Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) (7 page)

“The only begging worth to a man is by a
woman who is capable of understanding the beast within him.”

A silent pause occurs at the dinner
table. Ms. Eleanor, who finished her Bloody Mary, taps her spoon on the empty
glass for another one. Thomas comes in on cue to refill.

“I like you.” Jordana points her fork
and smiles at Juliet then at me and mouths out, ‘Five hundred.’ This is only
the first damn night. No way I’m going to declare a loss.

“It’s about time someone was a match for
Satan,” Cody laughs.

“Cody, how’s life? Still blue in all
areas?” I ask and he throws back a glare.

“Cody’s a virgin,” Poppy whispers to
Juliet.

“Poppy!” Cody snaps and turns red
beneath his brown complexion.

“It’s alright Cody,” Juliet says softly.
“I think it’s rather impressive. A man with control in his desires says a lot
about his character.”

Now the red turns to probably pink as
Cody blushes from Juliet’s save.

“I bet it’s your year for true love,”
she says smiling.

“Sure.” Cody brushes it off.

She nods. “Trust me. I’m psychic.”

“How fascinating,” I deadpan.

“Yes, it is and I predict that this
year...” She narrows her eyes at me. “That supercilious and heinous individuals
will succumb to what they want the most in their life.”

“And what is that?”

“Less futile… more magnitude.”

My jaw twitches and I stare at her
through my sunglasses as Jordana claps again.

“Like I said… I like her.”

JULIET

After dinner everyone goes to their
separate corners but I decide to go out onto the balcony and enjoy the fresh
air while looking over the city lights. I want to think about anything else
other than Hugo, but damn, I can’t. I fancy the bastard. I would love to shag
the bastard.

           
He
still wore his sunglasses at dinner. What an arrogant bastard. Jordana says
that’s his signature look. It amazes me that even with his certain cliché
personality and coldness, he’s still very original with it in a sense. It’s a
façade but quite truthful
—
I mean, I
can tell this guy is fucked up. I don’t mean the fucked up things he’s probably
done, but I can tell he has had it rough. The usual rough childhood that occurs
in a child of wealth, parents that probably neglect them, therefore diminishing
their emotions and enhancing their need for love. I know a lot of people like
that and a lot of people not like that. Either way, England, America, anywhere,
the same kind of people reside. Except us British are way cooler, just stating
the facts.

           
“Beautiful,
isn’t it?” I know his voice already. I smile to myself, but quickly I have to
mask it before turning around to face him. Hugo steps outside through the gold
curtains. He still has on his glasses. The white shirt that shows his lean and
slightly muscular body and he doesn’t have any shoes or socks on. Nice feet for
a man. Only one other man I know has nice feet
—
my dad.

           
“Yes,
it is.” He stands next to me as I lean on the stone balcony, looking down. He
leans over too with his arms crossed and his biceps flexed, revealing how
muscular he
really
is.

           
“So,”
he begins to speak after a pause. “Ready to run for the hills yet?”

           
“No,”
I say adamantly. “I’m beginning to love my decision to stay here already.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So far, everyone is nice and quite
funny.”

“Yes, this house is pure comedy.”

“You’re quite hilarious too, ya know.”

“Not really.”

I laugh a little. “Yes, you are.”

“Well, you’re certainly attracted to
me.”

I arch my brow and stand straight, my
body facing him completely. He follows my movement. “You really are full of
yourself.”

“Only confident.”

“Well Hugo, yes, you are very handsome…
but your personality can be harmful to it.”

 
“That’s a first.”

“And you are not my type.”

“There really isn’t a type when it comes
to sex.”

At this point, nothing Hugo Mandrake can
say would leave me speechless, so bring it.

“Bold move, Mandrake,” I slyly grin.

“Are you a virgin?”

I laugh because I just can’t help it.
“Um, well what do you think?”

“Lesbian?”

“Again… What. Do. You. Think?”

He sighs and even through the
sunglasses, I feel him evaluating me.

“Well, you’re not a virgin nor a
lesbian.” He pauses before continuing. “You lost your virginity probably a year
or two ago from your boyfriend of six months.” Actually, it was my boyfriend of
three months and it was two years ago. “The sex was horrible at first, but it
didn’t matter because he made it special, candle lit and all that other
bullshit, because he loved you.” When he says love, he uses air quotes. “Then
it got better, but it never met your expectations towards what all your friends
described it as. You probably did most of the pleasuring during foreplay and so
you’re a genius with that. He probably tried but was never able to hit the
spot. No communication. You broke up with him as soon as you got the guts to
tell daddy you didn’t want to date the son of his best friend anymore.”

“Do you always insult people?”

“Am I wrong?”

I narrow my eyes, smirking. “Some of it
is right.” I lean in closer to him. A good move, but a mistake on my part as my
body begins to radiate from the possibility of him touching me.

“I am very good at what I do and also
what you will learn from me is that there is never any miscommunication in my
affairs, meaning I taught him how to hit my spot and he hit it very well… and
he was just a good guy who I couldn’t fall for so I did us both a favor. He’s
in with a girl who is good to him and I tend to enjoy the perks of casual sex.”

He licks his lip, biting back a smile.
He’s probably never smiled fully.

“I have a gift at reading people,” He
states. “It’s usually at least ninety percent right.”

“Maybe you should be a therapist.”

“I’m not capable of being patient on a
consistent level.”

“You’re insensitive too.”

“Does that really matter?” He steps
closer to me. He is only an inch from me. “It is the summer. A season to be
free and do things you never thought you would do.”

“Uh, Hugo,” I laugh, taking a step back,
shaking my head. “I am the worst kind of girl you could sleep with.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’m the girl who sees through
all your shit. I’m the one that will actually care for you. Change your life.
Make you feel first anger because, well, my mum says that I do that a lot to
her and you’re a little more of a tightwad… then one day, you will realize how
cool and awesome I really am… then you’ll fall for me.”

“I don’t fall,” he says adamantly.

“I’ve heard… but no one is born with
hate. They’re usually taught.”

“You are very sure of yourself also.”

“Yes, I am. I’m psychic, remember?” I
smirk. “I plan to have lots of fun this summer… but you and I have a long way
to go before I even consider taking you as a lover.” He still remains calm. He
is going to be a hard one to crack.
 
“Now I may be curious, but I’m not desperate. I don’t have time to deal
with someone who wants nothing but to make me into one of his broken toys.” I
smile and his lips slightly part. “So, if you want to fuck me… don’t fuck with
me.” His eyes must be dazzling. I may be wrong, but something just tells me
he’s getting off on this conversation.

“Goodnight Hugo.”

I walk away with courage and a
fierceness I haven’t felt in a while and am slightly rejuvenated. This is going
to be fun.

HUGO

I am completely and utterly turned on.
Well done, English Rose. Well fucking done.

4

SCARLETT

           
“Oh how
I’ve missed New York,” I say, gazing out the window of the town car.

           
“I’m
sure it has missed you.” Patrick squeezes my hand, pressing his lips against
it. “You add beauty to this city.”

           
I
love how he adores me. The son of one of the most prestigious and wealthiest
families of Boston, Patrick Townsend is everything a woman wants in a man…
handsome, intelligent, kind, and unlimited wealth. I’m not a gold digger, I
have plenty of money but to rule the upper eastside, both cherries of the stem
must be filled with a juicy, sweet, delectable taste. A taste of old money and
power could take you far on this island. My choosing of Patrick will surprise
most people, but I like to add a little shock value. I was shocked myself when
I first decided to pursue him, but it was something about him. That good boy
nature, it was so pure. His heart is a heart of gold yet he is a man.

           
“Hopefully,”
I flash my sad grin. “They can all see that I’ve changed.”

           
“Of
course, they will.” Patrick leans in, kissing me on my lips. “Anyone who judges
people based off high school is just sad. Babe, you are one of a kind.”

           
“Got
that right,” I wink.

           
“You
want to stop by your old place?”

           
“No,”
I sigh. “I’ll go later.” I slide over and prop myself onto his lap. “Right now,
all I want to do is get to that condo of yours.”

           
“Of
ours,” he corrects me.

           
“Of
ours and stay in bed,” I gently flick his bottom lip with my tongue, “all day.”

           
He
moans into my mouth. “I am okay with that.”

           
I
slip my tongue into his mouth and kiss the shit out of him, grinding my hips as
he grips my ass. His lips trail down to my neck and his right hand comes up and
around to my chest, grabbing hold of my breast. This should turn me on but
instead the sight of the 24-caret flawless diamond ring on my left hand is what
makes me wet.

HUGO

Sometimes you can be awake and asleep at
the same time. Metaphorically and physically speaking. Physically, I am indeed
still asleep, but awake. My eyes are closed but the sounds from outside my room
resonate in my ears. I hear the cars honking outside, the construction on the
townhouse across the street. The birds tapping on my window and inside I hear a
pair of feet running upstairs. He always runs upstairs, excited to see me.

           
My
brother is a person of a rare perception. He sees things like no other. He is
shy, timid, and sensitive to touch, but never with me; he always loves to touch
me and I hate to be touched.

           
“Hugo!”
He jumps in my bed, with his probably red Ralph Lauren loafers still on. He
keeps jumping until I finally awake, turning on my back. There he is, smiling
at me.

           
“Hello,
August,” I greet him nonchalantly. He never cares how I greet him as long as I
do. I grunt as he plops down on my stomach and starts to tickle me. I’m not
ticklish yet that still doesn’t stop him. He loves to tickle me. He got it from
our mother. She loved to tickle us.

He finally gets off and sits next to me.
I grab a cigarette out of my gold cig case and light it. He wipes away the
smoke from his face, pouting. I look at him as he scratches the top of his head
while the other hand moves his fingers, making the usual hand gestures he does.
“How was the trip?” I ask.

           
He
shakes his head, staring off frowning and confused. “I- I didn’t like it.
People kept talking to me, asking me bout myself and I didn’t like it at all,
Hugo. They kept getting in my face and I don’t understand. And when I did talk,
they looked at me funny. How can you be at a function for people with autism
and you don’t know how to act around people with autism? You’re not supposed to
look at us funny and make us feel uncomfortable and not normal. That’s rude.”

           
“Well,
big brother, the world is full of ignorant folk.”

           
“I
didn’t like the food either, but!” His face lights up, scratching his nose.
“There was cake. It was chocolate.”

           
“Sounds
riveting,” I deadpan.

           
He
bites his lip, his brow scrunched up in deep thought.

           
“What?”
I ask.

           
“Dad
yelled at me. He was mad at me, but I don’t know what I did, Hugo. I try… I try
to be normal, but I can’t. It’s written in stone; I am different. You say that.
I am- I am different.”

           
“Yes,
you are. You are more than different. Hey, look at me.” My brother doesn’t make
eye contact with people, barely me, but if I need to get a point across, he
will grant me his stare. His head hunches over and his eyes look into mine. I
see my reflection. We are identical. Same everything except his hair is longer
and falls over his forehead and the obvious, he is indeed different. “You are
better than any of those people… even me.”

           
“But
we are the same, so if I’m better, than you are, right?”

           
He
likes to see us as the same because it gives him confidence. My confidence in
myself is what he relies on. I am his hero and it both amuses and frightens me.

           
“Yeah…”
I give in to make him feel better. “You and I are better than all of them… so
fuck em.”

           
He
winces whenever someone curses. His ears are sensitive to vulgar words and loud
sounds. His body is sensitive to crowds of people and swimming pools. His mind
works visually. Everything he feels is visualized in his mind and projected
into a maze. My brother is oddly a genius in his own right, but people never
seem to grasp that. So he is the wise recluse, a man wise beyond his premature
years who is content to live a solitary life. He only asks for one thing and
that is that I will always be there because we are one and without the other,
we are nothing. I have no choice but to promise him that out of obligation, out
of blood, out of guilt because I could have been the brother who came out
differently. Last time I checked, if one twin comes out with autism, there is a
seventy percent chance that the other will develop it too. My brother came out
first. If you were asked which one you’d think would develop it before knowing,
you’d suggest me, the twin that took twelve minutes to come out of my mother’s
womb and wasn’t breathing when arrived. It took them a minute to get me crying
loudly like my life depended on it. My mother told me I was like a banshee. She
said my screams scared her and for a moment she did not want to hold me. But
when they lay August and I next to each other, it did not matter because to her
it was as if we were one. They kept monitoring me, not worried about August. He
came out on time and healthy. He was okay, but soon they learned that irony is
very essential to life. I became the thirty percent chance, ‘The lucky chance’,
our doctor told our parents when August couldn’t talk nor act accordingly to
most standards of a five year old. I was lucky. Not him and to me that was
fucked up.

JULIET

I thought about him last night before I
fell asleep and I thought of him when I woke this morning. Then when I was in
the shower and when I threw on the last piece of clothing on my body. When I
walked down the hall from my room.

I am anticipating the moment I see him
again. I think I come across him in the foyer, rolling a glass marble on the
centered round dark brown table. I am mistaken.

The marble slowly collides with the
decorated centerpiece, a gold moai of Buddha, which doesn’t surprise me is
there. He’s staring at the marble hard, trying to figure it out maybe? He
reaches his hand over the table and grabs the marble, prepared to repeat the
same action. I only see the back of him, but I can tell this is the infamous
twin brother, August Mandrake.

Slowly, he stands up, his shoulders
hunched. He turns and I see his side frame. His bottom lip pokes out as he
stares at the marble. He’s wearing a blue collared shirt that is buttoned up to
the top. A brown belt holds up his green khaki shorts. He has on red Ralph
Lauren loafers. His hair falls over his forehead and he looks slightly leaner
than Hugo. Realizing he isn’t alone, he faces me, his eyes widening.

           
“Hello,”
I say carefully. I’ve never interacted with someone of his nature. It might be
a bit presumptuous or even rude, but I would think you’d have to be careful
with someone like him. But it doesn’t stop me from stepping forward. He steps
back. He keeps staring at the floor, but for a quick second he raises his head
to me, staring off at the wall. Wow, I see the color of his eyes. One blue, a
bright blue at that, and the other green but darker. His eyes are big and round
and the contrast between them is clear. Seeing August’s eyes is almost like
seeing Hugo for the first time.

           
“Why
are you staring at me like that?” he asks, frowning, scared and confused. I
feel like shit for staring at him like he’s an alien. “I don’t like it when
people stare at me.” His fingers move frequently and his eyes blink every half
a second. I step back, not wanting to frighten him anymore.

           
“I’m
sorry,” I apologize. I stick out my hand. “I’m Juliet.” He stares down at my
hand and scratches the back of his head. He takes another step back like it’s
the plague. “Well, we don’t have to shake hands.” I quickly pull my hands behind
my back.

           
“My
dad says I-I need to start shaking people’s hands, but I don’t want to.” He
shakes his head as he speaks still staring off. His eyes dance, shifting from
left to right. It’s as if there is a war going on in them. “I don’t like it
when people touch me.”

           
I
tilt my head, wondering how I should go about this. “Well, how about we figure
out a new way to greet one another?”

The corners of his mouth start to turn
up. “You’re British. Like James Bond, David Beckham, Keira Knightley, the Queen
of England.”

I giggle. “Yes, I am and I don’t know
about you, but I get tired of shaking people’s hands.”

           
“What
do you suggest?” he asks eagerly.

           
“Hmm,”
I think. “How about a wave?”

           
He
scratches the mild chin hair he has, biting his lip. “A wave makes sense; I
probably should’ve thought of a wave first.” He starts frowning, a distressed
moan escapes from his lips. “Why didn’t I think of a wave?”

           
“Hey,”
I say softly and shit I press me hand without thinking on his shoulder. I don’t
make a sudden movement, scared to scare him off. He looks at my hand on his
shoulder and surprisingly, he doesn’t freak out. “It’s alright,” I go on.
“Sometimes the most simple things slip from our minds.”

           
“Even
the normal?” he asks, still staring at my hand on his shoulder.

           
I
smile at his curiosity and innocence. “Even the normal.”

           
He
starts to laugh to himself. “I’m August,” he graciously introduces himself.

           
“Lovely
to meet you, August.”

HUGO

We enjoy the hot sun and the title of
privileged youth as we eat breakfast outside on the back patio. Ms. Eleanor is
talking to her plants per usual, spraying water on them, gently caressing them
as if they were her children.

           
“My
lovelies, the sun is bright and the world is watching.” She smiles at the sky,
inhaling the scent of urban pollution. Thomas brings her usual Bloody Mary on a
gold serving tray. “The sun reminds me of the Chateau Ramont where my lover
Santiago and I made love for four nights and three days.”

           
“Here
we go,” Jordana mutters as she flips to another page of one of her mother’s
feminist self-help books entitled,
I Am Not
My Period.

           
“I
was twenty-eight and fresh off my second marriage with John James Clark the
fifth. Arrogant bastard that lacked in the bedroom.”

           
“Oh
my God!” Poppy with her pink silk scarf tied around her head is fairly
interested in this story.