How dreadful can a person's presence be? If I thought Harry avoided conversation and interaction with me at first, I was incredibly wrong. He completely, without a doubt, tried to ignore me the rest of the way. Everything that was necessary for travel, he did on his own without daring to look at me. I knew now what he was thinking. Disgusting thoughts, passionate wants. Harry is so twisted, it makes me sick.
Sick because there was a chance I wanted that, too.
No, I'd tell myself. Not a chance. I even questioned my dislike towards him. If he was going to ignore me, then I should do the same. No more questions, no more conversation. Father would be meeting us in a car at the airport. So, it was time to be professional. Act as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened. Well, besides getting chased to no ends by buff men in ski masks.
I carefully made sure that my bags were in check. Once we had came down from the private plane, Harry and I were escorted to my father's car. He didn't bother coming out from the vehicle, so I had a feeling he wasn't too keen on seeing me accompany them. Everything is not as planned, utterly out of order. One of the many things he despises with a weirdly great passion.
My lips were pressed into a tight line, some of the warm wind blew my hair on my face, which I feverishly wiped away. I hadn't dared to open my mouth and verbally express what I tiresome journey it has been. No one was making conversation as a few men packed our things into the trunk of the black, tinted windows car.
I sat between my father and Harry. There was an abnormal sense of neglect in the air. Once I was out of the way, they'd start discussing matters like the twisted humans they both are. Despite the things I know my father has done, there's nothing left to do about it but accept it. However, since Harry isn't anything important to me, I find myself compelled to feel disgusted by him.
It's a hypocritical way to defend my father and declare that my father and Harry are two different people when really their will and motives go beyond the extent of darkly cruel and horrifying. They are similar and it's not a little white lie.
"I suppose you've both have quite the stressful past few days." My father began, breaking the silence like battering a windshield of glass. "I think it's a good time to rest and relax until we officially attend the matters. Especially you, Harry."
I stared ahead of me, refusing to react.
Harry, however, was rather less stiff about the uncomfortable atmosphere than I was. He nodded his head, folding his large hands on his lap. "That would be great, sir. Thank you."
"Catalina." Father called beside me, quietly yet demanding my attention to be focused on him.
I looked at him without another doubt. "Yes?"
"I hope you behaved. And also that you listened and gave Harry a less of a hard time than he has had already." He said lowly, his eyes focused on the world outside rather than me.
My vision was focused on him. The way my lips parted and my voice trapped itself in my throat with hesitation would ensure anyone that I did neither of those things, which is not entirely true. I wanted to say that Harry himself gave me a hard time. I am not the only one to blame for being more of a trouble than I already seem to both my father and Harry.
I didn't, however. I hadn't spoken a word, and refusing to do so only earned me an unfriendly admirer. Silence.
+
That's all there ever was. Silence. I couldn't try to enjoy the view of the beautiful Gangi of the mountains Madonie in Sicily. The western area was marvelous and absolutely outstanding. This a smaller area compared to Palermo, which is maybe half an hour away. I remember studying about Italy, so I knew the regions and their history. How to get around them was the tricky part.
It's not as if they needed my help. I was mostly fascinated by the area. Italy is a place I've never been to. However, I do speak the language. I finished my Italian four honors class during Junior year, and was halfway through the fifth course before I was put in this situation. I know the language grammatically correct, in a form of the main dialect spoken.
My father himself knows more languages than I do. He pushes me to learn foreign languages, demanding that knowing these will build my knowledge. It will increase my chances of getting a job, too. It's all money worth to him.
"It's a beautiful sight." He commented after a while. "Very peaceful. Keeps me from frying a living man in an oven from stress." He joked.
That wasn't funny at all. I wanted to tell him that, but as the man in the front laughed and Harry smirked a little, I didn't bother to be labeled a bratty buzz kill. Literally that is awful. The image makes me shudder. I even believed they would do such thing. It wouldn't be much of a surprise anyway.
"Sir, don't forget Mr. Marcori is having a wonderful festa." Commented the man driving us from his seat. He had an Italian accent, strong and thick in every vowel he spoke. I could tell this man was hired because he knew the area by heart. My father liked them observant and sharp, not clueless.
A bright beam of realization burst on his face at the mention of the party. "Oh, that's right! Thank you, Antonio." My father turned to both me, and Harry -- who has yet said anything but show gratitude towards my father for his suggestions on rest and relaxation.
"Mr. Marcori, Harry, is an old friend of mine, who is going to propose a deal with us. He believes that both our wealth in foreign countries can be very well expanded. So, he invited us to his annual party. Friends, family are invited." He explained. "I would really appreciate if Catalina were to attend the party as well, of course under your surveillance."
I bit down, angry at the thought of yet being put under circumstances I've never intended to associate myself with. I crave freedom. Away from these chains my father claims are for my good, but he simply makes the worst decisions known to man. I cannot, for the sake of my sanity, be around Harry anymore.
But my words never came as Harry replied with, "Yes, sir." There was no way he would defy him.
We arrived up on a slanted road, beautifully built houses. The water beyond the highest part of the Madonie was such a beautiful, natural blue. It was a freshening sight. All that water between me and the men after me. For now, of course. It is obvious they will eventually find me. I just don't know when.
I inhaled deeply, going to get my things from the trunk, but the man who had driven us -- Antonio -- stopped me. "It is alright, signorina. I have got this."
Mumbling a grateful thank you, I turned around to come face to face with Harry. The pale green in his eyes glanced in my direction, seeing the horrified look on my face and clearly seeing the squeal that left my lips. His naturally stolid expression from before had returned. He was back to being unknown and mysterious. Although this time I knew what he was thinking. And he, at one point, will crack.
I stared up at him as he ordered around a few man at the front door of our new home. He placed dark shades over his eyes, with his fingers moving against the ring on his lip. I watched when he disappeared into the house, with one gesture of his hand for me to follow, I did.
Antonio was trying to make conversation with Harry, leading us towards my new bedroom. I felt giddy with anticipation as to what my new room would look like. I've had so much to worry about, it's the only good thing left to be excited for.
"How long have you been working for Mr. Gates?" Antonio asked. He seemed to be my age, or around Harry's, which was twenty. Antonio had brown eyes and brown hair. His skin was tan from being out in the sun. He was built, but shorter than Harry.
Speaking of Harry, he continued to walk, examining the beautiful furniture and decor of the house. We went up a flight of stairs when he said, "For seven years. Started when I was thirteen."
Antonio's eyes widen in shock. "Thirteen? That is a very young age."
"I suppose." Harry replied dryly.
Once I was showed my new bedroom, Harry stood beside the door, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Just watching me, my every move. He didn't have to stare me down. I wasn't in any particular danger, except from the law of gravity. Which would cause me to fall down or trip over my own feet.
I glanced around. There was a long, full mirror on a wall, which was painted a creamy tan color. The furniture was made out of light bark wood. Over the big windows hung peach curtains with gold laces holding them tied apart. The comforter over the mattress was a brown color, putting the soft, light wood of the floor to contrast.
My bags were dropped onto the bed. I began to go through them, ignoring Harry who still stood where he was before. I peeked at the door in the bedroom that led to what I believed was the bathroom. It was cracked open, and through it I could see the toilet. Sighing in relief, now that I'd be able to shower, I began to pull out clothes to wear.
Before I walked into the bathroom, I frowned and turned around to see him still standing there like a statue. "Are you just going to stand there?" I asked him.
He didn't answer me. His lips were pressed together as if I hadn't even spoken.
I sighed and decided to leave him to it.
+
At lunch, my father, Harry, and I were all sitting outside eating quite the apatizaing meal. I didn't know what it was to be exact, but it was good and I'm definitely finishing it.
It is awful knowing everywhere I go, Harry will be there. I can just feel the tension, not only when we're alone but when we're around other people. It almost frightens me that someone else might sense it. Someone else may feel the tension thick between Harry and I at every second of the day.
So far my father hasn't talked about how we get along. He seems clueless as to what is going on and I would love for it to stay that way. Right now he seemed content and relaxed, just how everyone prefers him to be. Because when he's furious, at least ten people in a mile radius die.
"Catalina, I need you to find a stunning dress for this occasion tonight." My father said, slicing with a knife into something as Harry, with a fork, fed himself a slice of food. He watched us converse.
I nodded my head. "Alright. I can do that."
"Harry will accompany you." Is all he said.
Neither of us dared to show a single sign of protest. At this, my father seemed pleased and continued to smile, commenting on the food and encouraging us to eat.
+
I fixed them straps of my black crop top. It was loose and spaghetti strapped. I combined it with a pear of denim, high rise jeans and a pair of black flip flops, which technically ruin the oufit but I didn't really care at the moment.
My skin was covered in goosebumps the second I saw Harry once again. His hair was damp from his recent shower, his black button-up carelessly loosened around the collar, revealing tattoos on his chest. It was rolled on his elbows as usual. The ink on his forearms was revealed, too. His tanning skin was soft and I could almost feel it on my fingertips.
I looked away from him. He walked past me, expecting me to follow him towards the car. Instead of being a nice man -- as he said he never is -- he didn't open the door for me. I let myself in the car, only half expecting him to talk throughout this entire shopping spree.
He turned on the engine with his keys, being on the other side now that we're in Europe. I sighed to myself, playing nervously with my fingers in my lap. I can't understand why I'm so nervous. He is not important to me. He is here for a purpose he made very clear. But his words, the passionate taste they had from the second they fell from his pink lips. It kills me knowing such things. And I don't know why.
In the car as he drove, he would occasionally move his head from side to side, stretching out his muscles. I watched him from the corner of my eye, figuring dead on staring would make him confront me. But, even though I swore I didn't want to talk to him, that I should ignore him. I can't.
I bit my lip as he parked the car in front of a small building. I looked around, undoing the seat belt with little interest on the object. Harry got out of the car, and I followed. A warm wind blew my hair to my face as I pushed it away, crossing around the car and following Harry as he walked.
There was a little stand outside a building, with jewelry present. I was amazed, fascinated by the pieces and their beauty. I stood there, eyeing them with admiration when the man behind the counter laughed and said, "Ti piace questi?" (Do you like these?)
I sent him a friendly smile, nodding my head. The man behind the stand was undoubtedly handsome. Green eyes, tan skin, buff, and light brown hair that was shaggy but brushed to perfection. He seemed like a kind man, too.
"Si. Mi piace piu di le collene qui. Loro sono bellisima." (Yes. I like most of the necklaces here. They are beautiful).
"Come tu," he flirted. (Like you).
My mouth opened so I could thank him for being so generous with compliments, but I hear a cough behind me. The man behind the stand takes a look at Harry, while Harry's eyebrows furrow, his eyes hidden from his dark shades, but he didn't look too happy.
"Catalina. You're not supposed to wander off," he gnarled, grabbing my arm tightly. I didn't react much, knowing the bigger scene I caused the more attention. Attention wasn't very good for us right now. I frowned an apology to the man.
He seemed confused. "Voi siete dagli Stati Uniti?" (You guys are from the United States?)
I opened my mouth once again, but Harry had already been pulling me down the sidewalk with him. My attempt to say goodbye to the man perished along with my hopes of avoiding conflict with Harry. I braced myself to be scolded at when we entered a building that had dresses on different racks, or hanging for display.
There were some pleasant ones, and some not so much. However, my attention weren't on the dresses. Harry had freed my arm, but he took off his shades and leaned towards my face, quietly snapping, "Don't you get away from me like that again. Is that clear?"
My tongue and mouth betrayed me. "You walked fast ahead of me. You didn't pay attention to me. It didn't seem like you cared."
"You're not five years old. You are more than capable of following me." He angrily hissed. "Don't play those games that I don't care. I'm sick of your shit."
I looked up at him with boiling anger. "I should be the one sick of your shit." I hissed back, just as angry.
Harry's nostrils flared. "I'm close to breaking an object around me that I don't want to pay for."
I smirked a little. "Wait...are you...jealous?"
"I'd rip my eyes out first, if I was jealous." He placed his hands over his face, rubbing them against his skin as if to calm himself.
My amusement wasn't much help, though. "You're jealous." I stated confidently. "Calm down, first of all." I warned him quietly, placing my hand on his shoulder, and later regretting when he burned holes through my hand with his eyes, signalling to take my hands off of him. I saw and tore my hand away from him.
He stared at me intensely. "Get your dress. And then we're out."
note // im going to love writing the next chapter. thank you guys for reading! hope you liked! this story will NOT be all about sex (btw). it has elements of it, because it's a more mature story than most of mine, but i promise the plot doesn't revolve around that! so don't be misguided.