CHAPTER 15
"Can you tell me something I don't know?" Raphael asked.
Tinges of white feathers fluttered around the fountain. The petrified cherub stood motionless, gazing upon the flock of pigeons while it spewed a constant stream of water. Beneath its stone form, ripples distorted the bronze and silver omens at the pool's bottom, where the glittering coins lay.
"Can we just have a moment to ourselves? Without all this drama and controversy?" Gloria's voice was soft, fatigued. She hugged his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Together, they watched the pigeons, tracking the old man's hand as he scattered grains across the paved ground. The tiny seeds rolled with a staccato rhythm, pecked away just as quickly.
The old man fumbled for more alms, his shaking hands digging into the packet of oats tucked under his armpit.
One last throw. The birds devoured the remaining grains, their insatiable hunger appeased, for now.
"What do you think of moving away from all this?" Gloria asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Raphael didn't answer. The scent of jasmine drifted between them, subtle yet inescapable. His mother's presence--still, intoxicating--filled the space between her words.
"Where and when?" His tone was as direct as ever.
He couldn't see her smile, but he felt it--subtle, like a shifting breeze. Relief brushed against him, almost imperceptible.
Then--
Out of the corner of their eyes, an object swept past, grazing his cheek. The pigeons erupted into flight, abandoning their feast.
A young boy stood frozen. Bright eyes wide. Uncertain whether to retrieve the plate he had thrown or to apologize.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, voice trembling more from fear than embarrassment.
Gloria rose, retrieving the plate from the ground. She approached him, crouching, her touch gentle as she grasped his small hands--steadying. Grounding.
"What's your name?" she asked, reading the tension in his posture. "Don't worry, I'm not a bad person. Just curious."
"Jonathan," he whispered.
"That's a nice name." She searched his face, as if listening for something unsaid.
"Your parents must be proud of you. You're their blessing. Always remember that." Her voice softened, as if the words were meant for him alone.
Jonathan smiled--faint, yet burdened.
He took the plate from her hands.
"Thank you," he whispered, before turning and running, disappearing into the park's winding paths.
Gloria watched him go. Her expression unreadable.
Raphael said nothing, but something shifted in the air. A silence filled with something unspoken.
---
The park felt emptier after the boy left.
His mother's mood settled over them like the thickening clouds above. The wind rattled the branches, shadows shifting restlessly over the stone paths.
Raphael stood behind her, waiting. Patient.
She wiped at her eyes. Her sleeves damp.
"Can we talk?" she asked, quiet resignation laced through every word.
---
Sunlight shattered through the clouds, gilding the fallen jacaranda petals in a soft, melancholic glow. As they passed the benches and the fountain, the world around them felt lighter, occupied only by a handful of strangers lost in their own concerns. Raphael walked beside her, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. Watching.
"I can't gather my thoughts if you keep eating me up in public," she murmured, flustered.
He didn't respond, only let his gaze linger a second too long.
She folded her arms. "Are you thinking about your father?"
His steps slowed. Fingers brushed against the hedges as they passed. He plucked a leaf, absently, shredding it between his fingertips, watching the pieces scatter at his feet.
"As you said, let's not spoil the mood. It's a beautiful day. Nothing else matters if we just enjoy what we have now." His hand brushed against hers.
A warmth that silenced her thoughts. A fragile, fleeting peace.
Ring.
The moment splintered.
Ring.
Gloria tilted her head, a knowing look in her eyes.
"It might be an emergency," she nudged.
He exhaled sharply, surrendering to her logic. With a roll of his eyes, he pulled out his phone. The name flashing on the screen curdled his blood. His fingers tightened around the device.
He knew this voice before he even answered.
"Hello."
Silence. Then--
"Your disrespect is precisely why I never approved of your marriage to my daughter."
A deep voice. Authority coiled around every syllable. It twisted Raphael's stomach with nausea.
"Misspoke last time, did I?" he said coldly. "Well, I don't give a fuck, William. But since I'm divorcing your daughter, I'll let you get this off your chest."
A pause. Then, slow, deliberate:
"If my schedule weren't so demanding, I'd have taught you the lessons your father clearly failed to."
Raphael's jaw tensed. "I'm divorcing your daughter," he repeated, teeth clenched.
Silence stretched, taut and suffocating.
Then--
"We need to meet," William said, his tone unnervingly calm. "It concerns your mother. And your safety."
His grip on the phone tightened. His pulse roared in his ears.
Without a word, he hung up.
Gloria watched him warily, hands gripping her sleeves. "Who was that?"
"William," he bit out, voice thick with hatred.
"Should we go to the police?" she asked cautiously.
His lips curled, condescending. "Do you want that?"
She flinched. A tell. A secret on the verge of exposure.
"What are you trying to say?"
Raphael exhaled through his nose, smirking.
"The first time Edward saw William, he nearly tore his throat out--for no reason. Why?" His voice was steady, but his thoughts unraveled. "You never intervened. You just... watched. Like you understood something I didn't."
His fingers flexed at his sides. "Ezekiel wasn't there that day to add to my suspicions. But after everything--the schemes, the lies--I finally understand."
"You had an affair. Plain and simple."
