The Velvet Hall: 6 - Blood Strings

Previously

1 - The Darker Sister
2 - Homecoming
3 - Appearances
4 - Impressions
5 - Riddles

A/N: This is likely to be the last chapter I post from this book before it's published.  Enjoy the sneak peak!
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           “That was low.”

           Trent wasn’t at all surprised by his cousin’s disapproval as they rode home in his limousine later that night.  She scowled at him openly, arms across her chest.  He found it deeply amusing but as usual, he tried not to let it show.  Trent trusted Rachel about as far as he could throw her, and while he was certain he could throw her pretty far, that was not the point.

Though Trent respected Rachel’s expertise, professionalism, and ability to follow orders, he didn’t like her.  Perhaps it was the stench of Neo-Nazi blood on her hands; he knew she’d participated in the massacre Michael ordered back in Cherrywood.  Trent had been briefed on how friends and family members had been taken out as well, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Clearly, Michael had flawed judgment, and Rachel could’ve intervened, but like all Hirosawa soldiers, she liked the hunt.  She enjoyed the kill, the senseless violence, the smell of blood, and the eerie quiet which followed cries for mercy.  Oh, she might look down on the crazier members of the family, but in truth, Rachel was only marginally better.

            So naturally, Trent was bemused that Rachel, of all people, was gearing up to give him romantic advice.

            With the exception of summoning cleaners, Trent usually worked alone.  He was an only child, and always preferred it that way.  Indeed, had his mother borne any other children, he would’ve very likely smothered them in their cribs.  So it pretty much went without saying that Trent didn’t like any of his cousins either, least of all, Rachel and her brothers.

            Take Nathaniel, for example.  Nate was a stiff, cold-hearted, dichotomous-minded statue who was impossible to converse with.  A favored envoy of the family, he was no-nonsense and his face betrayed very little to no emotion—at all times.

            Then there was Michael, the eldest and most useless of the three siblings.  At least Rachel and Nathaniel earned their keep; Trent had yet to figure out exactly what purpose Michael had ever served.  Granted, Michael achieved some success here and there in business, but he’d done little to further the family’s political goals.  If anything, his antics in Cherrywood set the family back.

            Which, of course, begged the million-dollar question: Why was Michael still alive?

            Trent respected and supported his family’s desire to become more civilized and conciliatory towards outsiders as well as one another, but he also felt certain family traditions ought to remain firmly in place.  Cherrywood wasn’t Michael’s first big screw-up, despite insinuations to the contrary.  Weeks before he ever stepped in that town, the family erroneously sent Michael to negotiate with hotel mogul Akihiro Hirayama for some of his more expensive properties.  Hirayama, being an admittedly arrogant prick, sent his older son to basically tell Michael to go fuck himself.

            Michael, being an equally arrogant prick, sent Hirayama’s son back to his father in pieces.

            Now, right then and there—in Trent’s humble opinion—the family should’ve had Michael cremated alive.  But alas, Michael’s parents were favorites amongst the Elders, and thus his life was spared, just as it would be again later after the shameless bloodbath in Cherrywood.

            This was precisely why when Trent first learned Rachel would be assigned to assist him, he immediately made himself clear to the Elders: if Michael came anywhere near St. Verde, and caused even the slightest bit of trouble, Trent would promptly send his head back to the family.

            To his surprise, not a single Elder objected.  Nor did they even chastise him for his insolence.

            Despite his preference to hide his emotions, Trent heard himself laugh aloud.

            “You think it’s funny?” Rachel snapped.  “Women tend to prefer men who approach from a position of strength and confidence.  Tricking her into asking you out was so low.”

            “Leave it,” Trent waived dismissively.  “Let her think I’m shy or something.  It will allow her to set the pace of things.”

            “And when she learns you are not?” Rachel tilted her head.  “Sooner or later, Trent, that girl is going to learn the truth.  It’s better if it doesn’t come as a complete shock.”

            “Please,” Trent snorted, growing annoyed that this bloodthirsty soldier would think to lecture him on strategy.  “Arienne may be a gentle, musical soul, but she’s not stupid.  Jean-Marc was her foster father, remember?  She grew up in that house hearing the same things as Thierry.  You think she looks at Kathryn and believes that hag is Thierry’s true love?  Even now she’s probably lying on her bed, putting two and two together.  She may not say anything, but she’s definitely thinking.”

            “I know who she really is, Trent,” Rachel said with sudden pointedness.  “I know why it’s so important for you to win her over.”  She cocked her head to the side.  “It took me a moment to figure out, but eventually I connected the dots.  You cannot afford to screw this up.”

            “I’m confident enough in my attractiveness,” Trent shrugged easily.

            “Let me speak bluntly,” his cousin retorted, finally out of patience.  “Getting her into bed might be easy.  Keeping her there won’t be.  Didn’t you hear any of Kathryn’s endless drivel about ‘family’ and ‘home’?  Arienne came back to be part of a family, to settle down and live the normal life her uncle denied her.  You’re not normal, Trent, not even by our family’s standards.  You’re not the guy a woman takes home to mother; you can’t give her the house with a white picket fence.  You’re a Hirosawa; you’re from a shadow family.  You can’t give her a life in the sun.”

            For the first time ever, Trent allowed himself a broad smile in his cousin’s presence.

            “I thought you said you knew who she really is?”

            “I do,” Rachel nodded briskly.

            “Then,” Trent smirked, “you should already know that a woman like her doesn’t want any of those things.”

***

            Arienne Juneau lay awake on her big bed, annoyed that she couldn’t fall asleep.  For one, the hunger which left her in Trent’s presence had returned with a vengeance, and now her stomach growled loudly into the dark.  And secondly, it was irritatingly difficult to stop thinking about Trent Hirosawa.

            With Trent, it was a matter of knowing and not knowing.  She knew he was an opera fan; he looked at her the way many aficionados did, paying strict attention to the high notes, and breathing a sigh of relief when she nailed them.  He was genuinely drawn to her; that was clearly obvious.

            But his effect on Kathryn left Arienne at a loss.  First, the woman didn’t want to say his name (or so it seemed), and then, the mere sound of his voice damn near traumatized the woman.

            Was there a blackmail situation going on here?  Was Trent blackmailing Thierry—was that what this was all about?  In a weird way it made sense; Trent was also staying in St. Verde, as though he were keeping strict tabs on the Juneau family.  Then his cousin suddenly appeared, which Kathryn clearly wasn’t expecting.

            Arienne tried to block out the dark, sinking feelings creeping up within her and tying her stomach in knots, but she couldn’t.  She couldn’t pretend anymore.  She’d read what the newspapers said about her cousin.  Many people didn’t like him.  They didn’t like a black man in the Governor’s Mansion.  They didn’t like his marriage to a white heiress, and they didn’t trust his politics.  Arienne knew very well her cousin’s political career was a dangerous game, and like it or not, she was now a player.

            In a weird way, her old Uncle Jean-Marc was probably considerate to send her away, to the other side of the planet.  Because now, people would want to know her.  They’d want to twist aspects of her life and use them against Thierry.

            Arienne suddenly felt exhausted as she realized that she’d probably traded one prison for even more restrictive one, because leaving St. Verde now appeared to be out of the question.  No wonder Thierry had purchased a château in the mountains, away from the world.  No wonder she’d gotten apartments of her own, and rides in a limo.  They were compensation, much like how the d’Auvignes used to lock up their own relatives in these châteaux.  After all, had an exile not once occupied these very rooms?

            Oh, great, Arienne sighed.  Now I’m like a d’Auvigne.