Captive in Plain Sight

Treizecisiopt || Paris - Deux

Since its been so long since I posted my Paris-Un chapter, it might be worth circling back to fully understand what's going on in this chapter. These are the only two chapters like this in the book.

- Shar

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"You're not my son."

As soon as Celine said it, he knew he'd been burned.

The secret that kept him up at night, breached the surface.

Of course, she was correct. He was not her son, and his name was not Alec.

He was born into this world named Victor.

Victor Alesandri.

For two years he'd assumed the identity of someone else. Broken and shaved down his jaw, sliced his natural face and implanted features to look like Alec Laurent. The lazy, drug-addicted son of Celine and Gerard. Estranged from both his parents and close friends who'd been exacerbated by his problem. He was perfect.

Until now.

He remembered when he first met the real Alec Laurent. It was in Paris four years ago at Salvadore Clement's Discontent exhibit, at the Galerie de l' avenir.

*****

The snow was thick, and the night cold, but Parisians still managed to make it out. Art wasn't really his forte, but Mila was crazy about this particular artist, so, of course he obliged.

Everything about her was so different from the world he grew up in, and every day he relished learning something new. She had this way of making even the most disagreeable person come around to her way of thinking. He wasn't a 'people person,' so he found it fascinating.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Mila argue with a docent over the artists' inspiration for one of the larger pieces, and smiled to himself--knowing better than to cut in.

As his focus shifted away from her, his smile immediately turned into a frown. Lately, his mind kept drifting to the heavy task before them. He walked further into the exhibit, feeling the need to find a corner of the room away from the crowd. Lately, they made him anxious.

When he noticed the sign for the toilet, he made his way to it hastily. He didn't notice the man doing a huge line over the sink, until he realized he'd accidentally bumped into him.

The man looked at his spilled powder on the floor, then back at Victor with intense hatred.

"Sorry," Victor said, earnestly.  Though it wasn't hard to feel sorry for the mess in front of him.

"Watch where you're going," he replied.

When the man straightened up, it was difficult for Victor to ignore their similarities. They were both about the same height, with dark hair and blue eyes. Broad shoulders, and long torsos. The man was by no means his doppelganger, but the similarities were enough to give Victor pause. The man didn't seem to notice at all. He was, in fact, way more preoccupied with his ruined lines.

Victor brushed him off and continued into one of the stalls. He put the toilet seat down and sat on top of it, running his fingers through his hair. He just needed a few moments to himself.

Soon, they would travel together to Moldova, where his new fiancé would meet his family and seek approval for their union. Of course, he hadn't told her any of this. Mila knew nothing of his family or where he came from. He didn't know where to start. A week after he proposed, he received a letter stamped with his family's seal, demanding he travel back to his home country and feed his new fiancé to the wolves.

He dug his hands in his pockets, looking for some warmth. He had been paranoid since the letter arrived and was doing his best to hide his worry from Mila. But worried he was. The fact it took only a week for his father to reach him after the engagement, meant he was being watched. They were being watched.

All this time he thought he'd been free, instead of under his father's thumb. Victor felt exposed, naked, and bare. He had two options. Come clean to his fiancé and face his family, risking their future livelihood--or run.

The latter didn't seem like much of an option. Since leaving home, he didn't have money to pull off such a feat. Victor hadn't spoken to his family for some time after refusing to get married and become part of the business. His father was a manipulative and cruel person, who made him feel lower than dirt. He wanted nothing more than for him to stay out of his life. Though, it was becoming clear he'd never get his wish.

After leaving the toilet, Victor took a deep breath. His palms began to sweat, as he saw the same snowball from before trying to sweet talk his fiancé. As Victor watched him, he observed how he operated. From the way his suit was tailored, he obviously came from money. He was the type of man used to getting what he wants.

I need to get her a ring, he thought, actively suppressing his rage.

It was this exact feeling that had made him shy away from relationships for so long. With love, came the capacity for anger. Anger, which he knew he'd inherited from his father. A deep, endless well of it.

Before he could interrupt them, a woman he assumed was the man's mother, pulled him away. He had other obligations. Victor was well-aware how privilege came with a price.

There's no way to fight it. He had to go home. As he thought this his face winced, and a camera flash highlighted his pained expression.

The light snapped him out of his thoughts, and he moved toward Mila. He silently stood next to her, both of them now staring at an abstract piece.

"Love," she said, gently putting her hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready to tell me what's wrong?"

"I am," he said. "Let's get out of here, first."

The camera lights continued flashing as they made their way to the coat room.

He helped her put on her coat first, then took his scarf and put it around her neck.

"Here," he said. "I want to make sure you don't feel any cold."

He brought the inside of her hand to his lips, and together, they walked into the snowy evening. The Eiffel Tower shimmering in the distance, signaling midnight.

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You guys see what I did there? ;-P

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