Proserpina
I didn't see him after we had breakfast. When we had met him on our way back upstairs, he glanced indifferently at the twins who were cleaned, fed and rarin' to go, obviously excited by their new surroundings. They had turned their heads in unison, gazing expectantly when they saw him; after all, apart from me, he was the only other familiar face in this mausoleum of a residence. Although he had been remote and cold throughout the flight, the twins had come to regard him as a familiar face in a strange environment.
But his grim expression as he raked my figure, sliding slowly over my skimpy, short-clad thighs and bare legs, left me quaking. There was no mistaking the look of anger, and I hurried away before he could react.
Having no other clothes with me, I had been forced to fish out the old shorts I had worn before I delivered my children. The T-shirt was also faded and tight, I reflected glumly.
***
The nursery was large, but the handful of toys soon had my children bored and fretful. The twins were used to playing outdoors and I saw no reason to be cooped up inside a room, enormous though it was.
The two women who were supposed to take care of the twins were not too enthusiastic about leaving the house and going outside with the children. They exchanged scared glances.
At last, one of them stammered in broken English, pleadingly,
"Master no like. We stay inside home. With babies."
That did it. The man who could barely acknowledge the presence of his children or me, would not have his stupid restrictions applying to me, I thought crossly.
Putting on a brave face, I scooped the twins up and went outside to the garden. The feeling of hurt persisted and I bowed my head as we sat in the bright sun while my children toddled around, giggling happily as they explored the vast garden with its immaculate landscaping.
We took care to stay away from the main building of the house and hung around the patio outside my room.
All the while, the same desperate thoughts raced around in my head:
Was this why he had brought me here? To treat me like his sex slave all night long and ignore my existence during the day?
***
I didn't see him all day long but, in the afternoon, as I was crossing the open study with the twins in tow, I heard him speaking to his secretary, in a commanding tone:
"Steve, arrange for the DNA tests on those brats tomorrow morning, first thing."
I stumbled, the bile rising in my mouth as I understood that for Lucien, there was no such thing as trust.
Beatrice, who happened to be walking behind me, snorted in disdain as she held Piers in her arms and murmured,
"The man don't have eyes in his head. Can't he see the boy 'n gal are spitting images of him?"
My cheeks coloured but I went on walking with my head high.
It was dawning on me that the strange looks I had received from the staff this morning had been those of pity.
***
The Mafia Don sat behind the desk facing the lawns of his sprawling mansion, going through the final details of the deal he had finalized earlier in the day. The gun-running business was lucrative although dangerous and he had just concluded a particularly difficult operation with a South American. Some of his business associates were in the room with him, including his close friend, Schwartz.
James Schwartz had been with him when they had started off, nearly seventeen years ago and had stayed staunchly with him during many a difficult time. Now he stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out, hands in his pockets, watching intently as he gazed at the area outside the tinted windows. Beside him stood the loud Tom Sykes-Bates Jr., a Stetson-wearing florid man in his sixties, who was also present when illegal gun-running deals were brokered. His overly affable way of talking grated on Lucien's nerves but Tom was an important ally to have in his corner. He was close to the Governor and was reputed to be a kingmaker.
Schwartz was younger than him by around seven years, a lean, handsome man who dressed with care. He was a widower who had chosen not to get married again after his family had been killed six years ago when a car bomb intended for him went off. Lucien guessed that Schwartz blamed himself for their deaths, although he never spoke about it.
***
Now Bates was talking loudly, laughing in his jarring way but Lucien sat at the desk, going through the papers one last time. He never trusted anyone to do his paperwork.
"Who's the girl?" asked Bates suddenly, without taking his eyes off the window. Lucien raised his head, frowning. A couple of the other men in the room had drifted over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to join Bates and he heard them murmuring lecherously, their appreciative looks on something outside, on the lawns. They were openly ogling.
Raising his head from his perusal of the documents, Lucien followed their gaze, his face darkening as he saw Proserpina with the children, laughing and playing on the grass beside an inflated pool, oblivious to the greedy stares of the men in the room. The maids stood by, smiling indulgently as Proserpina knelt, with her daughter clasped in her arms. The sight of the lovely young woman sitting back on her heels in the sun, her skimpy shorts riding up, revealing her plump thighs, and the wet T-shirt, straining across her body, clinging to her ample bosom, her head thrown back and laughing, oblivious to the men who were staring at her, devouring her with their eyes, was leaving every man in the room drooling and with a hard-on. And Lucien felt his rock harden as he watched her.
She looked like a pin-up girl with her long, deep brown hair flowing down her back, her body thrust forward in unconscious abandon, and the faded T leaving nothing to the imagination as it clung wetly to her luscious, firm breasts. Even from where he was standing, Lucien could make out the outline of her pert , prominent nipples jutting out.
She looked young and desirable, the object of any man's sex-fueled fantasies, he thought suddenly, and felt rage coursing through him instantly.
***
Rising abruptly, Lucien limped across the room furiously and hollered for Beatrice. His startled security men raced forward in alarm as he issued terse orders and went back inside. Breathing heavily, his anger on par with his reluctant, consuming desire for the girl, he stood watching, his face a glacial mask. From the window, he watched the smile fade from Proserpina's face as the housekeeper trotted over and conveyed his message. Proserpina's startled face turned to the darkened windows of his room, and she hastily bent to gather her children, totally unaware that she was giving the men in the room a glimpse of her delicious cleavage. As the small procession disappeared into the house, Bated turned to Lucien, leering as he said,
'That girl... she yours?'
Seeing the thunderous look on Lucien's face he raised his hands in surrender and laughed as he said,
"it's okay, chill buddy!" and turning away, he said in a soft voice only audible to Lucien,
"You tire of her, send her to me. She's bloody f*cking hot."
Lucien wanted to wipe the stupid smile off the other man's face, but when a warning hand fell on his shoulder, he turned to see Schwarz beside him.
"Don't "said his friend's eyes. "Stay cool."
***
The stillness in the room as the others listened in interest and the curious looks coming his way annoyed him and he slapped the papers down with some irritation.
With a hard look on his face, he grabbed his tumbler of whiskey, and thrusting a fist in his trouser pocket, he declared icily,
"Shall we celebrate our deal with drinks, gentlemen?"
The abrupt return to the reason they were gathered in his office that day changed the mood in the room, forcing the men to join him. No one had the courage to question him further, he was, after all, the major stakeholder along with Schwartz. He also had a reputation for ruthlessness, and the stories of how he had killed men with his bare hands were not untrue.
But he felt his old friend's eyes watching him keenly.
Later, after a couple of drinks, Schwartz brought up the subject again. Standing beside Lucien, he regarded his old-time partner and asked quietly,
'One hell of a girl-that brown-haired one. She the mother of those kids?'
There was no mistaking the meaning behind his words; Schwartz fancied her, alright. And then he went on, frowning,
'Those kids, they remind me of someone," added Schwartz pensively.