Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (22 page)

“Are you married Ona?  Or--are you promised to someone?”

He didn’t know if he was using the correct terminology, but by her expression, he rightly concluded that he’d been dead on.

Ona frowned, then she considered his wonderment.  The notion that he’d considered her marriage status for months sparked a patchwork of emotions.  On one hand, her sensibilities employed her to dissuade his concern.  Then on the other hand, she wanted him to know and she wouldn’t leave without telling him the awful truth concerning the band.

“I’m not married.”  She had to get that out first, just in case one of her brothers suddenly popped up.

Ona looked at the band, lying in his hand, then she continued...

“That band...it isn’t even mine.  I borrowed it.”

She weighed the odds of telling the truth, then she measured his countenance.  He looked like his hopes were perched on the edge of the seat and for whatever reason,  she didn’t want to say something that might disappoint him.  She liked Lucien, and she didn’t want to hurt him and she wouldn’t lie.

“Geff...that band belongs to him.  He gave it to me before I appeared in front of the Conclave council.  It was a nice gesture--that’s all.  I am not his intended.”

Lucien’s face had appeared hopeful before she responded, now he looked pleased.  His mouth twitched, forming a half smile.  He sighed, as if a heavy weight had been lifted.  And in truth--it had.  He reached across the small distance, offering her the band.  When she opened her hand, she’d expected him to drop the band in her palm--but he didn’t.  Lucien lay the band in the center of her hand, then he caressed the inner surface, gently gripping her hand.  His grey eyes traced the outline of her face, then his gaze drew her in like a breath of air.  When he spoke, his tone and manner was unlike any of their brief encounters.  His voice held an emotion that she’d never experienced while being in his company.  He was only holding her hand, but every nerve in her body, lit then exploded like a firecracker.  Her body had never experienced this kind of thunderbolt response.

Lucien tenderly stroked the outer side of her hand, when he said...

“I’d like to see you again.  Maybe one day after you’ve settled in with your project, and your days aren’t busy.”

She was shocked by his suggestion.  So shocked, that her jaw gaped open, but not one word left her mouth.  Lucien had expected this, given her closed community and her religion.  He also knew that he was treading on dangerous ground.  Even though Ona couldn’t see her brothers, Lucien could.  Or at least, that’s what he’d thought.  For a few brief moments, he’d become engrossed in Ona, and her innocent beauty.  He didn’t care that what he wanted was wrong.  None of that mattered to him.   His heart had been loss to her from the first second he’d set eyes on her.

The door to the limo opened, and Noah stood on the outside frozen in time.  He didn’t want to leap to the wrong conclusion--and he’d listened when Caleb complained about Lucien Delors; but as the oldest of his parents children, Noah’s responsibilities required that he behave with the utmost propriety.  He couldn’t blow his stack, like Caleb often does.  When Caleb had been adopted, chronologically, he’d been older than Noah.  In spite of this, Noah had been a Samaritan by birth, and according to the Creed, this made Noah the oldest sibling.  After witnessing the scene at the hospital, Noah had instructed his brother to wait at the dock while he and Geff helped Ona board the ferry.  He was glad for this, because based on what he’d just seen; there was reason for concern.

“Ona...have you thanked Mr. Delors.”

Lucien released her hand; leaving the band in her possession.  Ona shyly smiled, when she said...

“Yes I have...but given all that he’s done for me...I’d like to thank him again.”

“That is understandable.  Please...express your gratitude, then bid him farewell.  The boat master is waiting.  Also, a contingent of medical workers are on board.  They’d like to begin their assessment before your arrival at the hospital.”

Ona nodded, and she knew that they wouldn’t be left alone.  She looked at Lucien, and in their brief exchange, she saw something worth exploring.  She didn’t understand this notion that dared her to want more of him.  If she had the power to stop time, she would do it.

Ona began shifting towards the exit, mainly because Noah would expect this of her.

She said...

“Thank you so much Mr. Delors.  And please...relay my thanks to everyone else--all the people that I didn’t get a chance to talk to before being discharged from the hospital.”

“It was our pleasure Ona.  You needn’t thank us.  Just get better, and take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Noah offered her his hand, and she took it but before she left the car, she couldn’t leave without addressing his remark. 

Hastily, she spoke, not giving Noah or Lucien time to interrupt or stop her.

“If you’re in the area...take a moment and stop by the Children’s Center once we get everything up and running.  It would be nice to show you how appreciative I am, for the use of your building.”

Lucien replied...

“It’s a date.”

Poor choice of words, but he wouldn’t have said it any other way.  He didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.  He didn’t know if what he was doing was right or wrong but he couldn’t leave her, without letting her know that he was interested in her.

Noah held on to Ona, practically lifting her out and onto the sidewalk.  He allowed Geff to steady her while he spoke to Lucien before closing the door.

“Thank you for the transportation.  Geff and I will see to my sister now.  He has patiently waited for her return.”

Noah closed the door, giving Lucien something to ruminate on.

**********

It was late, and the cocktail hour had ended.  After leaving the dock,
Lucien’s driver had aimlessly drove around the city because he felt powerless in the Ona situation.  The way Noah spoke to him, then made mention of the man Geff; he didn’t know if Ona could be forced to marry him, even if he wasn’t her choice.  He didn’t return to the internet looking for information about the Samaritan’s and their marriage customs.  He’d done that months ago, and the grueling task had left him with a lingering monster of a headache.  He’d had his usual one drink, then he retired from the library where the rest of his family remained, engrossed in witty conversation.  Lucien had an apartment in the city, but biweekly dinners were mandatory in the Delors family and he wouldn’t break with tradition.  Instead of driving home, Lucien retired to his bedroom.  Actually, it wasn’t a bedroom--and it couldn’t be referred to as a suite.  When Lucien and Chantel attended college, their parents knocked down walls, extending their childhood bedrooms, then turning them into private apartments within the family home.  That’s where he’d gone after he’d parted ways with his family and since then he’d stood by the window, examining a garment.  He was near the window, but the street traffic didn’t interest him; instead, he’d been absorbed, staring at his white duster.  The cloak that he’d worn on the day of Ona’s accident.  When her surgery had been completed, and she’d been taken to the recovery room; one of the nurses had sought him out with an update.  She’d also handed him a Lincoln Medical airtight sealed bag, containing his cloak.  The cloak that had been stained with Ona’s blood.  After the accident, and the hours of fear, and thoughtful contemplation; when Dr. Hazzar met him in the lobby with the first update--Lucien had been told that her outlook was promising.  He recalled being told that he still had blood on his hands.  He’d had a bullheaded notion, that told him, he could never cleanse himself of the unknown woman’s blood.  Even then, he’d known that there was something about her that he deemed special and worth keeping.  Even so, the nurses and doctors had been persistent, maintaining that he observe universal precautions.  At that time, Lucien had enough to worry over, so he conceded to the prodding, and he thoroughly washed his hands.  When he’d finally left the hospital, he’d gone straight to his parents home, because after learning about the accident from Eliza; everyone had waited for his return. 

Lucien sighed because even though only a few months had passed, he knew that meeting Ona Zelle had been a major shift in his life.  And he couldn’t bring himself to wash his cloak.  He was staring at it now; much like he'd done in the past.  His mind was on Ona, when his sister, Chantel walked into the room, catching him daydreaming.  This had not been a first occurrence for her and she also knew what he was doing.

"You're thinking about that Samaritan girl."

He turned ever so slightly; adjusting his gaze to see the cloak and the expression on Chantel’s face.  She was irritated by this preoccupation of his.

Chantel said...

"This is sick.  You're standing in your room, all alone, staring at a blood stained cloak.  An item that isn’t even worth the expense of dry cleaning.  You should trash that thing.  Or better yet--burn it, and be done with the memory."

"It's not that simple Chantel."

Chantel wasn’t a slacker.  If the rules didn’t work; she would change them.  In her mind, no problem was too big, and no solution was impossible.  There was no such thing as--I can’t get it done, or there are too many details to deal with.  Whatever she set her mind to; Chantel always came out on top--and once upon a time, so had Lucien.  But something had happened to him, at the beginning of the year.  Lucien had agonized over the accident, and he’d been brooding over the girl; and none of it made any sense to her.  Their lives were picture perfect and she expected him to snap out of it, and rejoin the rest of the world.  Chantel had been so curious about Ona Zelle, that she’d requested a picture of her.  At Lincoln Medical, identification photo’s were a part of the admission process.  When Chantel saw the bruised and broken Ona; even in her crippled state, the young woman exuded an inner and outer beauty.  She understood Lucien’s reasons for being transfixed by the Samaritan woman.  He couldn’t control his obsession, and she wished that he could.

Chantel lay it all out on the table.

“How long are you going to do this?  How long are you going to pine over a woman that you cannot have?”

Lucien crossed the room, leaving his bedroom area.  He walked back into the sitting area, where his sister had come in.  Note to self; change the locks or never forget to lock the doors.

He walked over to the kitchenette, then withdrew a bottled water from the refrigerator.

"Lucien...

Chantel pressed, because there were other issues to consider.  It was late, and her husband Clive had already retired to their quarters.  She didn’t want him falling asleep only to be awaken after she’d joined him in their bed.

“Lucien--we’ve all noticed your strange preoccupation with this girl; but I’m the only one brave enough to confront the issue.”
“This Isn’t your concern Chantel.  Go.  Go be with your husband.”

“And what is going to happen when I’m gone.  Will you spend the night, staring at that damn cloak?”

He would, but he wasn’t going to tell his sister that.

Lucien said...

“I’m going to see her again.  I’m going to take a chance--even if I’m shot down.”

“Why are you chasing after girl that you cannot have?  A girl, who more than likely is already engaged to another man.”

He wouldn’t respond to that.  Telling Chantel that Ona was not engaged would be sinking his ship before it set-sail.

“I’m in love Chantel.”

“Oh bullshit.  You are in guilt--and I don’t know why.  Just because she was hit by a Delors employee, that doesn’t give her the authority to lay the blame on you.”

“She doesn’t blame me.”

“Good because she shouldn’t.”

Now that he’d been reduced to the truth, Chantel said...

“Lucien--I don’t want to see you get hurt.  If you’re persuaded to believe that you are ready to settle down, then choose a woman with less luggage.  Someone like Marisela.”

“Chantel...” He said warningly.  “I’ve told you--I am not interested in your friend.”

“How would you know, unless you give her a chance, and spend a little quality time with her.”

“Chantel--please.  Not now.  I have a great deal on my mind.”

“So does Marisela.  Do you know that she is still mourning the loss of her brother?  I’ll bet you don’t even know, that her family’s private investigator got his hands on the police files and the medical examiners report.  According to Marisela--their team of scientist and investigators aren’t buying the suicide angle.  They think that Tollin was murdered.”

“Murdered?”  he said surprised.

“Yes.  And typically in situations like this, every detail of the victims life is paraded in the open, bringing judgement on the dead and the family members left behind.”

Lucien said...

“I’m very sad to hear that.  I’m sure this is difficult on Tollin’s parents.”

“Yes--it is.  And it’s also difficult on Marisela.  Lucien--if you’d talk to her, or take her out to dinner; your attention could make all the difference in the world.  She’s depressed Lucien--and the only time she smiles, is when your name is mentioned.”

Lucien couldn’t be bothered by this.  He abruptly said...

“Chantel--did you hear me when I said that, I am in love?”