JULIET'S QUILL

CHAPTER 1: ETHAN'S SON

"When I talk about roses and scents, I imagine him sitting right in front of me. His fragrance mixed with the essence of moist evenings. The amber Flames of scented candles, the warmth of his brown eyes. The smoothness of his words along with the breath taking pauses, when his eyes would just take over his tongue. His dazzling smile entangling me like his fingers dancing playfully along the rough curls of my blonde hair. His silence playing like a piano on the notes of my shy replies. The velvet touch of his lips on my cold hands, making my heart skip a beat. As the world keeps on getting blur, my eyes focus more on the aura of his existence. His hands slipping in mine, while strolling the lamp-lit moist streets of Paris. The happiness tickling my heart as he bends down to whisper. His voice making a million vows, travelling through the romantic softness of the air and reaching me. As I smile, and return back his favor by saying," I love you too."

-Juliet Aurelian.

I moved my fingers on the name scrawled neatly at the end of the page. All I knew so far about this woman was that, no matter how many years ago, this was written. She was my Juliet but I wasn't her Romeo. She belonged to someone else, in some other place and time. But I had an intense desire of knowing her, as her words made me think and question my own life.

I, Marcus Alexander Breton, was deeply and irresistibly in love with a dairy.

En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.

-Maurice Scève

When you had to live in hell, disputes with the devil himself were never a good idea. And if you were a painter, then arguments with Ethan Raphael would mean the absolute end of your career. I was quite lucky compared to other street artists, the ones whose careers, I had seen getting ruined by the arrogant nature of Ethan Raphael. I, on the other hand, was somebody he could never destroy even how hard he desired. He was my maternal Uncle, the only one living relative I knew about. My parents died when I was about 10, in a plane crush. He took me in, and we managed to co-exist for sometime. When I was 15, I tried to run away from home. I stayed two days wandering in streets, I had nothing to eat and no place to sleep which made me return back to the little luxuries I had at his place. He never asked me the reasons of leaving or returning back. But we stayed together for 3 more years, and then I moved into my own little apartment which came from the money my parents left behind.

Ethan Raphael was the least likable person in the whole world. He was once married to a dancer of Paris Opera ballet, Isabelle Gilbert. She ran away with her boyfriend, taking everything that Ethan had- both money and respect. But she left him a gift, something that would never let him forget her. She left him "GOD-KNOWS-WHOSE" baby, with a letter saying that, either take care of him or throw him out in the street. So, Ethan decided to spend his life with his "half non-genetic son"-Nicholas Raphael.

As I must say that,"Douchebaggary" could be pretty contagious in few families. I couldn't say "Inherited" otherwise that would have been the perfect world for Nicholas. He was busy flirting with an Opera dancer too, these days. I was waiting anxiously to see the look on Ethan's face when he would know about his future "quarter Non-genetic" Grandson.

I was pretty sure that Elsa was cheating on him too.

"Shut up, Marcus. Let me sleep, please."

I continued humming the tune of the song that I heard at the café in the morning.

"MARCUS!"

I looked back and chuckled," I'm almost done, Lucas."

"YOU BETTER BE!"