Vae Victus [Volume 1] [WOE TO THE VANQUISHED]

Chapter 3

I was half expecting to wake up the next day and found an empty bed next to mine. It would be just another dream that was too good to be true, which was what I deserved. But I did not believe in Karma or Gods, so when my hand found nothing on the bed next to mine, I woke up in panic. My heart was pumping, my breath quickened. John was not there! 

I looked around and saw a room that was not mine. It was four times larger to start with, with the softest mattress and pillow. It was neither dark, cold nor empty. It was bright, warm and decorated with care. 

I started to relax. It was not a dream. At least not entirely. I was here, wearing nothing but an oversized male business shirt, unbuttoned. The sun was shining through the thin curtain. I had not slept that well for a very long time.

I giggled. Yes, like a little girl. Don't judge me. It had been a dream of mine to spend the night in his embrace and despite my disbelief, dreams did come true.

I smelled fried eggs, so I walked out of the penthouse bedroom. A few doors down was open and I could hear the sizzling noise, so I lumbered toward it.

"Good morning," I said while smiling from ear to ear. 

John was cooking in the penthouse kitchen. It was smaller than the bedroom, or the living lounge, but like everything else in the suite, it was luxurious. He was wearing silk pajamas, grey just like most of his clothing. He really liked that color.

"Good morning," he replied, smiling back. My heart skipped a beat.

"What are you cooking?" I asked, peeking at the frying pan he was working on.

"Just a simple omelet," he replied. He had a very different definition of 'simple' than me. Dried or canned food was simple. Anything that requires cutting and frying was not. He had put some sliced ham and leek on the eggs.

"Anything I can help?" I asked. Cooking was not my forte, but I could use a knife as well as any special force soldiers. Well, perhaps that skill would not help me here. I crept toward him, feeling like an unwanted stalker, but I really wanted to feel his touch again and knew that it was real.

He glanced at me. His eyes wandered from my face to my unbuttoned shirt and everything beneath. For a second he stared, and he quickly moved his eyes away. I smiled. So he is human after all.  I knew what I had, and I knew what men wanted. I could see his Adam's apple moved as he gulped. Just a little more push. Or not. I stopped myself just in time. I had been here before, a few years back. 

John, despite his physical pacifism, had the mental fortitude befitting of a man of his stature. No, I knew many world leaders and top businessmen who would throw away their families and careers for a night with my body. I had used it to my great advantage in the past. 

Honeypot, that was what they called it in the spy business. Mossad, the Israeli intelligence agency that I used to work for, was renown for using it to their great advantage. John Ben-Gurion was one Winnie the Pooh who did not like honey. I chuckled at that thought. He was, after all, a soft and cuddly bear.

It was surprising at first. I even had concluded for a while that he was gay. That his decades of marriage with Sarah was a sham to protect his reputation. But no, I was wrong. John was special. 

He was a man who did not seek power. He wore power like a magnificent robe, but he never sought it. For him, power was never taken. Power was given to him, willingly, by a lot of people who loved and adored him. 

John was born from a wealthy American family. He graduated from MIT at the top of his class. He spent the next 2 decades building one of the biggest software empires the world had ever known. He then spent the next decade giving a lot of his money away to the poor in Africa and the Middle East. 

He had been in top 10 richest men in Forbes for 8 years in a row, and the most eligible bachelor in most trashy magazines in the past 2 years. 

The last part was my fault. He had been happily married to his high school sweetheart for 18 years prior to my first encounter with him.

"No, I will be done soon, why don't you set up the plates?" he asked. His voice broke my reverie.

I nodded and walked out of the kitchen bringing two plates and a few utensils. I swayed my hip as I walked out, hoping that he would be watching. The shirt barely covered my behind, and I wore nothing underneath. 

Never try this at home, girl. I thought to myself, laughing at how hard I had been trying to seduce this man. The air conditioning system at penthouse was incredible. The warm air caressed my skin and the sensation was titillating. If I walked around in my home like this, I would be sneezing by now.

I set up the plates and the knives and forks for two. Bending on the table as I did that. John coughed behind me.Bingo. I smiled, but he could not see it. He saw what I wanted him to see.

"Kefi," he said. "Please wear your underwear." 

I turned around and saw him staring at his bare feet. A plate of omelet was on his hand. I took the omelet and set it on the table.

"Shall we eat?" I asked him. I put my sweet saccharine smile. A tilt of the head, a casual brushing of the shirt that I wore like a robe. This game of seducing the immovable had given me a sugar rush.

He coughed but decided to sit anyway. He made the sign of a cross and prayed. A Catholic Jew, go figure. 

John Ben-Gurion, as his surname suggested, was distantly related to the founder of Israel. His family, as far as I could find in my quick research, had been an American since the 1800s. Joseph Grün emigrated from Germany in 1806. His grandfather, Jonathan Grün the first,    changed his family name to Ben-Gurion in honor of the Israeli's founding father.

Given that his mother was not a Jew, he would not meet the Halakha's definition of a Jew. At least not according to the Orthodox and Conservative Judaism.

I grimaced at that thought. My mother was a Jordanian Arab. My father was an Israeli Jew. Which meant that I was not a Jew either. 

Judaism was a religion. Jew was an ethnicity, defined by the religious councils to be passed through the matrilineal line. So even though my father was one, I was, strictly speaking, not. 

John finished his praying and we ate in silence. Poor old man, I thought. None of his forty billion dollars could protect him from the grief I had been giving him today.