Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  He’s on me so quick I don’t know which way to move to get him off me as he twists my arm up behind my back and moves us forward again.

  “If you choose to make my daughter watch me show you the merits of my tutoring then on your pretty little skull be it, my love, hmm? Remember to whom you are talking.”

  I know exactly who I’m talking to. A man who accepts touching children as normal. I snarl out again, still trying to get him off me. He only puts a little more pressure on my shoulder joint, but it sends agonising pain flying around the rest of my body, proving his villainy. And all the time he continues to keep us moving forward within a safe distance of Claire as she smiles and waves back at us. He lifts his other hand, laughing at her as she sniffs the flowers and showing her nothing of the conversation that’s happening between us.

  “If you believe, even for one moment, that I would be at ease with such atrocities you are much mistaken. Do not stand here and judge me on what I should do. You are more than aware that such things exist. Do you search for them, hmm? Hunt them down to prove your decency? No, you are just as I am. Neglectful. Corrupt in your assertions of decency.”

  There’s another twist of my arm, causing me to shriek quietly and almost cower down to the floor. He sneers above me, flicking his gaze back to Claire to check she’s not looking and then pressing me down further. “You imagine it does not occur, my dear, that it is simply a transgression that only others have to attend to. You ignore the signs just as the rest of the world. How many children did you pass by on the streets, hmm? Did you feed them all before yourself? Check they had a safe haven to go home to? Ensure the bruises on their faces were simply from accidental frolicking? Hmm?” he wrenches my arm once more for effect, then shoves me away from him as Claire disappears behind the trees, nearly knocking me to the ground. I stumble away from him, confused and suddenly saddened by his words as I remember the dirty children running the streets. No, I didn’t check them all. I didn’t. I looked after myself, not really giving them a second thought as they, too, dug around in dustbins. I stare at the ground, as disgusted with myself as I am with him. I am as much a part of the problem as the man above me. The whole world damn well is, enough so that I sit myself down on the grass to consider his words further and stare up at him, not sure what to say. He glares at me for a few seconds, panting and so desperately full of venom I can feel it hanging in the air ready to explode.

  Eventually, he stands up taller again, and softens his gaze into that of the man I love as he pulls in a breath and sighs it out. I just keep looking into calming emerald eyes, trying to find a way of saying sorry, but not entirely sure it’s enough of an excuse for redemption.

  “It is not until it lands upon one’s own doorstep that one cares, hmm? Your sanctimonious response is neither warranted, nor accepted, Lilah. I will not be berated for my lack of action in this matter, regardless of my empire.”

  I turn my head away from him, shaking it back and forth at the horrific images now circulating inside my head. Paedophiles touching children and smiling. Online images that I browsed past without reporting. Whispers of gossip. Bruises that I never really thought about. It’s all there, isn’t it? Things we see and do each day. Things we don’t think about, or perhaps choose not to think about. And yet, here I sit judging him because he knew and did nothing.

  “How long have you known?” I ask, blowing out another breath, hoping to hell that maybe if he says ‘not long’ I can let it go, that maybe I can give him the break he’s after. I look back up, knowing he needs me to say it’s okay, that I know he isn’t involved. He looks contrite, but still slightly angered. There’s definitely a fire ready to burn should I push him further. Probably at the fact that I would accuse him of indecency. Hilarious given this world I’ve found myself in.

  “Jon keeps his affairs quiet. I did not know the entirety until recently when I discussed some business matters with him,” he eventually grits out. “And Lucinda was bruised, which is highly illogical. It clarified issues I was unsure of.” He spins from me, searching the gardens for Claire, no doubt, and rubbing his forehead. “Do you not think me aggravated enough by this already? I do not need your interference in things you do not appreciate in full.”

  “Okay,” I reply quietly. It’s not okay. None of this is okay. I pick at the grass, listening to Claire singing something sweetly in the background, and looking around the gardens in dismay. Another hurdle to deal with. That he has any part in this world complicates any form of fatherly intent. All of this is so far removed from where he’s lived, who he is. Can he live somewhere like this and be at peace? I’m not sensing complete satisfaction in that. “Pascal?”

  “Hmm?” he murmurs, beginning to walk away from me in search of Clare again.

  “Will you leave it all for her? Is that why you brought us here?” He turns back to me briefly, a scowl on his face before he resumes heading towards Clare.

  “One does not simply leave a lifetime endeavour, my love. One must plan for escape more succinctly than that.” He walks off through the archway into the next maze of gardens, leaving me here by myself. Alone.

  ~

  My leg lifts off the boat shakily as I try to appear in control of my body. Speedboats are clearly not my thing, regardless of the millpond we came crashing across. Claire, on the other hand, is bouncing with glee as she jumps about on the deck and laughs at my fumbling. It would probably help if I had my jeans on, but that girl is gone. Lilah now wears the clothes that help her deal with the man next to her, who is chuckling. It’s not fucking amusing. He’s put a suit on, making him all the more fuckable even though we’re barely talking after the horrendous discussion earlier. There’s a distance between us now, as if one of us needs to apologise. That might be me, I suppose. I was quite forthright in my accusations.

  He grabs my hand tighter, sliding his other arm around my waist and lifting me over the side of the boat to safety. Then he steps back and watches me closely as I brush down my dress and shake my sanity back together.

  “Lilah looks so pretty today,” Claire says, taking my hand into her tiny one and pulling me towards the path. “Doesn’t she, Pascal?”

  “She does indeed,” he replies, never once looking at her. “She is perfection, no?”

  “Mama is perfect, silly. But Lilah’s pretty, too.”

  He’s still looking at me, not one movement in his face as he stares straight into my soul, disabling any sense of anger I have about the earlier argument. My mouth opens to say something, but I don’t quite know what. I’m sorry? I wish we hadn’t argued? I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions?

  “I still love you,” is what comes out instead, causing the corner of his mouth to lift into that debonair smile of his. He licks his lips twice and glances me over.

  “This ensemble is dangerous for you, my love, hmm?” I frown at him, whipping my gaze down to Claire. He cannot be discussing such things in front of a five-year-old. “The heels, hmm? Rome’s streets can be treacherous. All those back alleys and rough floors.” He is absolutely not talking about my shoes.

  I roll my eyes at him and let Claire’s hand drag me away, looking at the buildings that surround the small dock area, which was presumably a fishing port years ago. Some are slightly old and decrepit, others more modern and ugly in comparison. It appears Rome isn’t quite as I imagined when I thought about Coliseums and rambling tiny streets. He points ahead, nodding at the street Claire is pulling me towards and continuing to laugh at my stumbling.

  “Is it far to the centre?” I ask, nimbly picking my way along cobbled roads while thinking he may be have been correct about my footwear.

  “Mmm, miles. I shall enjoy your progress, hmm?” Sadist.

  I clamp my mouth shut before something that is not child friendly comes out, and search the ground for a more appropriate walking surface. There isn’t any, and I can’t help turning to glare at him as he wanders behind me, chuckling at my every step. If there was ever a picture perfect depict
ion of a European gent, he’s it. His hands are lodged in his pockets, his chin high above his exquisitely tied tie, his hair beginning to creep down his neck making him look like some vampire from the eighteenth century, a scarlet waistcoat under an open dark blue jacket. Christ, he’s even got a pocket watch on display. He just needs his cane and he’d…

  His cane. The thought instantly brings with it visions of the night he hit Alexander, regardless of the fact that we should be past that now. What was a leer of utter need quickly becomes a frown as I remember the blood, the way Alexander lay in my lap, and the hours in hospital waiting to see if he would live.

  “Should I purchase another to rid you of the thought?” And he calls me a mind thief? I sigh out, trying to dismiss the past and let it go.

  “Look, Lilah. It’s a horsey.” I turn my head back to feel Claire let go of my hand to launch herself along the narrow winding lane, her lilac summer dress flying around her feet as she goes.

  A white horse and carriage lie in wait, completely decked out with every ounce of finery possible. It has no roof, just an open top carriage, as if it’s off to a wedding somewhere. It’s beautiful, every girl’s dream, certainly a little girl’s idea of princesses and castles. The man who stands at the side in regal attire offers her his hand, bowing and making her giggle as I hurry to catch up. Every fucking man’s a paedo now as far as I’m concerned. And there is nothing safe about a horse and carriage, especially an open top one.

  “Let her have her moment, Lilah, hmm?” Pascal says behind me, “She is indeed a princess, no? Princesses deserve such treats.” I smirk at him without turning. He’s done this, hasn’t he?

  “Do you really have your own horse and carriage?”

  “I have my own everything, my love.” Of course he does. “And if I do not, I cajole it from someone’s grasp.” I don’t doubt it.

  “That could be deemed romantic, you know,” I say, pointing as Claire is introduced to the horse and I feel arms wrap around me.

  “Whoever told you I was not inclined towards romance?” he asks, running his lips over my cheek and then nipping my ear, which only causes me to bend my neck further into him.

  “You did.”

  “Ah, yes, well it appears I am becoming predisposed to errant imaginings of love. It is most bewildering. Even my cock is accustomed to such thoughts. It is your cunt’s intoxication of my senses.” My brows shoot up. Romance at its finest.

  “Such glamourous words you use.”

  “For you, I have a world of nouns and syllables.” He swats my backside, hard enough that I trip over my heels and almost collapse to the floor before I’m caught by his hand around the back of my neck. “Should you choose to dance around Rome, I would surely oblige,” he says, lifting me from my stupid position and gently placing me back onto my feet. “One must learn one’s balance on these streets, hmm? Those back alleys and midnight dalliances will be your downfall should you not.”

  Now I have no idea what he’s talking about. However, walking upright is essential to feeling in control, so I nod nonetheless and follow him as he walks away from me towards Claire.

  “Pascal, it’s a unicorn,” she shouts excitedly as he reaches her, still bouncing around on her toes. It’s not, but there does appear to be some sort of crafted horn coming from the horse’s head. He nods at her, smiling so brilliantly that the sun damn near clouds over. Then he picks her up. It’s the most honest display of love I’ve seen from him. He’s done all of this for her. His little princess. I know we’ve come here for safety, and I’m acutely aware of the reasons why now, but this isn’t about protecting her. This is about making her smile. Making it so that she doesn’t miss Roxanne. Making it so that she learns to love him and respect him. More importantly, so that she feels safe in his arms. So that she thinks he’s her prince charming. I cross my arms and watch them as they move around the horse. Her little legs are wrapped around his waist. His hands are awkwardly holding her slightly at arm’s length, as if he has no clue how to hold a child. Perhaps he doesn’t. He certainly doesn’t seem the sort to have had many encounters with children. Her dark curls bob around as he moves them, occasionally twirling her and pretending to dance. It’s heart-warming to watch as she giggles again and swats him on the shoulder. Quite lovely.

  He turns back to me, holding a hand out as he lowers Clare into the carriage, and wiggles his fingers. For once, I don’t want to go through a door with him. I want him to keep these moments for himself. Let him wrap them up in a bubble and remember their first fun times together. It feels intrusive to go, like I should allow them to become whole with each other and not interfere in that process.

  I tilt my head at him, trying to gauge the correct thing to do, then look back down the street towards the boat. Boat driver I am not, but I could go to a café somewhere by myself, perhaps let them wander around Rome on their own and learn everything about each other. He frowns and closes the carriage door, locking it and nodding at the driver to stand guard. Claire continues twirling as the driver tries to make her sit down, which makes me smirk. She is very much like her father, and will sit when she’s good and ready.

  He reaches me, his lips twitching.

  “You have become disconcerted, no?” Disconcerted? No. Just a little on the emotional side of logical. This time is theirs, not mine. It just feels wrong to intrude. He moves his hand in the direction of the carriage again, waving it around, which only makes me think of his cane again. I miss his cane. It’s a part of him, irrespective of what he did with it. “Whatever it is that is circulating within that mind of yours, my love, know this. You are the balance I have been searching for, hmm? You should consider yourself embedded. You are with me regardless of your physicality.”

  “You should get a new cane,” I eventually say, walking around his hand and towards Claire, who is, unbelievably, still spinning round and round in the carriage. “Claire, you’ll be sick if you keep spinning,” I call out to her. She doesn’t stop. Why would she? I’m nothing to her. Although, thankfully, I’m just quick enough on my feet to get to her before she nearly falls over the side of the frame.

  “Thanks, Lilah. You’re good at catching.” Am I? It’s normally me needing to be caught, proven by my earlier stumble. I climb up beside her and watch as Pascal climbs in to sit opposite us. “Mama always catches me. That’s what mamas are made for, you know?”

  “Are they?” How would I know? Seems a good starting point, though, I suppose.

  “But she says sometimes we need to fall over, too, so we learn to get up by ourselves.” And with that, she launches herself over the carriage and into Pascal’s lap.

  He smiles as he lets her sit on his knee and gazes out into the street, but it’s not at her. It’s at me. He’s not looking at me, but he’s thinking about the words. I know this because they’re the same words I’m thinking about. You will learn to pick yourself up, my love.

  Chapter 12

  He had already received three messages thus far that day.

  The bastard had booked a plane for eight that evening from Berlin to Rome.

  Alexander was also coming and would be there by late afternoon.

  Exemplary.

  His Rose was furious, it seemed.

  He’d rolled his eyes at her for that text, imagining her stomping feet and hands on hips stance. She was most amusing in her idea of anger. Adorable.

  The plot thickened.

  He stared out into the traffic that had slowed almost to a standstill as the carriage weaved its way around Rome, passing Eden’s doorway as it did. He had nodded at Lilah, pointing to the entrance without giving anything away to Claire. She would not know of such things, certainly not before she was old enough to comprehend them.

  “Pretty building,” Lilah had said as she looked up at the structure, shielding her eyes from the sun. Pretty indeed in the daylight. Pretty was not a word that could be used for the place come the darkness of night. Bought for a small fortune many years ago, it still grew in it
s market value daily. Perhaps he should sell it. The thought instantly fettered with his nerves, irritating him and reminding him he was not yet done with his deviancy.

  He tapped the driver on the shoulder, asking him to stop as they turned the next corner, then quickly got out near to the Spanish Steps.

  “Stay,” he ordered the pair of them as they giggled about something. They had been doing that for some time, chuckling together, something he was apparently not allowed to be involved in. Fine. He would amuse himself with something else of use. They both stuck their tongues out at him as he held up a hand to stop the unending stream of mopeds and crossed the street into Gucci, his teeth grating at the very thought of Lilah’s tongue.

  Giovani greeted him with his normal exuberance, mincing his way towards the counter and throwing dramatic hands around his body. Air kisses were exchanged, something he found revolting in nature, but something that made him a great deal of money nonetheless. He turned away to browse the selection, looking for what he required and eventually finding the perfect thing. He had been selling into Gucci for some years. Crafted pieces of mystical nature made in Switzerland, where his small but extraordinarily good team designed special gifts for the rich and well heeled. Idiots who would pay exorbitant amounts of money for individuality. What had begun as a small jewellers, bought for a pittance with wealth he didn’t know what to do with as a seventeen-year-old, had now become quite the chic across Europe. Many pieces were made and sold. Collars and cuffs for the quietly involved, diamonds and stones of dubious quality for the morons who required something curious. Jewels aplomb for those who also knew not what to do with their wealth, including much of his own family.

  “Ancorra selvaggio?” Giovani asked. Feral? He had not been called feral for quite some time, certainly not by something he had not yet fucked. Nor would. The man was too fragile for such activities, not yet harnessed correctly. Even he had a few limits, and boring was one of them.