Rocco stops and takes a sip of his wine.
“If the big cats, the hyena, the wild dogs, and the crocodiles do not eat because like you, they pity their prey, not only will they perish, but the whole Savannah will become a dustbowl, and all those wonderful iconic animals will die of starvation.
“That lobster on your plate lived in a hydroponic pond as part of a natural system. It led as happy a life as any lobster can. It died swiftly to feed you.”
For a moment I hesitate, then I push my fork into a piece of lobster meat and put it on my tongue. There is no revulsion because it is buttery and delicious.
Chapter 22
Rocco
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swq_X9VQ744
-Stairway To Heaven-
I watch her as she speaks of her art. Bright, vital, boiling with life, and utterly secure of her place in the world. There is no mourning or regret in her. She lives in the present only. Like fire. No care for the past or the future. No holding back for fear of what will happen when all the wood has been consumed. Just burning brightly.
And that wild freedom is indescribably beautiful to me.
Fiercely, I note her every tiny corporeal detail. The sweep of her silky eyelashes, the way the flickering light hits the curve of her cheek, the strands of hair that have come loose from their moorings and sway gently when she turns her head.
At the edges of fascination, a thought gnaws. I push it away. This moment is too precious to ruin. Later. Later, I will deal with the fact that the enemy knows. Isadora knows about Autumn. Do my parents know too? Isadora is greedy… but not stupid. She would have told them. That is the reason my mother turned up here a few days ago. They are gathering, as elusive as shadows. Just as she represents life and innocence, they represent death, but I cannot give them what they want. If she dies I die with her.
“What about you?” Autumn breaks into my dark thoughts. “What do you think about modern art?”
I lift my glass and swirl the old wine in it. In the candlelight, it looks like blood. “I’m afraid I’m not a fan.”
“We sell a lot of it at the gallery. What is it that you don’t approve of?”
“I find it hard to be a fan of a red dot pointed on a white canvas, or a calf cut in half and displayed in a glass case filled with brine, or the display of a particularly slutty, unmade bed.”
“Ah, that. It’s moved on since then”
I take a sip of wine. “Glad to hear of it.”
She leans forward, and the light makes her appear like an angel. A conjuring trick. “I’m going to change your mind. What do you look for in a piece of art?”
“Show me something that I can lose myself in.”
She is as tense as a catapult on full stretch. Then she nods. “You’re on.”
“Hmmm.”
She’s about to say something else, when she stops herself, and looks down at her plate. The peach flavored crepe is gone, and all that’s left is a bit of chocolate sauce. I have stood in the woods and watched her lick her plate when she didn’t know I was there. She wants to do it now. It is only my presence that stops her.
I want her to forget I am next to her. I stay very still and clear my mind of all thoughts. I allow precisely nothing to be in my head. I don’t move a muscle. I don’t even allow myself to breathe. I become as unthreatening as a piece of crushed flower, or a flat black and white photo. It is something I have done all my life. Watching, without being seen.
Then… I will her to do what she wants.
She presses her finger on her plate, collects some sauce on it and puts her finger in her mouth. As suddenly as she forgot my presence, she realizes where she is, and pulls her finger quickly out of her mouth. Hot color rushes up her neck and into her cheeks.
I stare at her.
Yes, for a moment, for a fraction of a moment, she forgot her natural wariness of me. She forgot I was even there. It was only a moment, but it’s enough. It is the first time she has crossed that vast, vast gulf between us, and began to accept me.
The thrill is savage and dark. My cock throbs and lengthens. The desire for her is more than I can bear.
“What is it?” she whispers. Her innocence is child-like. She doesn’t even understand a man’s desire for her. The need to taste her is incredible.
I stand. “William will show you to your room, and tomorrow morning Raoul will take you back down the mountain. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow evening in the library?”