Page 9 of Beautiful Deception
Maya
When the sun begins to set at four-thirty, the white blanket of snow brightens the side of the building as I watch through the large window in the lounge room. The fireplace is nice to relax in silence, away from the hectic streets and swarm of busy people in Seattle, but the villa is a bit too far for weekly vacations.
If it takes a flight and a car ride, then it’s too far.
I shudder from a chill, contemplating wearing something warmer, but then a large jacket drapes over my shoulders. I turn around, expecting Junnie, but the halo of the crackling fire shapes the side of Remo’s face.
Everyone has come to know each other a little more than just names over the last two days. Remo said he was the heir to his father’s business, but he didn’t elaborate much on the personal details.
If he’s here to look into the death of a guest who fell down the stairs, then the fewer facts he gives out, the less likely he’ll be caught with contradictions.
He made the lies so easy to believe as if he had done it his entire life. But given his job, it no longer feels like a figment of my imagination when he flawlessly vanishes and reappears in everyone’s sight.
Nobody had noticed he was gone for periods of time yesterday, nor did they see melted snow drip from the tips of his hair from being outside.
Dr. Kian is not any better.
Small talks with Peter somehow developed into the man exposing half of his secrets to success with his Fortune 500 company; the most Peter bragged about was having created controversies and pushing his name out there, even if it was bad press.
Nothing a decent marketing team can’t come up with.
Since then, Peter has been on alert with Dr. Kian, who appears to be mocking Peter with his dignified smile.
I think he’s already mocking Peter, but his pride doesn’t allow him to be obvious about it. You know, maintaining decorum and all.
“He seems like a good man.”
My thoughts fade, leaving my reflection on the window as I blink twice. Dryness seeps into the corners of my eyes, and I grimace at the tears sticking to my lashes.
“Excuse me?” I ask, not much of the newcomer’s words registering in my head.
“That man,” Kimberly repeats as she loops the knitting needle through the threads and tilts her head to the entrance, where I catch the arch of Remo’s retreating back. “Goliath, he is.”
My brows furrow with confusion, but I’m more taken aback by the absurd number of intricate details on the half-finished product in her hands.
“Goliath,” I chew on the word tactlessly.
If she means him standing out with his stature, then Dr. Kian would nullify that comment. From a distance, their physical appearance is similar. The noticeable difference I’ve seen on them is that Dr. Kian has a softer but authoritative demeanor, a lighter shade of brown eyes, and smells of summer sunlight.
Remo has this cold but kind impression, almost dismissive and withdrawn at times. Tactful kindness is what best describes him. His hair and eyes are a bit darker, with a frosty smell of winter, matching the perception of him.
“Not everyone knows boundaries.” Kimberly snorts, harshly digging the needle through the gap while sending a seething glare to Peter.
I follow her gaze, and the twitch of disdain pinches my lips as he leers drunkenly at one of the house staff.
“Maya,” Dr. Kian gently calls from behind me.
I face him while briefly catching a stunned gasp from Kimberly as she steps back to give us privacy.
“Warm water,” he says and hands me the mug.
I welcome the heat into my palms as the surface stirs with a gentle agitation, mirroring the restlessness in my soul. Whispering a breathy gratitude, I bury half of my face into the mug and take a tentative sip. My ears sting from the warmth against the piercing coolness on the tips while I enjoy the water running smoothly down my throat.
I remember Dr. Kian being particularly patient with me during the first handful of therapy sessions. He wouldn’t impose difficult questions, just moments of my day and some habits—what I liked to drink or what my weekend was like.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice is a bullet to my head, breaking me out of my thoughts painlessly.
“Slow day,” I murmur and shrug, absentmindedly taking the strong scent on Remo’s jacket.