Hi readers! I hope you like this next part - I've been full of inspiration (as you can perhaps tell from the regular updates) :) Emma is getting suspicious... and proactive about finding answers. More exciting things to come (including LOTS of chapters from Noah's perspective). Please review, I'd appreciate it a lot!
"Are you okay, Noah?" I sat down next to him after we'd said goodnight to Luca, and put a hand on his knee.
Noah leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't very social tonight, was I?"
I shrugged. "It's okay, I'm just a little worried."
"It's something at work." He frowned. "There's something that I'm supposed to do, and… I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do."
He looked so conflicted that I decided to let go of that strange initial interaction with Luca for now. I wanted to know what that had been about, but it could wait. Right now, I wanted to be there for Noah. "Why not?"
He stared at the opposite wall with the Veronese painting for a moment before answering. "The alternative is to keep going the way it is now. And I knew when I started it that it would get me in trouble, and other people with me, and I know that I should stop it now, but I can't help feeling like…"
He looked at me sideways, apparently considering how much he could say. He'd never told me this much about work before, or about his struggles with it.
"I can't help feeling like it was put in my path for some reason," he said softly.
We hardly talked about religion or spirituality, but I knew that Noah had some belief in a higher power. He'd sometimes mention fate, and I had once caught him gazing pensively at the big cathedral in the old part of the city center.
"What's the absolute worst that can happen if you don't do what you're supposed to?" I asked. I had a much more analytical way of approaching problems.
He chuckled joylessly. "Emma, you forget. My job literally deals with life-or-death situations."
"Right." I looked down. "Then is there a way of, you know, weighing the pros and cons? Finding out the odds of each scenario?"
"Not really." He bit his lip, staring at the wall again. "I guess I'll just have to trust my gut."
I rubbed my thumb over his leg. "I'm sure you'll make the right decision."
"You're sweet." He smiled at me, then cleared his throat and swung his arms forward to get up. "Right, let's head to bed. It's getting late."
The next morning I awoke in Noah's modern walnut four-poster bed. He was facing me, still asleep and with a tiny bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth. I chuckled softly.
I loved waking up next to Noah. Not only did I get to see him first thing in the morning, the feeling of safety and comfort he gave me meant that I could relax. Alone, I had nightmares so often and I frequently woke up in the middle of the night, but since the very first night we'd spent together I hadn't had a single bad dream whenever I was with him. I woke up every day feeling more rested than I'd had in a long time.
Careful not to wake Noah, I got out from under the covers to relieve my bladder. I crossed the room to a door that I figured led to the bathroom, but when I opened it, saw that it was a walk-in closet. I'd almost closed the door and turned back when I saw something lying on the ground.
It was a hunter green shirt, clearly military and made of thick cotton, with rips and holes in several places. Surrounding the cuts were brownish stains that I assumed were dried blood - and it smelled like that, too, I confirmed as I held the shirt up to my nose - but mixed in with the blood was something golden. I picked the shirt up and went into the bedroom.
"Noah?"
"Hmm?" he groaned, rolling around to face me though his eyes were still half closed.
"What is this?" I held out the shirt.
"What?" He blinked his eyes open. "Oh, that. That's from Wednesday. Just toss it in the bin."
Apparently it was totally normal for him to have a ripped-up, blood- and gold-stained shirt lying around and he'd just forgotten to throw it away. I frowned, but did as he asked and then tried the other door in the bedroom, which did lead to the bathroom.
When I came back, Noah was yawning and stretching his arms high above his head. I marveled at his chest for a moment - that never got old - but then I realized something.
His skin was perfectly smooth. If that shirt had gotten so torn and dirty only three days ago, and if it was Noah's, he should have wounds.
"Morning, sunshine," Noah smiled as he leaned back against the headboard.
If he could act like everything was normal, then so could I. I knew, I just knew that that shirt and his woundless, scarless body had something to do with the things he couldn't tell me. Now that questions had been raised (what was the gold? How was he fine?), I wanted to figure out the answers. But I wasn't just going to ask him point blank - he would avoid it anyway. I had to approach this carefully. Either that, or I wouldn't be able to deal with all the secrets much longer… and I didn't want to let him go. I was already head over heels in love with him.
"Morning. Did you sleep well?" I asked innocently and slid my legs back under the cover next to him.
"I did, eventually. I lay awake for a while thinking about that dilemma." He stifled another yawn. "Come here. I want to ask you something."
I scooted over and nestled myself against his warm chest, his arms around me. "What do you want to ask?"
He kissed the top of my head, that soft, long, caring kiss that I loved so much. "Well, I was thinking, we've been seeing each other for quite a while now… and I'm pretty serious about you."
I twisted to look up at his face. "Good to hear, it would suck if you hadn't been serious all this time," I said playfully. Although I did my best to act cool and collected, I felt my heart go aflutter. Was this the talk?
He laughed. "True. But Emma, what I want to ask you is…" He tightened his strong arms around me ever so slightly. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
Oh yes, this was the talk. Pretty sure he could hear my heart beating like crazy, I smiled and turned my body towards him. "I'd love that, Noah."
"Good, then that's settled," he grinned and took my face between his hands to kiss me.
My stomach rumbled when he pulled away. "Let's get brunch?" I suggested, still smiling widely.
"Sure. Or I can make you pancakes?"
"Ooooh. That sounds good."
"Okay." He got out of bed and picked up a pair of sweatpants off the ground. The sight of him - my boyfriend! - naked was almost too much to bear. "You hop in the shower, and I'll see you downstairs."
It was another three weeks before I had the chance to do some further investigation into the enigma that was Noah Chevalier. We had seen each other in the meantime, but we either were at my place, or I was just distracted. One night we went dancing at the same club where we'd met and I didn't even think about all the questions I had until we were tucked in bed, exhausted but happy.
That was the night before today. Now, Noah got out of the shower and kissed me on the cheek before pulling on jeans and a t-shirt.
"I'll quickly run to the store. Be right back," he said and left.
I glanced at the clock. It was 11:30 - we'd slept in - and I figured I would have about twenty minutes before Noah came back. Time to get a move on.
My first stop was the closet, but this time it was perfectly tidy, and behind the doors were only rows and piles of clothing, none of it ripped or dirty. I stepped into the hallway, looked around, and went into a room that I'd never been in but that I knew was the study.
Bingo. As minimalistic as the rest of the house was, so full was this room. Another weapon, this one an ancient-looking bronze spear, hung on a wall. On one side of the room was a bookcase full of heavy, leather-bound tomes; next to it, a filing cabinet stacked to the brim with carton boxes, drawers and manila folders. I traced the books with my index finger - many of them looked really old and I wouldn't be surprised if some were actually first prints of titles I'd read in my literature class - and was about to open the boxes, when an ornate frame caught my eye.
It was on the floor in the corner, stowed carelessly behind another low storage unit. I bent down and pulled it out. It was a painting, similar in style to the one in the living room and with a label at the bottom saying 'Signore Celeste Adriano Carrara de Santis, Conte di Fauglia, e Signora Elisabetta Morandi di Montecatini'.
Carrara. I knew that name. That was a famous and powerful dynasty in Renaissance-era Florence, nearly as important as the ruling Medici family. The end of the Medici reign had been the end of the Carraras' power, too, but I knew that there were still living descendants. Was Noah one of them? That would explain why he had this painting - especially considering it was made, as I now deduced from the signature in the bottom right corner, by a famous artist.
It was a fancy portrait of what looked like a family: a man, a woman, two boys and a girl. The woman, Elisabetta, was beautiful. She looked pretty young, twenty-five at most, and her dark hair was braided intricately, framing her heart-shaped face almost like a crown. Her red dress, patterned with fleurs-de-lis, hugged her waist and flowed down to the ground in heavy folds.
But the man… the man was who really caught my attention. He was much taller than Elisabetta and though he was fully dressed in black, which was hard to distinguish from the dark background, I could see that he was incredibly muscular. One gloved hand was on his waist, the other, bare, resting on the handle of a thin sword in a sheath hanging from his hip.
His face looked exactly like Noah's.
Astonished, I took a step backwards. From this distance, I wasn't actually so sure - his hair was longer, and a beard and mustache obscured his lips, jaw and chin, so as far as I could tell they really only shared the same nose and eyes. Could those be passed down through the generations from as far back as the sixteenth century?
I looked up at the clock. Shit. Noah would probably return soon. I hastily pushed the painting back in its place and looked around. One of the desk drawers was open half an inch.
If Noah was so hell-bent on keeping his secrets, why was he so careless about locking his drawers? I opened the drawer. Inside were passports, and not just a few - I counted at least twelve. They were of various colors and materials, some just yellowed pieces of paper. I could see an Italian one, British, French, Russian, American… But then again, this made sense, more sense than the painting, if he was a secret agent. He probably had to use tons of different identities. Still, I wanted to know - and I especially wanted to see those old paper passports. I wondered what country used that type in this day and age.
My hand reached for the first passport as I heard the front door open and then close. Quietly I closed the drawer and left the study. I'd have to come back and continue the search later.