enough to not to require public transit?"
"Yes."
"Good," He took a sip of wine and seemed to let it stay on his tongue before losing it to his throat, "This city may have some of the cleaner looking options in public transportation in comparison to other cities, but the people on them can be just as revolting. I would rather you take private transportation as much as possible. Do you like driving? I might be able to set you up with a dealership."
Christine put her hands up, "No no I'm fine, really. I like driving fine, but I'd rather not around here. Bus drivers are fearless, but I'm not good at aggressively getting around. I prefer public transit, really."
"Perhaps," he kept his eyes on her, "We shall see how long that lasts, Ms Gallagher."
"What do you mean?"
"Shouldn't you be going now? Before the storm becomes unbearable."
She didn't know what to say and stood there feeling like an idiot as the fire completely blew out from a gust of wind that found its way down the chimney. The only light that was left was the yellow lights that shined off of the snow outside. Christine shivered at the thought of facing the blizzard. A noticeable sigh was heard behind her.
"I take it you have not spent your day shopping for warmer clothes."
"I'll be fine," she shrugged.
"Keep in mind that you are now my investment, Ms Gallagher. If you, as an instrument do not take care of yourself, I will have to take further action for you. Is this what you would like?"
"No," she countered sourly.
"Good, because I am too busy to be teaching and babysitting. And yet," He added quietly.
She watched him leave the room and head to a thin door that was near the door. The sounds of wooden coat hangers hitting one another and being forced from one side to another was heard. Christine crept to the door frame just in time to see him pull a long black scarf from the closet.
"You will wear this until you find a proper replacement, understand?"
He shoved the wool into her hands and immediately she felt warmer. The wool had been woven so tightly together and died so dark that if it had been any darker, she would have wondered if she were holding a strange light lamb. She looked up to him, not wanting to make a scene of how much she was looking forward to wearing it and it helped that he just as quickly turned away.
"Replace your coat and put the scarf on." He said curtly, "I won't be dressing you more than literally handing you that scarf."
Christine quickly obeyed him in that respect, putting her blue pea coat on first, followed by the scarf on top of it just before buttoning it up. Even as the fire had died and the sound of the wind was enough to evoke a chill, she found her neck and face cozy in the wool. The feeling of his eyes upon her, watching from the afar dark corner made her quickly finish buttoning up her coat over the scarf, finally finishing up by pulling her gloves over her hands.
"You will inform me once you have returned to your home."
She turned to look at him, confused.
"I won't have you out in this weather any longer than necessary, Ms Gallagher. Now out!"
The gusting wind seemed to pick up midnight mass services from far away, for she heard bells ringing to chime in the coming holiday. Once around the corner she slowed her pace and looked into the snow as if it would carry visual signs of the day as well. It was late, far later than she thought it was. Pulling out her phone, she checked her messages. Raoul had texted a few times and it looked like it was an SOS of sorts. Was he worried that she hadn't responded in almost four hours? Probably not. Raoul only bothered himself with so much and his family was too much, she was sure of that. He had called at ten-o-five but left no message. She decided to text him when she returned home.
Christmas, despite everything, still made her want to smile, but nothing came. But what was there to smile about? It was all about family and miracles and Christine had neither. There was simply no point anymore.
Once safely inside her basement apartment, Christine shed her wet outerwear and decided to keep the scarf on until she warmed up inside. The scarf made her hair fill with static so she tied it up in a big messy bun. She responded to Raoul.
Hey hon, wow sounds like a tough dinner. You still up? Want to talk?
She remembered to respond to Underwood and rolled her eyes.
Made it home. No problem.
A response came very quickly from Underwood. That was half-way expected even if she would have preferred it if Raoul would ever answer back that fast.
Drink hot tea before you go to bed. Herbal.
Hot tea did sound good. That was manageable. She hoped Raoul would text her back soon.
XI
Raoul stood on the raised porch that overlooked the ocean waters of Miami. Like so many other upper elite in the around the world, his family owned a summer house on a series of fortified sandbars and tiny islands just inside the beach barrier. The Peters' North Bay Village home sat right on the water and Raoul remembered how he as a kid would watch the yachts and party boats pass by, their radios blared making the sound bounce off the water, buildings, and maybe even the sky.
That night, Christmas music could be heard playing lazily over the water. Both of his neighbors were out of town so if it weren't for two yachts passing casually by, Raoul would have felt very alone with the ocean. He had texted Christine to hear how she was doing and what she was up to, but she had not responded. She was always so good at responding to him within a few hours, but over the past few days, she wouldn't answer him back for hours at a time in the early to late evening. He wasn't concerned, but he didn't like it either.
Leaving the porch, he took his bottle of whiskey out to the water's edge. Slipping off his shoes, he let himself feel the grass turn to the sand below his toes and a smile crept across his face. He remembered how effortless times used to be. He had a few friends on the island, none of them really talked anymore. Most of them lived on the West Coast and were married now. He remembered how his sisters would sneak him drinks, spiked with coconut rums and fruity liquors. They would party out on the beach and he would tell his nannies that they had come home when they hardly ever did as payment for their illegal liquors.
Sometimes his parents would be there, sometimes they would not, but there was always Phillip around to see through his lies and constantly disapproving with his signature glares and finely tuned words. At dinner, he had felt just as small as he used to before he could drive. Back then he constantly felt walled in and closed off in that beach house. Now, it was the only place he could ever consider a place he stayed long enough to be called "home."
All throughout dinner he had been ridiculed for every little thing that his father could remember being told by Phillip, all the while, his alcoholic mother sat there sipping her own fruity drinks. His sisters were just as bored and even as they sat at the table, their minds were so far away with whatever new guys and whorish girlfriends that they were currently keeping up with to via text. Both of them had already been married and divorced twice and they didn't seem to do anything, but live off of the money they scored while on a search for the next guy they were going to win money off of in whatever divorce that was sure to happen in time. His eldest sister appeared to be doing coke again too as her eyes were covered up with cakes of makeup to hide the hallow darkened eye holes. They wouldn't be staying there that night either, they only ever slept in their beds when Phillip and the parents weren't around and usually someone would be sleeping with them.
Without having realized his actions, he was now sitting on the beach, his feet feeling the cold water of the ocean, his lower body encased by smooth sand and moved in and out with the shallow waves. Lifting the bottle to his mouth, he realized just how much of it he had consumed. From an almost filled bottle, over half of it was gone and he was hardly feeling anything beyond hazy. He shrugged at how his tolerance had grown over the years since first sipping alcohol at the age of twelve.
Underwood didn't want him to drink anymore. Did that include holidays? He decided to follow that direction once he left his family for Washington. What did it hurt now? His head became heavy and he slumped back to the sand. It had always been hard to see stars from there, but there were usually a few he could spot here and there. As his vision blurred, he thought of Christine waiting for him to marry her. He didn't intend to ask her any time soon, there were a lot of things that needed to be covered up professionally first, but in time, he knew that she would be the one.
Her face was the last thing he saw in his mind's eye before passing out. The feeling of water splashing lightly against his knees was completely lost to him as sleep finally came.
If you're reading this for a second time I hope you got a little more information from what Raoul's home life was like. I added a lot to that scene. And wow did it break my heart :(
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