The Lost Angel [BxB]

esme

Some birds are not meant to be caged.

'Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption'
[Stephen King]

♡ ♡ ♡

14: ESME

Sundays were now considered to be Lalo's days off. Rory had insisted that he take at least one day a week to relax his aching limbs and regather his strength. They were the days where he had the most energy. He could cycle into town, bake banana bread to his heart's content, and of course, have sex with Rory.

At ten AM on a particularly lazy Sunday morning, the two boys were jolted awake by the sound of chains jingling, and the front door creaking open. Lalo's heart rate sped up, his eyes widening as he jumped out of bed, and started pulling his tattered denim overalls over Rory's baggy shirt he was wearing.

Julien.

This was it. This was the day he had been waiting for. Months of agonising torture, of sitting around, wondering when he would show up. He had finally arrived, looking for blood. He reached down to look for the loose floorboard where he kept his knife, but Rory grabbed his arm, and pulled him back up.

"What the hell are you doing?" He whispered, "You heard that right? There's someone in the house."

"Rory, stay here."

"Are you fucking crazy? I'm not letting you go down there alone—"

They both froze at the sound of a high pitched female voice, calling out from the foyer, "Rory, darling! Are you here?" Her voice echoed past the stone statues and marble surfaces.

Rory paled, "It's my Mother." He said dryly as realisation dawned on his face. "What the fuck is she doing here?"

Lalo was still breathing heavily, trying to recover from his panicked state. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved, or even more tense than he had been before. Julien had yet to make an appearance. He wouldn't wait much longer, and if he arrived while Mrs. Tucker was there, he would have the burden of one extra person to protect. "She didn't tell you she was coming?"

"Rory!" She called out again, the sound of her high heels clacking against the tiled floors indicating that she had migrated to the kitchen, "Rory, where are you, sweetheart? Your Mother needs a cup of tea!"

"Shit." Rory cursed under his breath, tangling his fingers into his matted blond curls. "Alright...uh, you...you stay here, okay?"

Lalo rose his eyebrows incredulously, "Rory, she could be here for weeks!" He whispered, "I'm not hiding in this room until she goes back to England!"

"Just let me talk to her first." He pleaded with desperation in his eyes.

"Are you going to tell her?" Are you going to tell her that we're fucking?

"I-I don't know yet." He stammered, tugging on a pair of jeans and a cropped t-shirt that revealed his midriff. And without another word, he left, shutting the door behind him.

He found his Mother in the kitchen, squinting at a dusty old Spanish cookbook Lalo had left open on the counter. Esme Tucker was an extremely glamorous woman. With the same emerald eyes she had gifted her son, and cropped blond hair — with a few grey strays that her hairdresser had missed — the family resemblance was clear. She wore sparkling diamonds around her neck, and in her ears, with designer shoes, an expensive handbag, and a sleek black suitcase that was sitting beside her.

When her son entered the kitchen, she offered him a warm smile, and opened her arms for a hug. "Oh, darling, it's so good to see you." She said, squeezing him as hard as she could, before drawing back, "Why, look how long your hair's gotten!" She exclaimed in exasperation. "Don't they have a barbers in that village I passed through on the way over?"

"Hi, Mum." He forced a smile. Of course, after months of separation, she felt that immediately criticising him was the best greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, last I checked, my name was on the property." She teased. "Oh, hunny, you know how stressful life in London can be. I just needed to get away for a few days, so I thought I'd surprise you." She explained, "Surprise!"

He nodded in understanding, "And you came here alone?"

"Oh, I tried to convince your Father, but you know what he's like — he can't leave that bloody business alone for five minutes. Plus, his schedule was just chockablocked this week! That poor man has meetings coming out of his arse."

He smiled falsely, his mind elsewhere. He was trying to figure out how he could explain away the gardener sleeping in his bedroom, covered in love bites. "How long are you staying?"

"Oh, not too long, just a few days." She replied, her eyes scanning the kitchen, "So, darling, tell me, how is your Spanish coming along?"

"Uh...I don't know. It's not great."

"And yet, you can read cookbooks?" She rose her brows, gesturing to the foreign recipe book that lay expectantly on the counter.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his cheeks flushed, "That's not mine."

"Oh?"

"It belongs to the gardener." The gardener. That didn't sound right. Lalo was so much more than that.

"The gardener. Eduardo something?" She asked, peeling back the thin curtain that concealed the window.

"Eladio." He corrected her.

"Well, whatever he's called, I must say he's done a fine job." She commented as she examined the garden. The blooming flowers, the vibrant grass, the foundations that Lalo had started to lay for the hedges. "Before your Father and I bought this place, it was a mess. On our first viewing, there was so much dust, I could hardly breathe. But, Rory, dear, you've done such a wonderful job cleaning it out, it looks almost inhabitable. And the garden...just beautiful. Say, where is he? I want to meet this young man."

"Mum, before you meet Lalo...I-I should tell you..."

"Oh, Rory, don't say it." She shook her head in disapproval, "You're sleeping with the gardener?"

His jaw quite literally dropped. He was mortified. "W-W-What?"

She took a deep breath, "I promised myself that I would respect your choices..." Her eyes fell shut for a moment as she tried to compose herself, "I trust you're handling this in a mature, and...sensible way?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"Well, you know that this can't go on forever. His contract will be up in a few months, and you'll be moving back home."

He gulped, "I don't know that I will be, actually."

She stared at him challengingly, "Rory, please, don't delude yourself. You can't just frolock around Europe, falling in love with any curly haired foreigner you meet." Her voice was stern, and authoritative. His Mother had always had a colder side, and it came out whenever she was disappointed in him. "You have an excellent degree from a respectable university. There isn't a life for you out here. Your Father and I have been very patient these past few months. When you decided to run away to Spain, and live in a house we bought, we let you. But enough is enough. When this is over, it is over."

"You're wrong." He argued. "There is a life for me here, a life that makes me happy. I want to travel, to study to stars, to learn about Greek mythology. I want to bake bread, and make lemonade, and live with stray animals. I'm not going back to London just to work at Dad's firm for the rest of my life! That's not what I want, Mum."

She pursed her lips, and watched him with dead, stony eyes. "Put the kettle on, Rory." She finally said.

"W-What?"

"We'll discuss this another time." She told him. "Put the kettle on, make your Mother a cup of tea, and introduce me to the gardener."

He reluctantly did as he was told. He pulled out a clean teacup, decorated in little painted flowers, and boiled the kettle. Then, with a heavy heart, he called out, "Lalo!"