Chapter 25

From across town, Carlos is meeting with his supposed fiancé to taste cakes. He holds with him a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates. The flowers are for decoration simply but the box of chocolates serve a purpose. The top layer of the two-tiered box, is filled with chocolate as expected but the bottom has been replaced with those all important documents he'd promised Eliza. It may be a danger giving them to her now but he doesn't know if they'll get another opportunity. This is one activity Eliza has convinced her parents and his that should be done as a 'couple' and reluctantly they have agreed with supervision of course. The brooding bodyguard is close by as Carlos enters the cake shop.
Eliza is also there looking as radiant as he expects. With the warm weather she wears a simple, fluttery, short turquoise dress that paired with those skyscraper heels accentuate the golden, toned length of legs. Her hair is styled into a messy braid and as Carlos nears an easy smile takes over her features.

"Carlos!" she greets him with European style with a kiss of both cheeks.
He passively returns it, pressing back whatever issues he has to concentrate on the person in front of him now.
"Just a little something for you, sweetheart. I think you'll particularly like the chocolates, they're just too divine to share," he hints heavily pressing them into her receiving arms.
"Aw, you shouldn't have," she smiles back giving a slight nod to indicate she's received the message.
The returning grin is slightly forced as he replies, "right. Shall we start then?" 

"....And this is our most popular one quite surprisingly in the last few years-the classic red velvet. This one has a hint of vanilla in the cream cheese topping with flavours of rich chocolate undertones in the cake."
"Great," smiles Eliza politely, "can we have a moment of privacy please?"
"Of course. I'll leave you to try them. We do have some more unusual ones if you prefer but these are our most customer favourites."

Both customers mumble a word of thanks as the sales assistant slinks away to another part of the store, leaving behind the six different samples and two tiny spoons on the artesian block.
"So..." trails off Eliza, taking a spoonful of the pink champagne and whipped cream cake. She feels so much more relaxed now by Carlos's 'gift'. Although not explicitly mentioned, she has a feeling those are the forged papers she requires.
"Yes?" bites back Carlos the anxiety still weighing on him. 

"You look...pensive," she comments causing him to coolly raise that scarred eyebrow of his.
"Pensive?" he echoes.
"Yeah. Lady friend troubles? What happened, she not say 'I love you' back?" cheekily guesses Eliza, simply teasing him.

 He rolls his eyes, slowly exhaling, "nothing like that. I made a...difficult decision which we disagree on."
His eyes dart to where Eliza's babysitter and bodyguard stands beside the front door. It's far enough to thankfully give them privacy to talk as they are without being overheard. Thank God, this is embarrassing enough to talk about with Eliza as it is.
"Oh? And there's no...middle ground? A compromise?" 

He wishes.

"No, I already did it. I was cornered and I didn't have enough time to formulate any alternative. Ultimately I believe it to be for her benefit however..."
"She doesn't see it like that."
"No, she doesn't. And it...I...hurt her because of it. But it's only temporary." 

Eliza winces. She's under no impression that Carlos is a saint. He's certainly not that but he's no monster either. He's just...well, he's just a man. And in the circles they are in, she can only guess what horrifying thing it is that he's done to hurt this poor girl. She is once again thankful she doesn't love and isn't loved by any of the damaged souls that surround them. Like Carlos many probably don't know how to love a woman right and that in turn only ensures a lifetime of heartache. She doesn't need that. She needs to leave and escape. The toxic environment is contagious and there's no one has immunity despite what they may tell themselves.

"Is it? Have you tried to...talk to her? Make it up to her?" questions Eliza.
Carlos takes a bit of one of the cakes. They all taste the same to him-disgustingly sweet and full of diabetes.
"She wants nothing to do with me at the moment-"
"It doesn't matter."
"She's....grieving," he quietly states.
There's a pause of silence where he knows Eliza has held her breath. Something in him feels the crushing disappointment in letting her down. Whatever notion she must surely have had of him being different to those around her, has now been crushed.
But Eliza, frankly, was expecting it. She's not some naïve blonde, sheltered princess, everyone seems to believe she is.


"Then she needs to know she's not alone now more than ever. Carlos, surely you know that any burden shared is halved. Don't try defending yourself. Just apologise if you really mean it and try be there for her."
"What if she doesn't me to?"

Eliza shrugs, taking a moment to think it over before stating, "she will. I mean, you're still standing aren't you? She can't hate you that much. She may not like what you did but if she truly hated you then I'm sure this wouldn't be a conversation worth having. Listen to her. Be there for her. It'll take time, but maybe, I don't know, some time in the future she'll be able to move past it and forgive you."

 Time.

 Now that's an unquantifiable amount. How much time exactly will that take for her to forgive him? In the meantime would she try exploiting his need for that forgiveness? He won't grovel. He refuses to grovel at the feet of any person.


 "I see. Speaking from experience?" he asks trying to draw this uncomfortable conversation away from his personal life.
It may be short, but it's all the talk he can handle about it. And Eliza's a practical stranger anyway, despite the fact she can actually relate to him.
Eliza gives a short laugh, "not exactly. Would you believe me if I told you my mom and dad actually love each other?"

 He blinks at her incredulously. She must be joking, surely!
"Not unless you say they fell into it after being auctioned off like cattle," he mutters back.
"Yeah, that would make more sense right?" grins Eliza, "but no. They loved each other and got married against the wishes of my maternal grandfather. Mom lived such a sheltered life it was inevitable she fell for my dad."

 Her mom loved the 'bad-boys' and as much as Eliza cringes at the thought of her father as one of those motorcycle riding 'badasses', she can certainly picture the whole thing. Only turns out the good-girl is so delusional in her perfect fairytale she's oblivious to her husband's doings. Eliza long ago vowed only to settle down with someone who is a solid investment. A man who is works a 9-5 job, earning enough but not too much money, and perfectly fine in leading a mundane life. No, wait, mundane is a horrible way to describe it. Comfortable. Yes, comfortable is a much more fitting.

"So where's the heartbreak in it all then?"
"There isn't one really, that's the point. My grandfather was devastated of course but he was there for my mom, despite her pushing him out. He continued to be there until his death and by then he'd forgiven her."
Eliza truly has no idea how he did it but he did. His only daughter and despite everything she'd done, he still loved her. It's the kind of deep love, she wished her own father would have for her, instead of...of thrusting her away to some convent school and now trying to transfer her ownership to another man.
He glances at her, unsure what to say to that. Traces of sadness streak her objectively beautiful features. Laying his hand onto hers he gives her a short squeeze of comfort before quickly snatching it back.
She glances up at him with confusion as he shakes away the tenderness. What the hell is he doing? All this gushy conversation with a woman he barely knows is ridiculous.
"Which cake shall we lace with arsenic and serve at our wedding then my sweet bride?" he sarcastically asks, eliciting a jostle of laughter from her as well as drawing the conversation back onto a lighter topic.

*****************

The place is deadly silent when Carlos re-enters. There's no signs of life and he doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not. Somewhere in him he has to admit he was hoping for some kind of confrontation coming back. It's crazy to imagine just last week, Lola was in the kitchen cooking, full of life and welcoming him back. Now...there's no one. It's just as cold and isolating as his pre-Lola days. He grabs a glass of water first, something to calm him as he fabricates a speech for Lola. No trying to defend himself, Eliza had said. Fine. He can try do that.

The knock is firm and short on the bedroom door but as she refuses to answer, his confidence in remaining calm is slowly slipping.
"Lola, I'm coming in," he calls, the warning a sign of good gesture.

Despite receiving no cry of protest or really any signs of life he enters. There's a distinct...odour although it's not really a physical smell to the place. It reeks of despair and desperation. It's an atmosphere that transports him back to the memory of Valentina in the later stages of her life when she was hooked. The sadness had seemed to be so strong on her at the time, that it was almost like it would seep into objects around her. She was the void that sucked the colour out of everything, not that by any means, Carlos's life was a multicolor rainbow regardless of her. He hated it. And he hated himself for hating it. He had done that to her and she had only been trying to survive.
He won't make those same mistakes again with Lola though. If she is spiralling then he won't be the same tender lover to Valentina he was for Lola. She may hate him, more so than now, for the lengths he will go to to cease that monster before it takes a hold on her, but maybe some day in the future when she is still alive she will thank him. And at least, he will feel better about it.

"Lola," he bites out, scanning the place. It appears the same as it always is. Only the bed is unmade....no, wait not unmade....it's occupied. The blankets are huddled into a cocoon and Carlos bets everything that it's Lola buried in there, except he's sure that it's not going to be a big, beautiful butterfly she'll be emerging as.

"Piccola," he whispers perching on the end of the mattress and placing a tentative arm on her-well on the blankets she's under.
He'd thought she was asleep but she simply lies there, eyes open, staring out into nothing.
"Lola please could you get up? I want to talk to you," he states patiently as if he's talking to a child and he's the parent.
Her expression remains blank and it causes an unfurling of frustration in Carlos. What the hell is she doing? Is this her way of being angry at him?
"Lola, I'm serious. Can you at least sit up?"
The patience he usually has so much of and the cool head he can normally retain all in Lola's presence melts. Why does she have to make things so much more difficult than it has to be? Isn't this all difficult enough for him?
"Lola-"
He cuts the growl off as a single crystal tear slips down her features. The only sign that she's actually listening to him and alive.
"Okay," she whispers. 

It's a monumental effort to even conceive getting up. Between the sheets she's warm, safe and more importantly impervious to pain. But if she gets up, actually faces him then everything's so real. Even his voice is like a stabbing pain to her heart. She can hear the frustration in his tone. The same frustration she feels within herself. If she were stronger, if she was a fighter, she wouldn't feel so broken. She wouldn't be lying here uselessly.
Hand pressing against the mattress is the first step in what seems to be a artic expedition to pushing herself into a seated position against the headboard.
Gazing at him is just as painful as she'd imagined but that pain cuts through the seeping fog that's clouded her mind. At least she's feeling something now. 

"Piccola," he whispers quickly realising that this is not her acting out.
This isn't anger...this is sadness; the same kind of thing that he realised to see in Valentina before she decided to fill that void with something else. Something that could give her feeling and meaning, things he couldn't do for her anymore.

He laces his fingers through hers, something she surprisingly allows him to do.
"C-Carlos," she breathes, her voice cracking.

Screw her being mad at him. He needs to hold her, to reassure himself that he's not failing her.

His arms are like battering rams that break down the barriers in which her emotions are encompassed. As they crumble in the earthquake, the flood of grief, sorrow, regret crashes through every fibre of her being. They soak through her very pores until all she can feel is the shattering emotional pain.
Soul-clenching sobs ring throughout the room, followed by muffled wails of true sadness which float to her ears, trying to barrage through the deafening sound of her own blood gushing through her systems.
The realisation these horrendous noises emanate from her is a fact Lola is slow to realise. The shocking revelation has her hiccupping and trying to cease the ruckus however after so long the demands of her heart is not something that can go unheard again. 

Carlos sits with her, arms wound even tighter around the frail human in his clutches as he desperately wishes he were able to ease her discomfort. Never again does he want to experience her like this, let alone be the cause of it. He fears these are the sobs she has held back since that night and as she comes apart in his arms he reminds himself it is best she expresses them now. Her body is curled into him, face burrowing in his chest as those endless tears soak into his shirt.
His large hand tentatively strokes her head, instinct taking over as he whispers, "it's okay. Cry if you want to, piccola. It's okay."

And she does. She cries until her throat is hoarse and her eyes are sore. She cries until she has no more tears left and the hole in her heart seems to have shrunk just a little bit. With nothing left to shed in her, Lola remains in Carlos's arms, well aware that she will have to eventually recognise the man. She will have to pull herself together. God, she hasn't even cooked him dinner! But for now, until he tells her to regain her composure, she wants to stay. She wants to forget her confusion of emotions. The rational side that argues that her father very well brought on his own faith especially when he signed a deal with the devil himself. However the non-rational side says...it says that Carlos Castellano shot her father in cold blood. And those are two conflicting arguments she doesn't want to acknowledge right now. Right now she wants to remain in the hands of a man she cares for very much and forget everything and everyone.

They sit in silence for while before Carlos formulates some sort of plan; one that may break her but in the end that will only make her stronger. Eliza's right she needs to know he's there for her, that it pains him to know that she's pained by the loss of her father, that he shares that burden with her.
"Lola..." he breathes, "go take a long hot shower, sweetheart."

He reluctantly unwinds his arms from her tilting her chin to meet eye-to-eye. There's the flickers of that same spark of life she's always had hidden beneath the glazed front. It's a sign of hope. Perhaps not today but hopefully soon, that quick wit and sharp tongue of hers will return.
"It's okay. Go on," he encourages as she hesitantly nods.

He tells her to leave the door just ajar and to dress casually. She momentarily wonders where he's planning on taking her before she a sense of nonchalance overcomes her. Who cares? The dirty bed-ridden clothes, which she's been wearing for days, are stripped off her like a second skin. With a shudder at removal of her protectors she gingerly steps into the pristine cubicle, adjusting the shower head before inhaling deeply and allowing the cascade of water to wash away the mental and physical dirt. The hot water feels divine against her skin. With a deep exhale Lola reaches for the soap, lathering it generously and scrubbing well.
Her hair is next, a long stream of grime flowing down the drain. Already astride in her cleansing, Lola grabs the razor and gel, shaving the overgrown stubble.

Wrapped in an overly large fluffy towel, Lola feels considerably more like herself as she steps into the bedroom. The sheets are torn off, light shining around from the open curtains and fresh air breathing life into the place from the open windows.
There's no sign of Carlos however regardless of that she quietly dresses. Then unable to leave the bed unmade she takes on that task.

Carlos gazes up from the quickly put together meal of sandwiches to see Lola striding towards him. She's in cleaner clothes, her hair damp as it coils into those ringlets and expression considerably happier than before.

 "Sorry, I should have made dinner-"
"You should have told me is what you should have done," he retorts the fury in his eyes soothing as he witnesses her shocked reaction.
He forces himself to calm himself as he pushes a plate towards her and soothingly promises, "I know I'm a hard man to communicate to Lola but if you ever need anything you can tell me. Though enough of that! Let's eat and then I'm taking you somewhere where we can talk more."
She doesn't ask but the curiosity is there in her gaze and for now, that's enough for Carlos.

They eat in silence, wash up in silence and when it's all done, they leave in silence.

In the dark, Lola cannot distinguish which road they're travelling on. But as they park up, despite the missing lettering and boarded up windows, the building is the same. Lola's breath catches as she stares in horror. Why would he bring her back here? To the café? To show her where he killed her father, to show her how?
Silently he gets out the car, tugging on her door to allow her out. With a shaky inhale; Lola follows him through the place she's known since she was barely a toddler. Now though, it's like she's never seen it. It's stripped bare; the bare walls glaring at her under the harsh lighting, no tables or chairs, and no life in the place. It's cold and dark and unforgiving; reflecting just the frostiness she feels within her.
Rather than lead her into the study, as she would have suspected, he takes her up the discreet stairs to where what used to be her and her father's apartment. Surprisingly they trail off into her old bedroom where the bare bones of a single bed and one lonesome mattress on top of it features heavily. In the corner there are cardboard boxes piled up-it's contents unknown to Lola. She sweeps across the place, her heart stuttering as she lands across the small stain on the floor where she once spilt nail polish. The hooks on the walls remain as reminders of where her photos used to hang with memories of her family and friends she treasured so dearly. Oh God...Photos. With all the contents in her house removed and most likely tossed away she fears those old albums, the only pictures she has of her mother, is too lying in some trash bag somewhere.

"Piccola," breathes Carlos engulfing her in his arms again as that soft whimper reaches his ears.
Lola forces herself to pull herself up. She's done enough crying for now. It's time for them to...talk. They need to work whatever this is out, whether it ends with him killing her or her him.
"Sit down for me," she says quietly pulling out of his grip.
He goes to protest but Lola interrupts him as she repeats the request. With a weary gaze on her, Carlos lowers himself onto the old mattress, biting his tongue as she paces back and forth before him.

"Why? Tell me why you brought me here?" she demands finally.
Carlos steadies his gaze onto her, unapologetically stating, "so you can say goodbye."
There's a pregnant pause as she digests that piece of information. Digesting it, Lola paces again.
"Okay...Okay," she murmurs and a few other non-intelligent things.
"Whatever it is Lola, just tell me. You don't need to worry about...hurting me just spit it out."

She stops. Spinning on her heels, Lola narrows her eyes on him.
"And should I be worried about you hurting me?" she venomously spits.
It's a waste of a question and even Lola knows it but it doesn't stop her asking it, just for some small dig at him.
"You know well enough I won't lay a single hand on you in violence, no matter what you do piccola. But I won't allow you to carry on making snide remarks and passive aggressive comments in attempts of getting back at me, even if it is better than your silence. So whatever you have to say get it out of your system now."

Lola snorts, shaking her head as she takes a step closer to him.

"You want me to get it out. Fine! Because the truth is Carlos Castellano, I have no fucking idea what the hell I feel!
I hate you for fucking me on that desk that first day. I hate you for dragging me away and locking me up in your tower. I hate you for cutting off the few connections I had to my friends. I hate you for your stupid bossy ass. I hate your woe is me attitude and your shitty conscience. I hate your godawful family. I hate your disgusting diet and I-I..."

She swipes at the hot tears that roll down her cheeks, cursing him internally in his ability to remain so calm and collected while she is running hot and cold.

"But most of all, I hate that I cannot hate you for everything wrong in my life right now.
You didn't make my father sign a deal with your father and you sure as hell didn't make me offer myself to you. You did what you could to make me comfortable, to accommodate me even when I wasn't being accommodating. You may have been the one to pull the trigger on my father but I know-I truly do-that if it weren't at your hands then it would have been at someone else's. So maybe I am thankful just a little that he got to say whatever he wanted me to know to the one person who would actually deliver the message.
None of that makes your betrayal sting Carlos. You pulling the trigger doesn't make it a hurt for me nearly half as much when I know that you didn't want to. Sure you owe me nothing. You have the power to do whatever you damn well please to me but you don't want to. You know that and I know that. It eats at you. Yet you do it. And killing my father after knowing that somewhere in that mess of man is a heart that regrets those actions, pain me.

So yeah on one hand, I grieve my father and his death but on the other it pisses me off that it was you that did it."

It's a lot to swallow. It's a hard to absorb it all when there's a lot there. However it all boils down to that one word she called him before-coward. She thinks he's a coward and weak for not being able to stand up for himself. He shouldn't care what she thinks. So why does he? Valentina never did this to him. She simply supported him. Smiled and nodded as she kissed him and took his mind off everything to do with his family. But Lola...Lola tests him. She pushes him to the edge and look how they are. They're crazy and wild. God...Is that better or worse? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is keeping her safe. Not to allow her to suffer the same fate as Valentina.
"You're right. I've been trying for diplomacy in all this Lola but that's not fair on you," he states rising to his feet.
Her eyebrows knit in confusion, "meaning?"
"Meaning...that I'm getting you on a flight and to your grandparent's as soon as possible."
Lola gasps in indignance. Like hell he is!
"No I am not! You do not get a free pass like that, Carlos. I am staying and you are facing whatever the hell is coming your way with me right here. I don't care-"

His hands shoot out, grasping her waist and hauling her up against him. His mouth encompasses hers, engrossing her in a sweeping, blinding kiss that has her leaving flustered and dazed like never before. It's seems like a lifetime ago since he's kissed her like this.

"You Lola Beaumont are one hard headed woman," he mumbles.
She shakes the fireworks from her mind before her fire sparks again.

"I'm not going."
"I know."
"But I don't forgive you for your actions."
"I can understand that."
"You'll have to make it up to me."
"I do. I will."
"How?"
He inhales, finger tracing her jawline, "how would you like me to?"
Her eyes flash with dark lust and a large female, primitive part of her wants to take him up on one very tempting offer but that won't do any good in the aftermath.
"By being true to yourself. Do the right thing. That's how you can make it up to me. That's the only way I can truly forgive you Carlos."

Carlos sighs, chin resting against her head as he bends to inhale the sweet scent of her hair. For this beautiful woman, he may just about do anything.
"Okay...Do you feel better now?"
"Much. Thank you for...for not giving up on me," she mumbles into his chest, "oh! And I want to go back to work."
He pulls back, "you're sure you're okay to? Joseph did say take as long as you need."
Lola rolls her eyes, "death of someone you love isn't something you can just slap a time limit on for grieving. I've...I've done enough for now and no doubt, that I'll always miss him but I'm living. I'm a living, breathing person and I can't just put my life on hold and mourn it away."
This is the person he didn't think he'd miss so much until she went away (metaphorically of course).
"Good. He wanted you happy, no matter what decisions you make. He wanted you to know that he'd always love you even if you think it's not what he would have approved of. He loved you unconditionally Lola."
It's a concept Carlos has little understanding of, but one he wishes to experience so sorely.
A fresh sheen of tears glazes her eyes, which are for once surprisingly out of happiness but she blinks them away.
"I know he did but thank you, it means a lot to know those were his parting words."


 She gazes around the place once more with a lingering melancholy.
"All my things are gone, aren't they?" she softly asks already knowing the answer.
Carlos makes a strangled sound of despair she's never heard from him before he squeezes her gently.
"I did what I could. The boxes over there contain some paperwork and albums."
Technically she should feel more relieved about her paperwork still being there, legitimate ones. But her overwhelming relief are the albums and photos. Those are things that can never be regained, especially those taken on old school film without any digital back ups.

 She gives him a blinding grin of gratitude as she slips out of his hold and glides to the boxes. Her knees sink to the ground, hands hurrying to rip open the containers. Picking up one of the many books she finds in there, she shuffles towards the bed, opening it up.
"This was my mom," she states tracing the old picture.
Carlos flickers his glance to her in surprise. Not questioning her motive to confide so much in him so quickly again, Carlos shuffles closer to her. Inspecting the faded photo better and he's not shocked to see a beautiful woman smiling back at him. Clearly, Lola inherited that big, bright smile from her mother and quite possibly that resounding spark of life she has too.


 
She goes onto indulge him more in her family history. Pointing out particular pictures of interest to her and even blushing brightly at her own baby, toddler and teenage pictures. It's all so adorable and cute that uncharacteristically he feels rather more touchy-feely than usual. Although that may be also due to the lack of physical contact between them for days now. As she carries on telling him about her schooling years, all he can concentrate on is flipping her back and making up for that lost time.
"Carlos? Am I boring you already? Ha, I bet you wish I was giving you the silent treatment-"
Another kiss steals her sentence away and this time she frowns playfully when he pulls away.

"What was that one for?"
Carlos tips the album closed as he whispers desperately, "enough. Time to get you back home."
And naked, he silently adds. 

A/n hopefully the long update makes up for the delay. Sorry guys, new year celebrations took up a fair bit of time. So I'll be returning back to Uni next week but I'll try update again in another 2 weeks. 
I loved hearing all your comments and thoughts over the last chapter even if I couldn't reply to many of them! Thank you so much for sharing. 

Question of the Chapter: If you were Eliza what advice you have given Carlos/would you have said the same things?