The Crying Wind: Book One

Third

"Welcome home." The brunette giggled breathlessly as she collapsed in a heap next to him. They had spent all night together, an affair that bled into the late afternoon. It was safe to say that they hadn't slept at all. "Was that enough to persuade you to never leave me again?"

"Pretty damn close." He sighed. "But not close enough?" She wined, frowning. "Is marrying you not enough to show my devotion?"

"We're not married yet, John. But you do know that husbands and wives usually live together, don't you?" She planted a light kiss on his lips, an attempt to get him to stay longer. "They do? I assumed we would live apart until our tenth anniversary." His voice coated in layers of sarcasm. "John." She groaned. "Yes, my dear. I understand that marriages involve a single household." He got out of bed, and began dressing.

"You don't seem as enthralled in the concept as I hoped you would be." She sat up, her crystal blue eyes showing annoyance. "Where are you going?"

"I have an appointment in an hour." He zipped his pants. "And while I had no intention to live with a woman for the rest of my life," he quickly bent down, and kissed his fiancée deeply. "I'm glad I can live with you, Juliette." The kiss was enough to make her forget how clearly apprehensive he was about their future living arrangements.

"Promise?" She watched his gold chain gleam in the orange sun light that escaped the shield of the curtains. "I promise."

"Alright." Her smile was back. "When can I expect to see you again?"

"How about next weekend?" He buttoned his white dress shirt. "We'll go to France."

"I would love to." She beamed. "What's in France?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

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Arabella stood patiently as she waited for her father. It was a chilly day, and while she hoped Jack would hurry, she remained pleasantly patient. Eventually, his car came around the corner.

"I apologize for my timing. I had a meeting." She looked at his black lenses and smiled. "It's alright."

"You shouldn't be so forgiving." His method of parenting was to merely tell his child what she should change. It didn't always work, but, really, there wasn't much he wanted her to correct herself on. "I like having a clear conscious." She shrugged. "Don't you?"

"I didn't have one to begin with."

Jack wasn't religious in any sense. He thought it was a just another way to control the majority, and that it had no real meaning. His daughter, however, made sure that if heaven really was real, they would both get in. All she had to do was ask him to come, and he would. Though they had attended the church multiple times, there were still many stares when they walked in.

He was a very interesting man. He was always the tallest person in the room. He wore diamonds in his ears, along with a golden hoop in his nose. He had on expensive suits and had tattoos all over his body. All of these features certainly didn't make him look plain. He looked as alluring as the Devil. A man with entrancing handsomeness. How could something like him be  allowed in a place of worship?

The stares would never subside. Not when he walked in with the girl that had his same hauntingly beautiful features. Her personality was just as beautiful as the two of them put together. On days like this, when she wore white, she was as close to an Angel as anyone would have the ability to see in front of them. But everyone also knew that she was too bewitching to be sent from heaven. No, she was the type of beauty that had to be a product of hell.

Arabella waited until most of the space had cleared at the end of it all before kneeling at the bronze Statue of Mary at the front. She herself was never certain on the truth of religion. There were some things that she simply couldn't understand, furthering her doubt even more. Though she doubted, she always hoped. She wanted to believe that there was something helping humanity.

Her father watched over her as she prayed for the both of them, annoyed that her mother left her with nothing but nuns. He had to spend probably the rest of his life in church because of it. Of course, he was not obligated to, but when he looked at the girl, it was hard to say no.

After church, he would usually take her to dinner, familial traditions occurring in even the most mundane settings after a year of knowing each other. "Do they ever bother you?" She asked as she cut into a piece of chicken. She missed the culinary skill of New York City dearly, but she wouldn't dare mention her craving for a slice of cheese pizza caked with grease to Jack, who was Italian.

"Does what ever bother me?" He asked. He never ordered a meal for himself, instead opting to enjoy a cognac and a cigarette. "Everyone watching you." She took a bite. Even inside restaurants he wore those glasses, but that wasn't why everyone was staring at him. They knew who he was.

"No." He took a drag off of the cigarette. "That's terrible for you." Even though she couldn't see his eyes, his death stare radiated from beneath the shades. "Believe me, I've done worse than this."

"Like what?" She would forever attempt to get a story out of him. She knew nothing of the man, and yet, she depended on him for everything. "That's none of your business."

"I tried." She sipped some water. "Will you ever speak to me?"

"I'm speaking to you right now." He grew annoyed. She was persistant. "I would like to know more about you, Jack."

"There's nothing that you need to know." He lied swiftly. "And I can assure you, when you absolutely must know something, I will tell you."

"Will you promise me?" It was the second time today that a young woman made him promise something. He would soon run out of promises, surely. "I don't like promising anything. It makes it all the easier to lie."

She held out her right pinky. "You won't lie to me." She smiled. "I know that much."

Unfortunately, she was right. "This is ridiculously immature, but yes, Arabella," He wrapped his pinky around her tiny one. "I promise."

She finished her meal, and he finished his drink. Their evening had come to an end, the only thing left to do being the somewhat long walk to the car.

Arabella enjoyed it when she could listen to him speak in French. Not only was he fluent, but his voice was powerfully deep, his words somehow attractive to the ear. "Do you have work in France?" She asked once he ended the call. "It's impolite to eavesdrop."

"It's impossible not to." She giggled. "I've learned a bit of French at school." They were taking their time walking back to his car. "They're supposed to be teaching you Italian."

"Mi stanno insegnando l'italiano." He stopped walking at the sound of her precious voice speaking his native language. "Sto leggendo Alessandro Manzoni. Imparo più facilmente in questo modo." It wasn't perfect, but it was better than almost everyone else he had the displeasure of hearing speak Italian, given that it wasn't their mother language. For the first time in a long time, he was shocked.

"Et tu comprends le français?"

She nodded. "J'aime Voltaire. Je préfère le lire en français."

The man was no longer shocked. He was purely, utterly dumbfounded. "I know we don't really speak- or live with each other, really, but I always pay attention." She knew that he made sure that the school was teaching her Italian, but when she looked through his private book collection, she took it upon herself to be taught French. "Well done, Arabella." It was rare, if ever, that he gave someone his highest praise. For her, it was even more rare to receive a compliment.

"Thank you."