Clinton Priest

Chapter Six

I scoff loudly. "I'm the most boring company anyone can possibly ask for. Even my thoughts are boring," I tell him. "You should have asked Lizzy to join you. She's very outgoing and has a firm grasp of most topics."

"You have a beautiful voice," he says, flicking the ash of his cigar into the small porcelain bowl next to him.

"You shouldn't say such things to me," I tell him. "It might be taken the wrong way."

"Maybe I want you to take it the wrong way," he says. His beautiful hazel eyes are glinting with mischief.

"For a man who's sworn of sex," I say, "you seem to enjoy the sensual pleasures of life."

"What can I say," he says as he puts out his cigar in the small porcelain bowl next to him, "I'm obsessed with the very things I can not have."

The train of conversation makes me uncomfortable so I stand and make my way back to the portrait above the fire place. It's odd that my heart squeezes with restrained jealousy as I stare at her stunning green eyes. I wonder what it feels like to be immortalized in such a manner.

I run my hands along the gold edges. The year is 1678.

"It's an old painting," I say.

"I know," he tells me.

My stomach growls with hunger and blood rushes to my cheek when I see him tilt his head questioningly. I haven't broken my Eucharist fast and it's already 1:00pm.

"Let's go out for lunch," he says. He's amused.

I pick up my bag and he leads me back to the car.

"Albert, take us to Q's," He says to the driver. To me he says, "They serve the best food in town."

"I know. It belongs to Augustine Love. His daughter and I went to the same high school."

"Yes. He's a good friend of mine. I met him during one of my travels," he says, staring at me with those eyes of his. I have an unhealthy obsession with his eyes, I realise.

"I heard he divorced his wife recently. My parents have cut him off from their social circle," I tell him. My mother will go crazy if she finds out I went there for lunch.

"Why?" He asks as he frowns.

"He divorced his wife. Isn't that cause enough?"

"Do you know why he left her? Do you know why his daughter still bears his last name?"

"Maybe because he found someone else? Maybe because his last name is that of one of the most powerful families in Haven, perhaps the world." I shrug. Honestly, I don't know why we are having this discussion.

"You sound just like Veronica," he says. "Speaking without facts, without thinking seems to be a genetic flaw in your family."

"Watch what you say, Clinton. I will not have you insult me."

"I will not apologise for speaking the truth," he says.

"Stop the car," I tell the driver.

"Don't be impulsive. You'll only be proving me right. If you want to go home, all you have to do is ask." He turns his attention to Albert. "Take us to the Barclay estate."

The drive back is silent and stifling. I'm almost desperate for the comfort of my bed and for Diana's hot cocoa drink.

"I will see you again, Scarlett," he says when the car slows to a stop.

"I doubt it very much, Mr. Priest," I mutter stiffly.

"Don't doubt anything in life," he tells me.

I step out of the car and walk up the short flight of stairs and into the house not sparing a glance back.