If she had had to classify him, Soleil would have described him as a narcissistic asshole with psychopathic elements and too much gold up his ass. And she probably would have laughed at that. But being in a car with Archihilles and knowing she would play his wife soured the thought.
That didn't change his demeanour, though.
Arrogance drew expressions and phrases while he tried to teach her something of education and art for which she could hardly muster feeling and understanding. Neither could she get excited about the historical aspects of the city, nor was she interested in any picture that had been drawn on the walls of the nearby church.
Looking out of the window, she watched the houses go by and how some people, caught in their daily routine, wandered wearily through the alleys. The sun still blazed in the sky, though more steadily and kindly than before.
"Are you even listening to me, woman?" Archihilles snapped her out of her observations, at least as annoyed as she felt.
"No." It didn't matter at all if he liked her or not. He needed her. That made the situation a little easier. "What is it?"
"I see a klutz is still a klutz. What are you interested in? Gossip, chit-chat?" His dismissive look made Soleil smile.
"Good old gossip is the fountain of youth, if I'm not mistaken." She shrugged. "Why don't you tell me something everyone wants to know? Or at least explain to me why you're traipsing around as a waiter."
With a sigh, he rolled his eyes before leaning back. "A man of status has to be careful. Not as if you'd understand. But I'll be happy to explain, dear." In a fluid motion, he crossed his legs. "Being rich and having it all brings you enemies. And it is precisely those enemies that I circumvent by making the most precise preparations in my life. Everyone who works for me has been put through their paces. I also change my face every few hours to confuse potential traitors. The servants out of the house don't know the servants in the house and it's the same the other way round. There are rules everyone abides by." An art pause followed. "That's the way no one gets my secrets."
Soleil followed only part of his execution while she stuck to the simple thought he looked different every few hours. Chrollo had mentioned it, too. But an operation on the face took weeks to heal – not just a few hours. Still, he explained all this with so much matter-of-factness that she met him with curiosity.
"How? How do you do that to your face?"
"You mean because of the healing process?" Instantly, a grin settled on his lips. "That, my dear, is magic." Pride made his chest swell. "I have mastered the gift of changing my face at will, even if it takes a few precautions. It's a magical trick I learned as a young boy and it has stayed with me even now. Fate has more than obviously chosen me for something great."
"And you just trust me with all that?" Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Soleil pursed her mouth. "Isn't that like your well-kept secret? I could sell it."
"With all due respect," the laugh on his features promised scorn. A small part she wanted to slap him in the face without being held accountable for it. "I put some of my men on it to find out who you are, Soleil. The party was long enough to get what I wanted. Of course, I only paid for the really interesting stuff. After all, I need to know who looks so much like my former wife and how scared I should be. The result is that you're an uneducated, second-rate stripper. Probably even a whore to make a little extra money. You didn't get anywhere in life, but you don't seem stupid to me. And it would be quite stupid to turn down a life of luxury, wouldn't it?"
Snorting, she lowered her eyelids. Presumably he had only poked his nose into the trifles that sounded like scandal. And in her life, there was only the strip club. She had turned up there three years ago and started dancing. Anything before that wasn't something that could be found out by simply snooping around.
"I would be willing to give up a lot to no longer have to take on certain circumstances." In the end, she remained adamant. Agreeing with him would bring more ridicule, so she might as well give him the cold shoulder.
"Of course, dear." The grin on his features wouldn't fade. "Whatever makes you sleep at night. But the fact is, without me, you'd remain a nobody and continue to walk around in those cheap rags."
Teeth clenched, Soleil gave him a dismissive look before jutting her chin and motioning him to continue. Chrollo's job had to be a success.
"What I require of you is style, my dear. You must be charming if I am to give an interview – because you do them for me. A friendly smile, good choice of words, decent clothes. You are my public face." Instructively, he raised his index finger. "If you do what I tell you, you will be richly rewarded. Simple as that."
Sigh – that was all that was left for Soleil. To refuse Archihilles' proposal would ruin the plan, and there was still work to be done. Gaining this snob's trust was probably the easiest thing in all of this.
"Agreed," she finally brought to her lips and waited a moment, during which Archihilles nodded knowingly.
"As to be expected, you aren't stupid. But you realise you will be my wife? In any sense, whenever I ask."
Renewed agreement on her part that couldn't be shaken off.
"After tonight, I will have to change my face all over again, and since I am a very generous man, I will let you decide. What kind of man do you find attractive?" He leaned forward a little. "Who do you want me to be?"
Instantly, Chrollo popped into her head. He was a good-looking man whom one liked to look at for longer than four seconds. But to have Archihilles take on the look of a man who would be somewhere nearby at the same time sounded like one of those bad jokes from the evening programme. So she thought about the question for a moment longer before coming up with a halfway passable decision. "Pariston Hill doesn't look bad."
"As you wish. However, I will have some business to attend to for the next two days. So I'll save your suggestion for suitable hours." Briefly, he waved it off. "The servants will show you where everything is and what you can do while I am away. You may make yourself at home – but keep your hands off my paintings. I don't like anyone laying a hand on something they more than obviously have no clue about."
Probably any idiot had more of a clue about art than Archihilles, but questioning him had no value. Instead, she ignored his choice of words and let her gaze slide back out the window. The city had disappeared. Only the forecourt of a far too large estate existed out there, and Soleil absorbed the graceful image of the castle with every fibre of her body. The beautiful facade was convincing with ancient stone that brought with it an old-fashioned line that fascinated her. The steps were marble and the small trees placed at the entrance bore oranges. There was something idyllic about it, where one could lose oneself before facing exhausting days and endless work.
The car stopped hardly later and for the first time they opened the door for her as if she were a proper lady. Slowly, she slid from her seat and found her footing on the straight stone floor leading to the entrance. Archihilles remained in the car.
"My servants are at your disposal. Try to become a lady while I am gone." His smug grin made Soleil wrinkle her nose. Then the door was closed, leaving no opportunity to ask further questions.
"This way, please." With a sweeping gesture, the man who had opened the door for her gestured for her to go inside. For a moment, Soleil took the freedom to survey the building one last time. This was how the rich lived – she knew that – and yet it felt foreign in those seconds. In this place, she would find a home for a short while. It was a pleasant change, considering that the tiny flat she lived in had just enough space to accommodate a small sofa, a wardrobe, a table and a few electrical appliances. A small stove, for example; but no refrigerator.
The breath found its way deep into her lungs as the excitement sank in and she moved. The entrance grew larger with each step and as the marble steps clicked under her heels, Soleil seemed to grow. Inwardly, because all this was hers for a fraction of a lifetime.
The entrance led her into a spacious hallway whose floor had been covered with thick black carpet. Golden mouldings set off from down there, letting her eyes wander to the hideous paintings, to which she paid no further attention. Soleil much preferred to eye the four chandeliers that bathed the vaulted ceiling in a brilliant glow, and also lingered on the dark wood of the winding staircases that led up to the second floor on either side.
"Come this way, please." Again, the servant addressed her, his brown hair cut far too short, sticking to his head. This time he pointed up the stairs and again she followed.
Every single step echoed her footsteps in double volume. White plaster with red accents accompanied her in form of walls. The servant had lined up in front of her to lead her directly into the next corridor when she reached the top. Soleil memorised the way, counting off four doors before the fifth on the left was opened for her.
"This is your shared sleeping chamber. Please rest now. One of the outside servants will bring you new clothes. Dinner will await you in four hours. You will be picked up then."
Although the room before her appeared large enough for two hundred people and the bright colours, as well as the expensive-looking canopy bed, seemed inviting, the servant's explanation was nothing more than the simple summary of: 'This is your cell and you only set foot out when starvation knocks at the door'.
Still, she nodded with a smile and entered. Immediately, the door was closed behind her and the certainty of being completely alone made Soleil breathe a sigh of relief. A window opposite her invited in the sun and the dreamy brightness made her tired. The messed up rhythm at the club had turned her into an owl. Daytime wasn't her time, and the bed invited her to sleep. She could barely remember the last time she had chased dreams on fucking clouds.
Her feet automatically slipped out of her shoes as she approached the soft sheets. She ran a hand over the linen, enjoying the sensation, and barely a blink later dropped belly-down into bed. The smell of fresh laundry drifted into her nostrils and Soleil took it in for longer than necessary before turning over and holding all her limbs stretched out.
When there was a knock at the door, she brought herself back to an upright position before someone entered. Hiding the face with a smooth, expressionless silver mask, a woman entered who had to be a little shorter than Soleil. Her wild pink hair tied in a braid, she held a pile of clothes in her hands. Without a word, she placed them on a nearby dresser so Soleil could look at the black dress and white apron on her body for a moment before the stranger turned in her direction.
"You know what you have to do?"
Basically, Soleil hadn't the faintest idea what this woman meant, but she nodded.
"Good," the servant continued. "Remember things well, you can't write them down. That would be too dangerous." Her attitude was unwavering. "You must find out how to get into the vault. Once you know how the process works, you will obtain the resources you need to enter unseen. Should you succeed, you will steal what he keeps inside and bring it to us, understood?"
Another nod, but this time with the proper background knowledge. This woman belonged to Chrollo. She wasn't alone – everything he had said was true. So there was at least some assurance, which remained even as the woman turned on her heel and left Soleil behind. Her job had begun. The tightness inside grew. A hint of uncertainty settled, and yet only the obvious goal remained in front of her.
Once more, she dropped onto the sheets to take a breath and close her eyes. She had to seduce Archihilles, exploit his stupidity and use his arrogance in her favour. That was part of what the upper class was all about. She remembered it. Vaguely, but consistently. It wasn't a hard task. Certainly not.
She just needed some sleep.
A brief break.
And this snob would eat out of her hand.