I sorted through the periodicals arrayed on the newsstands--two days had passed. I had been unconscious for two whole days. Hunger pangs came flooding in, but considering my lover and closest friend had just wronged me, I felt too ill to eat.
I returned home to a door that I'd foolishly left unlocked in my haste. I cursed my ignorance. Some instinctual part of me told itself to hunker down to the catacombs of Goldvine--to check the family safe. In all factuality, I was a bit nervous to see what would be left, if anything.
I never told anyone the numerical combination; not even Violetta. Even though every penny was now in my name, I'd feel uselessly guilty if it was ever spent recklessly or lost.
My mistake hit me like a bottle to the head when the final tick of the dial resounded throughout the area. I had set the combination as Violetta's birth year; 1904. Not even once had I thought that she would ever walk down those stone steps to even spy a glimpse at the safe. I couldn't fathom my carelessness. I'd allowed myself to be blinded by that woman, and she had stolen almost everything I had. Only a couple thousand dollars were left of the millions my parents had passed onto me, it hurt to even imagine where miss Owens was now.
A dark part of me wanted her to fall into the pit she'd dug herself with her shallow desires and greedy nature: but only a fraction of my heart was in agreement. No matter what that girl had done, I hadn't the strength to hate her--dislike her, even. Maybe love is blind; maybe I have no want to see.
My mind was a cacophony of mixed emotions, I had no idea how I was going to continue with tending to this house with what I had. Forgetting everything wrong in my life at the point standing, an idea came to me. What did Vinique do to suppress his loneliness; any negative influence that dared to interrupt his train of thought? He threw parties.
I spared no expense in planning, despite the fact that thinking logically, I'd be a poor man in half a year's time. I decorated the streets with handwritten invitations to anyone who took the time to read them, picked up food, wine from all the usual facilities. Hours went into the preparation of these little shindigs. Violetta aside, they were the only thing that had ever truly held a place in my heart. Besides-- the more time spent in the drafting stages, the greater the turnout; that's how it'd always been.
It was only about a week until the day of the whole thing, my spirit too high above the clouds with excited anticipation to be bothering myself with anything else. Never had I been more enthralled over such an occasion--never had I needed the company more.
The bellow of the grandfather clock echoing off the walls announced that it was 7 o'clock on the dot; it was the night I'd been waiting for for what seemed like an eternity, as dramatic as that might sound.
My guests were nearly always punctual, so it never occurred to me that they might be late coming in tonight.
