by T. K. Toppin
“Your husband is one too? A…Bushi?”
“We don’t openly call ourselves that. It’s just a code we live by.” She rolled her eyes. “We are normal, everyday people who are specially trained to protect and defend. That’s all. It’s a way of life. We see it not as a job per se, but a responsibility. A duty. It’s what you lot used to call bodyguards, minders, bouncers—big, hefty, thick-necked muscle men. Hey, I’ve watched those old movies. Crap, if you ask me. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Oh.” I took another sip of wine. It was too much information to take in at once. “What level of Bu—uhm… What level is your husband, then?”
“Josie.” Mrs. Trudesson cocked her head and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Did they tell you nothing? The Mister…I thought you knew. It’s Simon.”
I choked on the red wine and let out a strangled cough.
What the fuck?
* * *
Mrs. Trudesson became Trudi. Her name was such a formal mouthful, I just couldn’t be bothered to say it. She wasn’t opposed to it, but considering she refused—adamantly—to tell me her first name just as Simon refused to tell me his last name—and it wasn’t Trudesson, by the way, that much I’d figured out—Trudi she became.
Simon, The Mister himself, came by to stamp his seal of approval on my ad-hoc crash-course in self-defense. Aside from his smug mocking and teasing, mostly regarding my skinny frame and stick-like arms, he agreed whole-heartedly, and so my training began for a couple of hours each afternoon in the gym downstairs. John had also been mildly amused, but didn’t say anything to the negative, and silently smiled in encouragement.
Each day, I learned the basics of hand-to-hand self-defense and combat. Each day, I tumbled into bed with bruised arms and wrists, and aching joints and muscles. But it felt good. I felt alive.
That was the first week. By the second, I’d graduated to leg and feet combat, like kickboxing. I landed on my ass more times than I could count, nearly pulled a muscle in my leg and, at the end of the session, hobbled back upstairs on sore feet and ankles. I also swore blind my hip was dislocated. Aline got wind of what I was doing and gave me a long and loud bollocking. I began to see why John always seemed afraid of her.
On the third week, I learned to combine the two and incorporate jumping, dodging and spinning, as well as something I reckon managed to look like a somersault. That week I stumbled upstairs with a bruised skull, my right shoulder nearly dislocated again—much to John’s annoyance—and a brilliant bruise from hip to knee from when I landed, with my usual grace, after missing my step during a spinning kick. I also got a bloody nose when I landed on my fist. John wasn’t sure how I managed to do this and, after giving me a bland look, burst into the most robust laugh I’d ever heard. In fact, that was the first time I’d heard him laugh so much. He was close to tears and wheezing with effort to catch his breath. When his laughs finally subsided, he collected my battered body into his arms and muttered—I can’t be certain—that I was his clumsy little terrorist.
The fourth week, I learned to use weapons and how to disarm my opponents. Once I got over my fear of being cut or zapped, I managed quite well with this part of my training. Trudi seemed most pleased, and said I was a natural with hand-eye coordination. She even let me use her eskrima stick—the lightsaber!
The eskrima stick was loosely based on the ancient Filipino stick-fighting weapon. A stick about two to three feet in length, it is wielded with skill and speed to strike down enemies in close-range combat. The krima, as it was simply called now, had been vastly modified and modernized. Now only about seven inches in length and thick enough to hold comfortably, it used contained laser beams that shot out a foot or so from both ends, making it a lethal and destructive weapon, able to slice through flesh, bone and some solid materials with precision and efficiency.
I excelled at it. I loved how it felt in my hand, the way it moved and flowed with precision as I dipped and turned my wrist to make full use of both ends. I loved how I could hold it steady while my body twisted and turned to get the best angles for attack. It mesmerized me. It was silent, quick, effective. I learned the different techniques to wield it, to control it. To kill with it.
I was given a mini-version with beams that extended only three and a half inches on both sides. A pocket version, and, I suspected, for my own safety because I was a novice. Simon, in one of his rare moments of generosity, presented it to me as a gift. I was so shocked and surprised it rendered me temporarily speechless, a reaction Simon appeared very pleased with. And since he couldn’t help it, he gleefully added a few sarcastic jabs at my expense, such as that he expected me to burn a hole in my pockets and injure myself.
During that period of training, John spent much time and effort pursuing any leads he could get regarding The Path. He didn’t speak of Germany, stating simply that he hadn’t seen Lorcan. Aside from this, he was as busy as ever with presidential matters, and spent a vast amount of time in meetings with ministers and media, attending functions and galas, and whatever else ruling an empire entailed. What I started calling President Stuff.
The time we spent together was rushed and precious. We hardly spoke, but rather attended to our physical needs in a frenzy and then, afterward, as we lay exhausted and spent, in silent bonding where simple gestures and looks spoke volumes.
Bond we did.
Not a moment passed where we didn’t know where the other was or what the other did. Whether consciously or not, spoken or unspoken, our invisible link—like an umbilical cord—was that strong. The strength of our connection made me ecstatic and humbled at the same time. And while many secrets still existed, we learned to accept that as the nature of our relationship, and instead fostered and nurtured our actual connection. We talked and talked, about big things, little things, and sometimes nothing at all. We existed and created our own private world.
But we were still complete strangers to one another. Every day we learned new things, and we continued to argue like cats and dogs as our tempers clashed and ignited. We were two months into our relationship, but it sometimes seemed as if we’d been together for a century, bickering and nit-picking, nagging, fussing, and coddling, like an old, married couple.
And I loved it!
Chapter 33
“You must be the famous Josie Bettencourt.”
The voice startled me. I scrambled around in surprise. Any grace or coordination learned over the last month was forgotten. I was outside on the terrace, which was enclosed with a weather screen to keep mid-January and the full-blown winter outside at bay. I’d been poking about a flowering pot trying to pull out a weed—at least, I hoped it was a weed—and wasn’t having any luck. I had been just about to launch into a full-fledged cursing match with the offending weed, rude finger gestures and all.
The owner of the voice was a tall, dark-haired man with a slight build. He looked alarmingly like John but about ten years older, slender of face and shrewd around the eyes. His black hair was lightly peppered with gray at the temples. He could be called dashing, but in a more remote and distant way. Scholarly. He held an outward appearance of frailty and resignation, assisted by the sallow color of his complexion, but his eyes told a different story. They showed a determined, angry soul that was both patient and impatient. Restless. His mouth wasn’t as full as John’s, but also looked as if it had a tendency to tighten and clamp down when in thought or indecision. Unlike John, this man smiled more easily. But I noticed that the warmth of the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You must be Adam Lancaster.” How could I be wrong? The resemblance was striking. I had a sudden vision of how John would look when he grew older, but decided that John would not look so frail, so…ill.
Adam grinned and halted a move to extend a hand in greeting, instead bringing it to his chest to smooth down his suit. “I would have come sooner when I heard what happened, but I was away.” He waved the same hand indifferently over himself. His voice oozed charm and culture, an
d was definitely more British than John’s. “You may have heard, I am not well. Still, two months is quite tardy, even for me.”
“Oh, uhh. Right.” I was confused. “When what happened?”
He laughed, sounding secretive and conspiring, like a young boy who’s found a new way to tease the girls. It also sounded a little sad. “You are too bashful, Miss Bettencourt. Or is it that your life is just far too engaging that one event is the same as any other? I am referring to the time you saved my brother’s life.”
“Oh! That.” Heat ignited my face, and I waved my hand dismissively. “It was…it happened so quickly.” And it’s something I’d rather not think about, thanks. The memory of what happened next still haunted me when I least expected it, bringing with it Lorcan’s face, the night in the bamboo woods… Though it no longer hurt as it did then, that period in my life was very dark, and one I preferred to keep shoved in a corner, preferably under a very big and immovable rock.
“Nonsense.” Adam continued to smile. His eyes danced with glittery interest, taking me in with close inspection. I could tell he had an alert and intellectual mind, abounding with questions. “John chooses his operatives well.”
I heard it, but didn’t know what he meant by it. I covered my confusion with a quick offer for refreshments and a seat, then scrambled inside, calling out to Trudi. She appeared carting a tray with cool drinks and snacks out the kitchen. Trudi’s expression was aloof and professional as she took in my discomfort, then flicked another look at Adam. He was still outside admiring the view.
“He’s a little nosy, but he’s okay,” Trudi whispered, her lips barely moving.
“He thinks I’m an operative. Like, like—you,” I hissed back.
“Of course he does. That’s what The Prez has told everyone.”
I gaped.
“Well, it’s not like he can tell people the whole truth, can he? Heads up—”
I turned quickly to see Adam stroll in with unencumbered ease, a wide smile on his face.
“You have an excellent view here. I haven’t lived here in so long I’ve forgotten how beautiful it can be. Tell me, John’s such a devil with secrets, but how long have you two been involved?” He gave me a knowing grin, to which my face combusted in flames.
“Oh, I, uhh…well—”
“Miss Bettencourt,” Trudi interrupted. “The World President said he will only be a moment. Shall I set this up in the living room?” She swept a hand to the refreshments tray.
I nodded mutely and led the way to the comfortable couches, indicating to Adam to sit, and seating myself after he chose the single armchair. Trudi set about pouring drinks and offering snacks of strawberry tarts dusted lightly with powdered sugar, a few mince pies left over from Christmas, and my personal favorite: jellied fruit custard mini pies.
“You haven’t answered my question.” A coy smile curled one side of Adam’s mouth.
“I can see where John gets his persistence. And determination. You sounded just like him there.”
“Our father is to blame, but then, the initial blame is our grandfather’s. They were very determined, to say the least. He speaks very highly of you. John, I mean. You still haven’t answered my question.”
Despite my initial hesitation, I recovered and relaxed enough. He was, after all, John’s brother. Family. “Not long.”
“Ah. Like newlyweds, then.” Adam took a sip of the cold fruit drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. “John and I, we haven’t been in touch for a while, but I thought it best to return as soon as I heard about the explosion. Faulty electrics, my eye! I can read between the lines.”
I laughed quietly, and was furiously racking my brain for something else to talk about when I heard the front door engage and unlock. John strode through, wearing a perturbed and distracted expression at first, but as he cast a lingering glance at me, his face softened and a smile tugged at his mouth. Then, as briefly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a hesitant, half-hearted attempt at sounding affectionate as he greeted his brother. John was busy, I knew this, and I’d not expected to see him this early. Yet here he was, sparing a quick moment for his brother. No doubt he chose my apartment on purpose just so he could steal a few moments with me. The thought made me smile and go all fuzzy inside.
John gruffly patted Adam’s shoulder, as men do, while the elder brother beamed with a wide smile. John resumed his bowed-head stance, though he couldn’t suppress a grin. They exchanged small talk about travel and family matters before sitting. John chose to sit at the other end of the couch I sat on, careful to keep enough distance between us for form’s sake.
“You’re looking well, Adam,” John said.
“And you, too.” Adam tipped his head in my direction. “Thanks to this charming young lady.”
John let out a low snort and his eyes caught mine. I looked back and forth between them, as though following a tennis match. A stupid grin tugged at my mouth, and I hoped I could pull off relaxed. I caught John’s expression when he glanced at me. It was fleeting, but apologetic. Sheepish.
“Nearly six months. That’s quite a stretch for you.” John turned his attention back to his brother with concern. “All is well then?”
“Just the usual aches and pains, but that’s nothing new. The weather there agrees with me.” Adam waved off the worried look John cast him. Turning to me, he smiled. “I’ve been sick most of my life. I don’t know how much John has told you about me but…such is life. It all started with leukemia when I was six—caught late since my symptoms didn’t appear until the disease was advanced. And then the medications and cell re-growth treatments did not agree with me. So what should have been a series of five treatments turned out to be five thousand,” he laughed, a short, clipped and grim “ha-ha.” “So I was bedridden for most of my childhood. Despite physiotherapy, my bones became very weak and brittle, and my immune system weakened. Since then, I’ve had one ailment after the next. From bronchitis to broken bones, nose bleeds to chronic joint pains. But other than that, I am alive and managing quite well.”
Adam’s account sounded monotonous and rehearsed, like he’d spent all his life repeating the same words over and over in explanation.
My opinion of Adam changed immediately. Now I understood why he looked so conceited. After what he’d been through, you couldn’t blame him for being proud to have survived. My mouth curved into the shape of an O as I processed it, my mind scrambling to come up with something to say that wouldn’t sound like pity.
“It’s quite all right. There is no need to say anything.” Adam smiled genuinely. “I am quite used to it.”
“I’ve always admired my brother for his strength and courage.” John spoke, pride in his voice. “His mind is his strongest asset. Mind over matter, he used to say. And look at him now: proof that it’s true.”
“I still say so.” Adam laughed again. “John gives me too much credit. But I’ve used it to my advantage. My mind, that is. I’m a strategist—and a well-paid one.” He gave John a conspiratorial smile. “Though my brother cannot afford me. I run my own company, and some of my clients are the largest business conglomerates in the world. It’s a cutthroat world of high finance and corporate takeovers. Like going to war.”
“Your own company is something of a conglomerate, I might add.” John rose, poured himself a drink, and circled around behind his brother, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “So how is Taiwan? You know what I’m going to say next.”
“Oh, the same old. And yes, I know. You could easily replicate the temps here, but like I said before, I crave the fresh coastal air. The humidity and salinity seems to agree with me, not this dry Swiss air.” Adam cleared his throat. “But tell me, John. You and Miss Bettencourt—may I call you Josie? When did this happen? It’s not every day that a woman can put a smile on my brother’s face.”
John clamped his mouth down. A scowl brushed across his face. “Not long.” He glanced at me with a meaningful look that said discretion was required. �
��But long enough for it to mean a great deal. It’s a rather sensitive matter at this time, you understand.”
I lowered my eyes to hide a sudden mushy feeling oozing through me, and found something very interesting to look at under my nails. The corners of my mouth tickled, and I longed to burst into a beaming smile. In private, John and I expressed our love both verbally and non-verbally, but in public, we remained discreet. The decision was unconscious, and it seemed to suit us. We slotted into it without complaint. His sister Aline, her family, and Simon and Trudi, were the only other people who knew of our real relationship, and my true identity. Now I wondered why John had never told Adam about me.
“No need to explain, John.” Adam flicked his hand to brush it off while giving me another close inspection. Another Lancaster trait. “I can tell you for my part, if a beautiful woman such as yourself was to save me from certain death, I would fall madly in love with her in an instant.”
I smiled, embarrassed. “Thank you, I think.”
Adam laughed heartily, gave me a conspiratorial wink, and turned to John. “Sorry to catch you off guard like this, I know how that irritates you. I should’ve given you some warning before coming here. Apologies. I have to head off shortly anyway, give you two some privacy.” He aimed another wink at me. “I’m here for a few days on business as well. But I would love us all to get together. I don’t know when I will get the chance to be back, you see. I’ll give Aline a shout. Sound good?”
John nodded. “That would be nice. Is tomorrow good enough? I’ll make myself free.”