Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) (31 page)

HUGO

“Are you disease infested?” she
jokingly asks me as we walk up the steps of the Eastern Parkway Subway stop.

           
I
give her a look. “Whatever, come on.” I place the palm of my hand on her lower
back and guide her to the entrance of the Brooklyn Museum. I don’t even need to
ask her, she already knows which exhibition she wants to see.
 

           
“What
are these?” I ask once we enter the white room on the first floor of the
museum.

           
“These
are the Stone pieces,” she informs me.

           
“Sure
you don’t want to look at the feminist art?” I’m unimpressed at the abstract
paintings on display in front of us.

           
“Oh,
I plan on it, but I wanted to start with this one.”

           
“Why?”

           
“I
find abstract art to be the most simplistic yet invigorating type of art.”

           
“I
can agree with that.”

           
“This
one.” She points. “This is by Jim Stone.” She tilts her head to the side. “It
kind of looks like a face.”

           
I
tilt my head towards the other direction. “Maybe an animal.”

           
She
walks over to the next one. “This one reminds me of you.”

           
I
stare at the abstract painting with red and blue shapes overlapping each other.
I shoot her a look. She laughs a little and starts to point.

“See, that flat expression matches well
with this. It has all these strong diagonal lines like your jaw line when
you’re angry and geometric shapes
—
like you
because they’re not distinct shapes just like you’re not a distinct person. The
lines are controlled like you. But these shapes that look like blobs of perfect
paint… they represent you also. They represent the wild you that is still in
control. You stay in the lines, Hugo. You’re complex at the same time. You’re
geometric… and a blob.”

           
“Great,
you’re a professional abstract analyst.”

           
 
“I had fun with you today,” Juliet says
once we step out of the taxi in front of our home.

 
“It was a not so bad afternoon.”

My less enthusiastic responses are
hilarious to her.

“I don’t get you,” I speak before I
think.

“What’s not to get?”

My jaw twitches and I grind my teeth.
I’m saying too much, giving too much like I don’t have a fucking care. And
that’s just the thing I finally realize.

I don’t fucking care.

“Everything.” I barely can say it, but
she hears it clear like she always does and her eyes willingly tell me along
with just everything when it comes to her. This is where I might fold. I just
might.

“You bastard.” Juliet looks past my
shoulder and her face drops. I know the voice, but it pains me to turn around.
I turn around and I’m met with the pictures of Kelly and I in a very
compromising position. “You sent my father pictures!”

“Kelly, why don’t you and I go talk
about this privately?” I grab her arm, but she yanks it away from me.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Juliet comes between us. “Hugo, what
did you do?”

“I’ll explain later, just go inside.”

“No!” Kelly throws the photo at me.
“Explain it now. Explain how you seduced me and took pictures of us and sent
them to my father and your father because of some sick quarrel you have with
him.”

“I didn’t seduce you. You came
willingly,” I fire back.

Kelly laughs with tears in her eyes as
Juliet stands back. “You’re right,” she agrees and comes closer to me. “You’re
right, I did give in like the good little girl I am, right, Hugo? I always do
what I’m told and what is expected of me. You expected that I was weak… and I
am. I mean, how could I not be with men like my father… your father… and you?”
I clench my fists, glaring at her. “You, Hugo, you are the worst of them all.
People like your father, they just don’t care if they hurt us; they hurt us and
they are done… but you… you bathe in the pain of the people you hurt, making
you the filthiest human being I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Congratulations.” She steps back away from me as her driver opens her town car
door. I watch as the car drives off leaving me with deep cut words. They
shouldn’t bother me, but they do. I’m remembering that Juliet is standing
behind me. Facing her is like facing the music and I’m not prepared for the
anger plastered on her face.

“What will the lecture consist of now?”
I bitterly ask her. “Go ahead… lay it on me.”

She shakes her head and walks
backwards. “You don’t deserve a lecture from me. She gave one well deserving
and she is absolutely correct. You are worse than your dad, Hugo.”

She turns around, heading inside and I
follow. “I am no way near a fucking prick like my father.” I pull that typical
response.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she says
once we’re inside.

I don’t stop following her. I think we
pass a few people, but neither us pay attention to them. I follow her straight
to her room. “What do you want, Hugo?” She angrily kicks off her sandals and
throws her purse on the beige chair in front of her.

“I want you to tell me how wrong I am.
I don’t understand why this is a big fucking deal to you. You know who I am.”

“You knew!” She whips her body around
throwing her hands in the air. “You knew that this woman was already used and
abused like every other woman you fuck. You knew that!”

“Yes! I did!” For the first time in
years, I scream. My heart practically jumped out of my body. I haven’t been
worked up like this for a very long time. I clear my throat as she stares at me
in shock. “Yes,” I softly say. “Yes, I did. I did know.”

“And?”

“It made her the perfect target. The
perfect glass to break. The one that shatters into a million fucking pieces
when broken.”

“Like your mum?”

I charge towards her and she steps
back, frightened, which kills me. I don’t want her to be scared of me. Still
she has no right. “Don’t you dare mention my mother.”

“But that’s what it is, isn’t it? These
women that you hurt… don’t you ever picture your mother’s tears when they cry
for you? Do you picture her screams when they scream in agony? Do you picture
her face right before she jumped off that balcony when the face of someone you
hurt just looks like they want to die?”

I reach for the closest thing in sight,
a Waterford Crystal vase. With strength and rage, it shatters all over the
floor.
Fuck.
I didn’t even take into
consideration that Juliet’s feet are bare. She flinches at the glass
surrounding her, but still stands her ground, glowering at me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she softly
says, tears slowly falling from her eyes.

“Why are you crying?” I ask in a
whisper.

“Why do you look like you’re about to?”

My tongue glides over my trembling
bottom lip, blocking out the stupid emotions. “So you hate me now?”

“I feel sorry for you… and maybe I am
angry and disappointed in you because…” She shrugs. “Because I want you to be
better. I said it. I’m human
—
I have my
limits, I suppose. I guess I never knew until you. If I did hate you… would
that even bother you?”

“It would give me relief knowing that
you gave up, yes. Me knowing that you are just like everyone else. It will
satisfy me.” And it will disappoint me… maybe even hurt me.

“Then maybe I should give up. I’m
tired, Hugo. I’m tired of all the bullshit angst you think you have. I’m just
tired of it.”

I nod, clenching my jaw. I do what she
wants
—
I walk
away. I think that’s what she wants. I don’t know anything anymore. I want to
continue being cruel, but I stop once I reach the door. I turn around and stare
at the glass surrounding her feet. I walk hard over to her, the broken pieces
of glass cracking under my shoes. She gasps once I sweep her up. I carry her
over to the bed. Once she’s placed, I take one last look at her, shocked and confused,
and leave.

SCARLETT

I’m getting ready for dinner tonight at
Ms. Eleanor’s. Patrick’s mother and sister are joining us. No doubt, Jane wants
to fish out more insight on me. The woman is a leech, I swear. She won’t be
getting anything out of Ms. Eleanor but stories of her past loves and the
makings of a perfect Bloody Mary. Hugo hasn’t texted me today or yesterday for
that matter. Kelly should’ve confronted him by now. Knowing his father,
probably not. Jonathan won’t even know how to approach Hugo without seeming
like the loser of the game.

           
My
cell rings. It must be Hugo. I walk from the vanity to the bed. It’s not Hugo.
It’s Tom.

           
“You
better have good news for me.”

           
“I
do.” A bitter laugh escapes.

           
“Go
on.”

           
“My
father found a new investment. I made sure of it.”

           
“Let
me guess, you blackmailed someone else to free yourself from your own
situation. It’s a never-ending cycle of selfish deceits. ”

           
“Look,
you got what you want. Keegan is out. Harper will announce the investors at the
end of the summer. Townsend, I am sure of it, will be on the list.”

           
“Yes,
well Tom you have done well. If I wasn’t a soon to be married woman, I would
suggest we rediscover old times. Then again you were always a little… limp for
my taste.”

           
My
laughter is matched with his heavy breathing.

“Say hello to your mother for me,
Scarlett.” My smile completely evaporates. My cold heart bursts into flames and
my hands begin to tremble. “My wife informed me that she’s back in town.”

           
He
hangs up.

I am left with nothing but numbness.
It’s like clockwork; the doorbell rings and I know it’s her. It’s fucking her.
I head down the hall that seems to get narrower the closer I get to the door.
Her name is already on the list of visitors who don’t need to be permitted to
come up. She made sure of it when Patrick and I moved back.

           
I
open the door and there she is in red of all things. Always very fitting for
her.

           
“Mother,”
It always hurts me to call her that.

           
“Darling.”
She kisses me on the cheek. She doesn’t hug
—
never has, never will. She walks in, the bellboy behind her
with shopping bags. Of course she went shopping before she got here.

           
“Put
them over there,” my mother orders him, pointing to the steps in the living
room. She walks down the steps and places her Birkin bag on the couch. She
looks around the room as the bellboy leaves. I come down the steps into the
living room, my arms crossed.

           
“What
are you doing here?”

           
“I
wanted to visit my lovely daughter.” She smiles at me; it’s not a nice, genuine
smile
—
it never
is. My mother smiles at me like she owns me. Property, she once referred to me
as.

           
“Let
me guess, your new young, hot model boyfriend dumped you.”

           
Her
smile tightens. “Actually, I dismissed him. I was getting a little bored.”

           
“How
merciful of you.”

           
“So,
how is the wedding planning?” she says sitting down on the black leather couch.

           
“It’s
going fine. I’ve already hired a wedding planner and I’ve already had a
designer start the rough sketch for my dress.”

           
“Will
you be having bridesmaids?”

           
“Oh
come on, Mother, I’m just like you. I have no friends.” I sit down across from
her in the chair. I cross my legs and she eyes me up and down. My mother and I
have always been in this unspeakable war with each other ever since I was a
child. She has always wanted me to be just like her, but not better and I am.