Page 9 of Semper
"It's time to proceed to the evening service, Mistress," he informed me.
"Oh, right." I mentally marked my place in the book and reluctantly closed it.
"I can secure the doctrine for you if you wish," Ambrose offered.
"Thank you," I replied gratefully, passing off the responsibility to him. As I stood and straightened my dress, I quickly changed from a comfortable bookworm to a formal attendee, slipping back into the heels I’d kicked off to curl up on the sofa. "I'm already ready to go," I announced to Ambrose. He gave me a respectful nod, and we made our way out of the library.
The descent down the stairs fully immersed me back into the reality of the Isle. We made our way towards the entrance of the vast estate, and a sudden pang of realization hit me. "I forgot the picture," I murmured under my breath, more to myself than to Ambrose.
He paused, turning to look at me with a quizzical expression in his piercing blue eyes. "The photograph from the library," I clarified, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"Ah. Don't worry, I'll make sure it's taken care of," he reassured.
“I appreciate that,” I replied. I might not have trusted him, but Alexander wouldn't keep someone around who wasn't fiercely loyal and capable. Kennedy aside. We stepped outsideinto the cool evening air, where a classic dark blue sedan was waiting. Its elegant design and vintage charm were a stark contrast to the modern luxury vehicles I had seen on and around the estate.
For a moment, I hesitated, reminiscing about my old Hyundai and the freedom of driving on open roads through the city.
Ambrose opened the rear door for me, and I slid in, still not used to the whole chauffeur thing. He took the wheel and started for the Chapel, the setting sun casting shadows over the foliage. As the car glided smoothly along the well-maintained roads of the Isle, Ambrose's soft hum filled the silence. The sound was oddly comforting. It surprised me how at ease I was around him given the circumstances.
“He thought you might want to look through those boxes,” he said after a lapse in his tune, breaking the quiet. “That's why he didn’t have them burned.”
"He was going to burn them?" I echoed; my voice laced with confusion.
“He was,” he confirmed. “They aren’t mementos with any sentimental value. Those photographs serve as reminders of his evolution as a person and asDiabolus. His prior…relationships imparted valuable lessons upon him. He is adamant that the mistakes of the past are not repeated in his future, especially with you.”
So, he wanted me to see them for whatever reason. I hadn’t considered any sentimentality in his reasoning for having the boxes. I didn’t get any warm and fuzzy feelings when I thought of Alexander and his wives, especially Melanie. When I thought of her, a chilling sensation crawled up my spine as I considered her fate. I now had a face to pair with what he’d done. The photographs had captured her beauty and vitality, but behindher bright eyes, I wondered if there were signs of impending doom.
How had she felt in those last moments?
Did she regret her marriage to Alexander, or had she accepted her end with him? The reality that such a fate could be mine made me want to vomit.
He claimed he’d never do that, but at one point wouldn’t that have been the case with her too?
“Why did he do it? Did he grow to hate her that much?” The question slipped out before I could catch it.
Ambrose chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to carry more knowledge than he let on. "Hate had nothing to do with it, Mistress. Hate is a strong emotion, often confused with love and to say he loved them... that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Really?” I looked out the window, staring at the tourists as we passed them.
“I'm not at liberty to divulge everything, but I can assure you this, you mean a great deal to Alexander than any other. More than you might realize.”
"Is that your way of saying he loves me?" I replied, unable to mask my skepticism.
Ambrose's caught my eye in the rearview mirror, and his expression softened. "What he feels for you is stronger than mere love.”
“Do you really believe that?”
"I do," he replied without delay. "It's a true Stygian fairytale."
Knowing what that entailed, for my sake I hoped that wasn’t the case. They were nothing like the romantic stories I had grown up with. Then again, our storywouldbe seen as some epic love saga by the women on this Isle. A woman of low standing being pursued by the Devil himself, and then promised his undying devotion in exchange for her soul? It was the stuff of legends and fantasies for those immersed in this world.
“I suppose I should feel special then?” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
I couldn’t stop myself. Ambrose, however, didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my tone. In fact, he almost looked amused.
“You are special, Lolita,” he replied, his voice lowering, taking on an unsettling calmness. “More than special.” He glanced at me briefly. “You’re everything to him. His favorite.” He paused again, a smile curling his lips, but there was nothing warm in it. "He chose you. Once the Devil sets his sights on something, it’s his forever."
His gaze flickered back to the road, the weight of his words hanging over me like a dark cloud.