Chapter 36 — Alexander

"I've made my decision, Father. I'm going to marry her."

He looked up from his papers, moving his reading glasses to rest on top of his silvering hair. Somewhere amidst all the drama, I had forgotten that he was older now, that both of us were—that he would continue to age, that I was a child no longer. Only his son—and God's.

"That's excellent news." His expression betrayed his jovial tone, however. "I have some less jubilant news, unfortunately."

"What is it?" My heart seized in my chest, twisting itself into knots.

"The police put the shooter in jail, but they didn't think he was much of a flight risk." A belaboured sigh exited his lips. "He's been bailed out, and now he's fled the country and is, according to my sources, now somewhere in Italy. Someone unknown to us, with more money than sense, has paid his bail. I have someone on it, but—"

"All we can do now is pray," I supplied, finishing his sentence.

"Yes," he answered, eyeing me with something like surprise. "I am in agreement with you on that matter. And while we are on the subject of praying…I wonder if you would like to attend church with me sometime."

My breath hitched in my lungs; apparently, every cardiovascular organ in my body was hell-bent on betraying me. "I…I would love to."

The smile that warmed his icy gaze was small but genuine. "That's great. As for the shooter…don't worry about him. We have done all that we can—now it is time for God to do all that He can."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, leaving his office. Outside, in the long hallway of Steele Industries with less pressure and more open space, I could breathe better. The floor-to-ceiling windows didn't hurt much on that account, either, with their sprawling views of New York and every other skyscraper fighting for a piece of prime real estate. Every person in those buildings fighting for the material, the fleeting wealth and prestige that was far from eternal. Life as usual. Though gathered at the base of the tower there was an unusual sight; a crowd of what looked like…journalists? Photographers? I frowned.

Pulling out my phone, I dialled my sister's number. As well as being an engineering student at NYU, Abigail was also in charge of the PR for the family and partially for the company—graced with skills at working with numbers and people.

"Hello?" She picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath. I must have caught her walking to her next class—only it was Saturday. She didn't have class on Saturday. Annoyed, I brushed the thought aside.

"Abigail, would there be any reason for people who aren't doormen or guards to be surrounding Steele Industries' headquarters?" I rattled off, speed-walking to the elevator and resisting the urge to push the button more than once. It wouldn't make the thing come any faster, but I fostered the irrational urge to do it anyway.

"No..." her voice trailed off, sounding frighteningly uncertain.

"Give me a straight answer, sis."

"Aw, you never call me that!" Her tone switched to being falsely perky and cheery. "That's so sweet—"

"Abigail, answer me." I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood. The lift doors opened, and I wedged myself in between a gaggle of corporate execs. One look at my face and they all scrambled to take the stairs.

"Okay, fine. Do you want to know the truth, or rather what I likely believe to be the truth?"

"Tell me everything you know, Abigail. Everything." I pushed the button for the lobby, for once glad that I still had fifty floors to go before reaching my destination. "Don't leave out one detail."

"I think it's because the paparazzi spotted Katerina without her ring," she whooshed out in one breath. "Also, because someone might just have broken their NDA."

"What?" All the engagement party guests had been tracked down and made to sign non-disclosure agreements that entailed they make no statements to anyone except for the police and certainly under no circumstances the press. "No."

"They must have been paid off!" I could hear clicking noises in the background—the sound of her heels or keys on a laptop? "I'm reading Page Six right now, and someone's definitely tipped off the press. They've put in a blind item involving guns, and an engagement party. There's also a lovely picture in the tabloids of her with her brother, not wearing her ring. I doubt he's very well-known outside of certain artistic circles, so—"

"So, everyone thinks she's an adulteress."

"I think you have to be married to be an adulteress, Alexander." Her voice was pensive, her tone deceptively light. "I think before marriage it's just all considered cheating."

"Well, why are we even discussing this? We know she would never cheat on me." I spat out the word like shards of ice, and they made my teeth ache just as much.

There was a long pause on her end. I watched the numbers on the lit panel of the lift go from twenty-seven to twenty-six to twenty-five, feeling my heart sink lower in my chest, in time with the digits. "Well..."

"Shut up. You don't know her." I ravaged the words.

"Maybe not. But I do know you."

Her words made me feel like all the running I had done, all the putting away of the past, all my attempts to leave it behind me had been worthless. What was the use in changing if no one believed that you could do it?

"Have a nice day, sis. I'll see you at home."

I pressed the END CALL button before I could hear her reply. The elevator finally came to a creaking stop, the descent over at last.

+

As I made my way back to the penthouse after giving a statement that neither confirmed nor wholly denied the speculation swirling around our family (denial of a rumour, my father and experience had taught me, only proved that it was true). My heart heavy, turmoil surrounded me even though I had gotten away from the press fairly easily. I trudged through the penthouse to my room and shut the door. My mind was snagged on one line that Tony Spencer had told me during our last visit: The life of a Christian isn't perfect, but it is about using an imperfect life to do the perfect will of God. The thought gladdened me, somehow, bolstering my spirits and making me think that perhaps, today hadn't been such a bad day after all.

"God," I prayed out loud for the first time, my voice as quiet as a whisper in the equally silent room. "God, I know…I know I have done wrong. And I've never spoken to you before, but God, please help me. Please hear me. Give me the right words to convince Katerina that she can trust me; give me the right actions to help her have confidence in me. Help me to change, and to become the…the person you want me to be Lord, and not the one that I think I should be or the person I was. Help me to be better, for her. Amen."

My heart did feel lighter, tension unwinding throughout my body as I got up from the floor and loosened my tie, changing from the stiff, three-piece suit into a green cashmere sweater and black slacks. As I was unbuttoning my shirt, I heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" My fingers ought to have stilled, but…

"It's Katerina. May I come in?" I thought I had recognized that knock, those gentle footsteps.

"Please do." I removed my white button-down completely, standing behind the shelter of the wardrobe door as to preserve some semblance of modesty—though she had seen me in such a state before, of course. I tugged the sweater over my head and stepped out of the shadows to face her in the afternoon sunlight.

"Oh, your hair is a mess! Is it very windy outside?" And with those words, at her touch, any remaining vestiges of exhaustion vanished from my body. "Sit down, I'll fix it for you."

I obliged, sitting on my bed, knees pressed together and feet resting on the floor. Her legs were spread apart in a wider stance, as though for balance, thighs on either side of mine though we scarcely touched. What an odd position to be in, so close yet without any contact. Katerina leaned forwards to run her fingers through my hair, smoothing it into what I imagined she thought was a neater coiffure. In all honesty, I did not care a whit if my hair came out looking even worse than it started as long as she was the one creating that mess. Her breath fanned against my face, and her mouth twisted in concentration. I could feel every movement of her fingers, delicate against my scalp.

"All done," she said far too quickly, stepping back. I could see a faint pink blush tinging her cheeks and what little of her neck and shoulders was exposed in the modest shift she wore.

"Thank you." I stood, taking her hand. Stunned for a moment, she regarded our intertwined fingers with surprise that warmed my too-fast heart. "Now, let's go to dinner. We're already late to meet our family."