Alaric
The lecture hall empties slowly, students lingering to ask Nia questions about the upcoming assignment. I watch from my position at the back of the room as she answers each one with patience, her voice soft but authoritative. She's in her element here; confident, knowledgeable, completely at ease. It's the same energy she had when she was a student, except now she's the one commanding the room.
When the last student finally leaves, she gathers her materials without looking at me. "I have a therapy session in thirty minutes. My office."
"I'll drive—"
"No." She's already heading toward the door, her heels clicking against the floor with that same purposeful stride that's been driving me insane and I realized it still does "I drive."
Madonna.
I follow her to the parking lot, my Italian curse dying on my tongue. I've been back in Kenya for less than a week and already I'm struggling. Four years of speaking primarily Italian has made English feel foreign in my mouth, the words taking too long to form. Swahili is even worse. I was never as fluent as Atticus to begin with, and now the phrases slip away before I can catch them.
"Are you coming or do you need a written invitation?" Nia calls from the driver's seat of her Bentley.
I slide into the passenger seat and immediately reach for the seatbelt. Yeah I love my life. Fool me once.
She notices and chuckles, actually chuckles, before pulling out of the parking space at a speed that should be illegal. I grip the door handle and try to look unbothered. I've faced down armed men unfazed. I've tortured people without breaking a sweat. Surely I can handle a twenty-minute drive with a woman who thinks speed limits are suggestions.
I thought things couldn't get any worse.
Then she connects her phone to the car's sound system.
The bass hits first, deep and pounding, followed by a voice that is decidedly... explicit. Very explicit. In Spanish.
Cazzo.
"Problem?" Nia asks innocently, not taking her eyes off the road as she weaves between cars.
"No problem." The words come out slightly forced, like I'm trying to prove I'm fine under duress.I clear my throat.
"Your music choice is... interesting."
"I like what I like." She turns it up. As if it wasn't loud already.
The next song is worse. English this time, and the lyrics are so graphic that I suddenly understand why her fathers probably have no idea what their daughter listens to. I catch the words ' do you like the way I flick my tongue or nah? You can ride my face until you're dripping come…. ' she literally listens to smut.
Cristo—I need to think about something else.
"This is... educational," I manage.
She actually laughs. It's short and sharp, but it's real. "You're such a prude, Amani."
There it is. My name in her voice. I know she's mocking me, but my name in her voice sounds like heaven to me. Oh the perfect pronunciation, just wish I could see her say it, but the mask is in the fucking way.
"Non Sono un prude," I mutter before catching myself. " I just did not… expect"
"Expect what? That I listen to music about sex? You should listen to the audio books I read. This is nothing, Alaric. Everyone has their own taste in everything."
There goes my first name in her voice. Another tiny victory.
We arrive at her therapy office in twelve minutes. It should have been a twenty-five minute drive for normal drivers. I'm questioning whether my parents' insurance covers for heart attacks caused by passenger trauma. At least here we find a guard waiting to park her car. She hands the keys to him after greeting him cheerfully. We walk into the building. Her office is in a modern building, all glass and clean lines. We board an elevator where she presses the tenth floor. There's just the two of us in it. The tension is so thick that you could cut it with scissors. Our eyes lock in the elevator walls and for a minute I forget how to breathe. Even through her glasses which have slightly tinted from the sun, I can see emotions in her eyes or maybe even questions. Finally the elevator dings. I almost suffocated in there.
The waiting area is cool which is so helpful. I definitely need some cool air from the drive and the elevator saga. There's an indoor fountain in the corner, the sound and view is probably supposed to be soothing but not for me considering I almost had a mini heart attack. The place has a beautiful view and warm colour tones. The area is cozy and beautiful. Definitely what one would need when waiting for a therapy appointment.
" Wait here," she instructs, disappearing into her office.
A young woman arrives a few minutes later. Probably still in high school, eyes red-rimmed, hands shaking slightly. She glances at me nervously.
"He's here for my security," Nia said gently, appearing in her doorway. "He'll wait out here. You're safe."
The lady nods and follows Nia inside. The door closes with a soft click.
I settle into one of the waiting room sofas and pull out my phone. There are messages from Atticus, mostly memes about bodyguard duties and one asking if murdered by Nia's driving skills yet and another one asking whether a stiletto heel has been thrown my way by Nia. Yeah her parents told me that she throws heels and bags at people when her patience runs thin. There's a longer text from mamma asking how I'm settling, if I'm eating properly and if I've talked to 'the girl' yet.
Yeah that girl is in a therapy session helping someone heal while I'm out here trying to remember how to form English statements from scratch.
One hour passes. The door opens and the young lady emerges, her shoulders held higher than when she went in, her eyes clearer and hands not shaking anymore. Nia walks her to the elevator speaking to her in a low, soothing and calming voice.
When she returns, she looks tired. Not physically, her posture is still perfect, her expression still controlled, but there's something in her eyes that wasn't there before. Something heavy and mysterious.
" Long session?" I ask
" They all are." She locks her office door. " Let's go. And before you ask, I'm still driving." I need to negotiate here.
"Actually," I say carefully, "I thought maybe I could drive this time. You must be… stanco. Tired. From the session and the previous lectures. Furthermore you must be hungry. You haven't put anything in your stomach apart from the breakfast you barely ate."
" Are food police now? Like I said, I'm not hungry." She says as she walks to the elevator avoiding eye contact.
At least this time there were other people in the elevator. Soon we arrive at the ground floor to find the guard from earlier standing next to her car with a polite smile on his face.
"He's driving," she says as she points at me when the man opens the door to the driver's side for her.
" What? You said you'd drive. Don't keep me waiting, Amani. I'm tired." my name again.
The drive to her house is quieter. She's turned off THE music, opting for something slow, soft and sweet music filling the silence without demanding attention. I keep my speed reasonable, following traffic laws like a normal human being.
"Can I ask you something?" The words are out before I can second-guess them.
" That's literally a question."
" Smart ass." It comes out before I can stop myself, and I bite my lip. "Scusa. Sorry. I um…"
" Accurate." She keeps her eyes straight ahead as she removes her mask and places it on her lap. There goes that gorgeous face. If perfection could walk and talk, it would come in the form of Nia. " Eyes on the road sir and ask the question, Amani."
I keep my eyes on the road, trying my best not to stare at her. " The gangster. Caspian. What made you… what did he do?"
Silence stretches for like thirty seconds that I doubt I'll be getting an answer. Then:
" He hurt someone I love."
The simplicity of it, the finality, hits harder than any detailed explanation could. I understand. Really understand more than anyone would think.
" Your friend, Rielle."
"Yes." Her voice flat, emotionless but her hands clenched in her lap and a vein popping in the middle of her forehead.
" He hurt her so badly. Repeatedly. Gaslighted her into thinking she was the problem. Made her light almost go. And after all that threatened to hurt the people she loved."
Figliodi puttana.
"So you made him pay."
" I made him understand what it feels like to be powerless. And made him go through what he made her go through for one year in a span of hours. Violated and abused." a smirk definitely played on her lips. There's something in her expression. Something that reminds me of the woman who chased a man down with her car. Well with her driving skills, that man is lucky to even have both legs.
I should be disturbed. A normal person should be disturbed. But all I feel is admiration. That this brilliant, fierce and protective woman, went to war for her friend. She didn't want to just sit around and wait for the law enforcement to fight her battles. Even I know that you can't just sit around and wait.
" That was brave, Nia."
" Can we drop this topic? I don't wanna talk about it anymore." Her voice is sharp,cutting even.
I open my mouth to push. To ask what actually happened, what kind of revenge she enacted, but something in her face makes me stop. There's a wall there, impenetrable. She told me enough. More than enough considering she's barely spoken to me since I showed up at her house.
" Okay," I say instead. " Okay I understand."
She blinks,surprised. "You are not going to push?"
"No. You told me what you wanted me to know. That is… sufficiente. Enough."
We drive the rest of the way in silence, but it's less hostile and more complicated, I know that's not better either. But we are getting somewhere…. maybe?
When we pull into her driveway, slowly, carefully, like a person who values their life, she doesn't immediately get out. She just sits there staring at the mask on her lap, and for a moment she looks so vulnerable. So vulnerable in a way I've never seen her.
" Thank you," she finally says. "Thank you for…. For not judging me." She looks at me this time, with a smile. That's a first tiny victory, all I've been getting all day is attitude.
"I'm the last person who should judge anyone, Nia. Well I'm judging you for your….." I pause looking for the right word, " defying-death driving skills.Otherwise I wouldn't judge you for protecting someone you love. Trust me." she sighs deeply in relief. What I did in Italy because someone hurt our parents, is worse. How will she take it if she finds out? Or does she know all about it?
" Heeeey. If I was the one driving, we'd have gotten here like twenty minutes ago." She laughs a little and flicks her tongue out a little to lick her lips. Is that a tongue ring? I've been hearing a little clink in her mouth but I thought I was hearing wrong. Damn that's hot.
" And your Italian keeps slipping out."
" Si. Yes. Sorry. Four years of speaking it more than English has my brain confused."
" It's a little annoying."
" I know. I'm working on it."
" But also kind of…" she stops herself, shaking her head and mumbles with a really heavy Spanish accent, " Nia are you crazy? What were you going to say?"
She gets out of the car before I can ask her to finish that statement. Kind of what? But I don't push. She talked to me more in the last thirty minutes. I bet that's enough for a week. She's allowed me to drive her car. She's trusted me with information about what she did to Caspian. Small victories right?
I follow her to the door, my eyes scanning the perimeter, checking for threats, doing my job. But my brain is still stuck on the way my name rolled on her tongue. Oh that sinful tongue with a piercing. The way she looked at me when I didn't push for details. The way she almost, just almost, complimented my Italian.
Inside, we find her household staff waiting for her in two perfect lines. They all bow when she steps inside. Of course they do, she is a principessa after all.
" Good evening guys, this is Alaric, he'll be staying with us but living in the house rather than the quarters, he's my bodyguard" she introduces me.
" You guys still insist on bowing besides me telling you that it's not necessary."
" Oh Young Mistress, we love our job," an older woman probably in her fifties who is waiting at the furthest end with a pair of house shoes speaks.
" Aunt Mary, you are not even supposed to be bowing, doesn't your back hurt?" Aunt Mary the house manager.
She hands her house slippers and takes her heels, then instructs the other staff to prepare a room for me.
I'm so tempted to ask her about the baggy clothes. About the mask she wears everywhere. About why someone who moves with such confidence seems to be hiding herself. But I keep my mouth shut. Maybe some other time. Her social battery is probably depleted. I did some research and found out that battery depletion is an introvert thing.
"Tomorrow," she says as she heads towards the stairs, " we have an early morning. I have to be at the University by seven."
"I will be ready."
She pauses on the third step,looking back at me. "See you in the dining room. Here everyone has dinner together." I bow at her as she disappears up the stairs. Even if I wasn't her bodyguard, I'd bow at her. I have seen dad doing so to mamma for years. Papa taught us a lot.