c h a p t e r t h i r t y - f i v e
"Antonia."
His voice was the same as five months ago, deep, husky and resonating. When it reached her ears, she realized just how much she had craved to hear it again—how much she had missed him calling her name.
But the rage was paramount, and as much as the voice brought back sweet memories of the two months they had spent together, it reminded her of his betrayal.
Antonia chose to stay silent. She would not let him assume that everything was alright after all these months. Even if all of her existence screamed at her to run into his arms and shed all the remaining tears in his chest, she would not. She had endured it for five months, she could endure it for a little more.
"Antonia, I-"
She felt the phone slide from her grasp, and looking right, she saw Emma hold the same phone to her ear after snatching it. A part of her was thankful because she did not know if she could bear hearing his voice and not hold him at the same time.
"You have some nerve calling her after all this time," Emma's voice was pure venom, "and act as if nothing happened, Professor Rhys Clyde."
Antonia wanted to hear what he was saying on the other end, but judging by the poisonous words that Emma threw at him like darts, it was safe to assume that he was being wisely silent.
"Oh, you want to see her now? Guess what," Emma spat, "she has moved on from whatever the fuck was going on between you two. So stay away fro-"
The history professor saw her best friend jerk a little, and then she went oddly silent for a few seconds, listening intently on the phone with a grim expression and then she put down the mobile from her ear.
"The audacity of that-" she was running low on profanities to describe the chancellor, like nothing would be insulting enough for him.
"What did he say?" Antonia wanted to fall asleep if she already was not so that she could rule this out as a dream.
"Nothing much," Emma put the phone on the table, "he's on his way here now. So he asked me to leave, no actually, ordered me to leave before he reached. Who does he think he is, my boss?"
"Technically," Antonia pointed out, "he never officially resigned from the post of the chancellor. So he is, still our boss."
"Motherfucker."
Now that the initial shock of him returning had passed, Antonia felt relieved. She felt relieved because he was alright, and was coming to meet her. She would not forgive him, no, not so easy, but she wanted to see him—check for herself that he was still the same.
Emma excused herself hesitatingly, suggesting that she should hide in the bathroom and ambush him when he arrived, but ultimately left, knowing that both of them needed closure for themselves. She had seen Antonia suffer for five months, but she also knew, by his voice when she had held the phone, that he had suffered the same, if not more.
As she waited for a cab, she wondered if love really did increase when the lovers were apart.
Unlike Charlie, Anthony made sounds when it stopped. So she knew even without looking out of the window, that he was here, right in front of her house. Antonia wanted to run out to the door and greet him, but that would mean that she had forgiven him.
So she did not. Instead, she waited for the doorbell to ring, and quietly, very slowly, she went to the door, trying as hard as she could to keep the emotions from showing.
As soon as the door was unlocked, it flew open, and the big, looming figure of the man fell upon her, consuming her in his powerful arms, while his broad shoulders formed protection around her. She was completely engulfed in him, her face buried in his chest—her ear pressed flat right above his heart. The beating sounded fast and erratic as if it would escape the rib cage at any moment.
His heart was beating the same as hers.
She should have known, that her resolve would crumble the moment she would see him in all his glory, that she was not strong enough to resist him. But she had tried. She had tried to be angry at him, she had tried to be cold, she had tried not to forgive him.
It was just her love that cancelled out all her bitterness.
"Why did you do this to me?" the words came with sobs and tears, "How could you do this to me? Is this all I am to you? Just a woman who you come to after five months, knowing that she will accept you no matter what? Or are you here just to fuck?"
She tried hitting his chest with all her might, but his arms held her tightly. He was quiet, his face in her neck, his breaths falling in jerks. The air around them was still, the only sounds being her sobs and his shaky breathing.
"That night, you asked me..." he spoke, his mouth beside her ear, giving her the same butterflies all over again, "why I fought Clementine. And I told you, that I'd tell you later."
He very softly detached herself from him, holding her face with his hands and touching their foreheads together, "But I never got to tell you."
"Got to?" Antonia laughed mockingly, "You left! Not me!" She tried to push him away, but his grip on her face was strong.
"I know" he whispered, "it was hell without you, Antonia."
She wanted to say the same, that her days were grey without him, but all she could manage was a pathetic sob.
"I'm sorry," he grazed a thumb under her eye, "I left you all alone. Please, please forgive me."
"I hate you..." Antonia wept loudly, "I hate you so much!" she felt as if she had been gathering tears for this particular moment because this was the most she had cried in the past five months without him.
"Hate me all you want," he whispered, "but then make sure you love me equally. Because," he brushed their noses, "I don't know what I'd do if you ever stopped loving me."
So he knew, Antonia's anger found a new summit, he knew my feelings for him and yet, he had decided to leave.
"Why did you leave?" she asked. Enough of the tragic heroine shit, she wanted answers. She wanted explanations.
"That day," he dropped his hands to his side, "I lied about Cardiff."
"I know," Antonia stepped back to put a distance between them, "why?"
Rhys looked a little stunned at her words but continued nevertheless. "It was a call from one of my teachers, who taught me back in college. He called me to participate in research on the Gerald Equation, which had been my dream since, I don't know, as long as I can remember."
For the first time since she had seen him again, she realized how unkempt he looked. His hair had grown long, he had not shaved, and the bags under his eyes looked like the night. Deep and dark.
"I was offered to head the research, but that would mean I would have to resign as the chancellor of the Academy."
Antonia understood it so far, but, "Why did you run away and not just resign?"
"If I had resigned officially," he explained, "then the next candidate for the chancellor would have been Blaine Jones. The last thing I wanted was my father's Academy to be handed over to that old hag."
"But even now, she is the acting chancellor," Antonia countered, "it did not make much of a difference."
"The acting chancellor does not have all the powers of the chancellor, for example," he smiled a little, "they can't fire professors, or take legal action against them without the permission of the chancellor."
Suddenly, all of Blaine's actions over the past months made more sense. She had only given her empty threats and had not actually taken any action.
"But then," she asked, "why did you lie to me?"
Rhys had the courtesy to look guilty. "I knew they would file a search warrant, and out of worry for me, you would have told them my whereabouts."
"Why was your research supposed to be a secret?" Antonia could feel her patience running out.
"If Blaine and the other professors of the Academy got to know that I was involved in a full-time research," he said, "then they would have elected a puppet chancellor, and blackmailed my mother into guilt-tripping me, and hence, acquired all the papers and documents."
"Where have you been, these past months?" Antonia was curious as to where he could have been so well hidden that even Scotland Yard had to give up.
"A private research centre in Germany," he finally disclosed, "it is owned by my teacher, so it was not difficult to hide."
The history professor was stunned at the meticulousness of his plan. He had disappeared overnight, with no clue or hint whatsoever of his whereabouts, hence, Blaine could not scheme anything, since she did not know when he would be back. He had also taken care of any possible actions Blaine could have taken against her, all the while being in Germany, completing his dream.
"I have a question too," he said suddenly, "how did you know that I lied about Cardiff?"
Oh, he did not know.
"As you had expected, I was worried about you," she admitted, "so I agreed to be interrogated by the detectives and told them about Cardiff."
"Wait...does that mean..." she almost wanted to laugh at his shocked face.
"Yes," she said, "everyone in the academy and your family know, that I was fucking Chancellor Rhys William Clyde."
She told him about the numerous visits to Scotland Yard, the suspicions they had of her, and how it reduced over the course of time. She also made sure to tell him about the support his mother and Clementine had provided, and how Raul had taken measures to keep the news of their affair private.
"Blaine kept sending me threatening emails," she revealed, "but I just showed up to the Academy like normal. Every day, I waited for Blaine to finally fire me from the university, but it never came. I never knew this was the reason."
Rhys was silent throughout the conversation, but she saw the hint of pain along with fresh anger in his eyes. He had become somewhat thinner, and the shirt he was wearing was wrinkled. He was not the prim, proper, wealthy chancellor that she had first met. Right then, in front of her, stood a tired man, who was exhausted beyond measure.
"Have you eaten?" Antonia asked, "If not, I can make someth-"
"No," he reached out for her hand and squeezed it, "I'm fine, just let me hold you for a minute."
"And then? Are you going to leave again?"
"I have a few things to take care of. I'll be back by nightfall."
"I don't believe you."
The words wounded him so much, that Antonia saw him physically wince. It provided her with immense satisfaction, and she pulled her hand away.
"I don't expect you to return, Mr Clyde," she spat, "but in case you decide to, I'll have something prepared for you to eat."
"Antonia, you," he whispered, "you are the home that I'll always return to."
"Dramatic for a maths professor," she turned away, "close the door on your way out."
And she walked away, knowing full well that she had impaled him with daggers of her coldness, but if he did come back to her, she might just forgive him a little.
"Yes, I'll see you later."
"Sure you will."
It was around eleven in the night that she heard Anthony pull up again, and he walked in, if possible, looking more exhausted than before. He looked like he would pass out any second, as he walked up to the sofa and plopped down on his stomach.
"Did you make something?" she heard him say, his words muffled as his face was buried into the pillows.
"Roast chicken with mashed potatoes," she answered mechanically, walking up to him and running her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to freshen up a bit?"
"I am hungry," he was whining, "please give me food."
She chuckled quietly at his childish pleas and then knelt down beside the sofa. His hair had grown quite a bit, reaching the end of his neck, making him look less gentlemanly. He looked rough—scandalous for someone of his stature.
"You look terrible."
His laugh was so dead that she felt guilty for making him speak. She kept massaging his scalp, watching his shoulders relax a little. The past five months had been tough for him, as was evident, and she wondered if he had eaten and slept properly.
"I'll lay the table," she got up, "you can use the washroom."
"I have nothing to change into."
"You can stay naked."
He picked up his face from the pillows, and looked at her, her heart somewhat relieved at the familiar twink of mischief in his eyes, "That's a dangerous offer."
"It's more of a suggestion," she twirled around, "but feel free to think of it as an offer. It's not every day that I feel so generous."
"I am very thankful for this immense display of generosi-"
"Just go take a shower! You reek of maths and Germany, it's making my nostrils bleed!"
"Huh?"
The atmosphere had turned light, but Antonia did not want the tension to disappear just yet. Sure enough, she could not torture him for five months, but she could at least hold out for five days.
Maybe.
She watched him get up from the sofa and make his way towards her room, and she walked into the kitchen to lay out dinner. As she worked, her mind kept playing back his first words from the evening.
"I never got to tell you."
She would ask him when he was eating, if what he wanted to say were the same words she had wanted to convey that evening, five months ago.
A sharp pang of pain pierced her heart as the memories of the withered flowers and the flattened wax from the candles flashed before her eyes, and she dropped the spoon she was holding. She was pathetic and weak, but she could not bring herself to hate him for that, however much she wanted to. She yearned to loathe him, to despise him, to make him suffer, but she could not.
Maybe, if the person who had returned was the same dignified chancellor that had left, she could hate him. But he was not okay, if anything, the suffering had physically reflected upon him, so much that the picture of the Chancellor had faded away into a drained and spent man, who was Rhys Clyde, but was not at the same time.
She picked up the spoon and proceeded with dinner. The roast chicken looked delicious, she thought proudly, as she put it on the table. She made sure to take out the new plates, spoons and forks, and even watered the flower in the vase on the dining table. The fact that they were having dinner for the first time in her house was not lost on her, and she wanted to remember it, however little the arrangements were.
She heard the washroom door open and close, and suddenly a vague horror overtook her. Was he coming to dine in naked? She could see his naked body all day but not when they were eating-
"Is that for me?"
Her eyes dropped below his waist, and she thanked heaven and all the gods for the towel. Even if his upper body was a distraction, it was certainly less intriguing than what was going on below.
"No, it's for me as well."
She mentally slapped her back for speaking out a clear sentence when all she could concentrate on was the water-clad muscles of the chancellor. His hair was wet, and the strands fell down till the end of his nose, from where the water trickled down along his face and jawbone. His abs had lost a bit of shape, but they still looked as mouth-watering as ever. As she licked her lips and checked him out, she mentally made a note of how good the stubble looked on him.
"Hmm...I wonder," her eyes met his naughty ones, "if it's the chicken you want to devour."
"Oh, trust me," she whispered seductively, "it's not."
The tension was so obvious that neither of them had to speak any further to elevate it. Antonia breathed heavily, maintaining eye contact with him—daring him to make the first move.
"We should eat," there it was, the huskiness in his voice, "I'll need energy if I am to make you scream all night."
And behind these words, she could see the promise, and she already knew that it was going to be a long night.
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