Now, my dress pockets bulged really quite a bit. While a lighter was easily hidden, a few ounces of gold was not.
When Thomas came back, and dismissed gold and burgundy, his eyes fell on my not-so-hidden treasures. But he didn't mention them.
I was unsure how to behave, even if he really had believed me to be their daughter, it wouldn't change anything and suddenly make him a good guy. The question was whether I had angered him, and if yes, what the consequences for that were.
"I'm sorry. I don't know this couple, please don't help them." I preventively apologized and touched my bulging pockets to calm my nerves.
"As you wish." Thomas looked down on me, and it seemed that this topic was over.
That easy? So he was really functioning normally as long as I behaved docile?
However, the next moment, his eyes flitted past me, and I saw his face change gravely. Following his gaze, I saw Jude, a bit behind a stone pillar, gripping a girl harshly by her hair, his expression furious.
My heart dropped, and I wanted to say something to Thomas in an attempt to calm him down, suddenly fearing for Jude's safety.
But then I realized that if I spoke for Jude, his father might catch on that I had had more contact with his son than he had realized. And I don't want to even think about how he would react to all of Jude's inappropriate actions toward me, like showing up every night.
Thomas walked to his son, and I followed closely behind. He grabbed Jude's neck and quietly spoke, his grip tightening,
"Stop it. We are going home." His voice was only a hiss, clearly speaking a threat, and it made me shudder.
Being prompted, he let go of the girl, and she fell to the floor. While Jude's face grew relaxed again, the furry being replaced by detachment, his eyes met mine—his father's hand still around his throat.
I could see the silent urge in his gaze, asking me not to look at him, at this moment, in this position.
Heading to his wish I turned away and spotted Amanda that looked at me coldly. How the hell was she here?
The answer stepped into this hidden place behind the stone pillar.
"Where have you been, I searched for you?" Grandpa-Principal showed up, going to Amanda and checked if she was alright.
"Gramps." She replied, another mystery revealing itself in the blink of an eye. I hope that Grandpa-Principal never hears of her riding his fiery overachiever student, or he will receive a heart attack.
Thomas had meanwhile let go of his son, and when Grandpa-Principal turned to us, he was stunned. It was clear that there was something wrong with the atmosphere, but the girl on the floor with her hair in disarray was the most obvious sign.
The principal nodded at Thomas,
"Mr. Lennister." Bending down, he helped the girl up. She was visibly shaken, but luckily didn't cry.
"What happened?" Principal Grandpa asked her, and she just shook her head. Turning to us again, he looked at the motionless Jude with suspicion because he was standing the closest to her.
"This young lady seemed to have stumbled, and my son didn't help her up. I will have a word with him." Thomas glanced at the girl, and she hurriedly nodded, somewhat convincing the principal.
Everyone has heard of ladies throwing themselves in front of attractive men, trying to gain their attention. I am sure he was thinking in that direction.
"We have to excuse us." Thomas nodded at the principal before taking me by the shoulder, his eyes finding Jude, and telling him to follow as he led me outside.
He grabbed me a bit too hard, and I only worried more. At least the rod was hidden, but what if a psycho like him had a rod-arsenal in some kind of hidden closet? What would he do to Jude?
We waited for the car, the driver was apparently constantly on the lookout for us, or he was somehow informed because he instantly drove in our direction.
I turned my head and saw Jude behind us, strolling with his hands in his pockets. I don't know why I did it, but I sneaked my hand into my full pockets and took the lighter out, moving my hand behind my back. Just, maybe this lighter would give him strength, and if Thomas really turned violent, then he could at least burn his hair away—we could later think about how to proceed after that.
I soon felt scorching fingers taking the weapon, stroking my palm while distancing themselves a bit too slowly.
"Take the copilot seat." Thomas commanded his son, opening the door to the back seat for me. So this time, it seemed that Jude had the honor of taking the same car as us.
Taking one last look at Jude, I saw him nodding again lightly, so I entered, sliding to the end so that my husband could follow me inside. The partition was up, so I couldn't look at Jude, but I heard him entering the car as well.
I fiddled with my hands, the gold jewel pricking my hips because I now sat, the dress becoming tighter. Leaning back, I closed my eyes, peeking out of one eye. Thomas' hand was beside him. And while I thought that this surely was a mistake, I put my hand on his, hoping to calm his anger. Not daring to look any longer, both my lids shut close as I felt him putting my hand in his, interlocking our fingers again.
"He is just like his mother." Unexpectedly, he spoke.
Opening my eyes, the alcohol was still in my system, and I felt emboldened enough to take the chance to finally ask,
"You mean his appearance?"
"Yes... These black eyes that always seem to conceal something." Thomas looked out of the window, in thoughts, mumbling,
"And the erratic behavior. It is impossible to fight one's genes." He said, the strict and monotone voice suddenly sounding ruefully and sad.
I was still thinking what to say, when his eyes met mine, his nearly desperate gaze as he asked stunning me,
"Don't you think?"
He asked in a manner that would seem to expect my agreement, but I saw in his little expression a strong plead for disagreement, which I would have anyway because it also seemed to be the right answer to protect Jude from an eventual punishment.
"No. I think genes are just a little part of us, not who we are." I answered slowly and deliberately, and I saw his body relaxing, as if having received reassurance, having his hopes confirmed.