CANDICE MONROE WAS A discreet, honest and intelligent person, incapable of wasting her time on matters that did not provide her with any benefit. That is why, at thirty-three years of age, she had already accumulated university degrees that honored her resume: she had a degree in History and a diploma in Romance Philology. She usually dressed soberly at work, but as soon as she finished her day at the auction house she would change her clothes — opting for a more feminine style — in order to attract the attention of men.
She had an oval face and a big smile, which aroused the uneasiness of the most puritanical. Her hair was straight, dark in color, like her eyes, and the accentuated tone of her lips contrasted with the rosy color of her cheeks. She was proud to have — without having undergone any plastic surgery — measurements that were very much in tune with the archetype of the 21st century woman: perfect lines that her tight jeans and her wool blouses, just the right length for her waist, highlighted remarkably.
She was fond of books and medieval architecture, entertainments that filled her scarce free time and that, in a way, further enriched her admirable intellect. Another of her favorite pastimes was flirting with Gregory Evans. Now she was with him and, without a doubt, something seemed to have changed that night. He was taciturn and reserved, characteristics that were the opposite of his fun personality.
They had talked about Jorge on the phone the night before, although it would be fair to say that she had made an effort to keep the conversation going, because Greg seemed to be on the other side of the Universe, absorbed in unfathomable thoughts. Seeing that he wasn't paying attention to what she was saying, and that he only cared about swirling the wine in his glass and keeping his eyes fixed on the crystal engravings, she decided to rescue him from his detachment, instead of insisting on an obstinate monologue.
— I'd like to know what's happening to you...
She put her cutlery down on the plate.
— You didn't say a single word during dinner." He managed to smile again, out of consideration for his guest.
"Forgive me..." she said softly. "It's not your fault."
"That's what I hope. I'd be sorry to find out that you get bored around me..." She put her hand on Greg's arm and began to caress him, making it clear, with that tender gesture, how much she needed him that night.
— It's because of what happened with Jorge... The police have been talking to Geovanna, and what you told her is terrifying.
— We should forget about this and go to bed, don't you think?
— It would be wonderful, but I can't, you know that very well... — he sighed for a few moments. — and another thing... I have work to do.
Candice tried to absorb the blow, behaving naturally and accepting with a forced smile the inelegance of that bland man, who, however, awakened her libido in an unusual way, and who, at any other time in her life, she would have sent to hell for being disrespectful and insensitive.
— Then, it's better that I leave.
And she stood up, feeling like an outcast in the hotel restaurant. Greg reacted immediately. He had made an unforgivable mistake by rejecting her company in the wrong way.
— Wait! — he begged. — Don't go, yet!
— Just give me one reason why you shouldn't.
Candice didn't seem angry, but rather bored with that senseless game.
— I need you to help me.
— May I ask what? — she asked, upset.
— It's hard to explain... — he answered slowly. — First, I would have to tell you a series of details so that you can understand what I have to say, on the other hand, it could put your life in danger... I know it may seem incredible and even ridiculous...! But that's exactly how it is. And I assure you that I'm not joking when I say that you could suffer an unpleasant incident if I tell you the truth... — he wiped the corner of his lips with his napkin and quickly stood up. — I'd like you to think about it. You decide if it's worth the risk.
She was confused. It was the first time she had seen him behave so strangely. She quickly related that attitude to the fact that he had accompanied the director of the auction house. Before, he had let slip something about Geovanna and the police. And that was quite significant, especially for someone of his caliber.
— I don't know what you're talking about, but I think you owe me an explanation — she remained firm, without losing her calm. — I want to know what the hell you're up to and what the topic of your conversation with the director was.
— Okay, I'll start from the beginning, but first, sit down… I have to ask you a question.
He accompanied her to the hotel garden, near the pool, where he insisted that she sit on a chair.
— And…? — she asked impatiently.
— Tell me… — she cleared her throat slightly. — Have you ever heard of an organization called The Widow's Children?