Deacon - Nicholas Bella Page 0,14

I’m not normally that adventurous.”

“Could have fooled me,” he said, and we both laughed. “Listen, allow me to buy you a drink. It really is the least I could do,” he offered.

“Well, I am a bit parched. So, lead the way,” I motioned.

“Let me just gather my things.”

I nodded and walked back with him to where his painting was resting on the easel.

“Well, well, interesting,” I commented as I saw that he’d been painting my portrait.

“Oh no, don’t look!” He snatched the canvas from the easel, hiding it behind his back.

“It was very good.”

“You think so?”

I nodded. “From what I saw of it, yes.”

“You don’t mind that I was painting you?”

I shook my head. “I’m flattered. I hadn’t thought anyone had noticed me.”

He smiled then. “I… I noticed.”

I mirrored his smile. “Well then, let’s have that drink.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Art of Manipulation

We were good and drunk, having spent hours in the tavern talking about everything from art to war to our favorite foods. I made sure that we shared plenty in common, even if I didn’t care for some of the things he fancied.

“Oh, my Deacon, the time… the time has passed us by,” he announced after looking out of the window. The sun was rising over the eastern horizon, turning the sky into a beautiful shade of light blue. The birds chirping was another sign of how fast time could move when you weren’t aware of it.

“As it does when one has lost it,” I joked. My head swam a bit from the wine and I had to piss something fierce.

“Come home with me. I will have this night extended. I am enjoying your company far too much to say farewell,” he said.

His cheeks were flushed from the wine, and I knew he was under the influence, as was I, but they were words I’d wanted to hear. I had been coaxing such words with careful conversation since we’d met. So, when he offered, I accepted with only mild persuading.

“I’ll not have you put out by me,” I said. “I’m staying at an inn.”

“An inn, nonsense. There is plenty of room at my home. No friend of mine will be staying in an inn,” he declared.

“Are you…” I paused to burp and felt my stomach roll. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, then rose with a stagger to his feet. I reached out, catching his arm before he fell. Together, we both staggered out of the tavern and made our way to the alleyway to relieve ourselves before climbing into his horse-drawn carriage with its fancy curtains and plush seating. The coachman had been waiting patiently for us to return and he waited still as we both pissed on the cobblestone street. I had to brace myself on the cool bricks of the tavern to keep from falling. Something I really didn’t want to do. I tucked myself back into my breeches and tied the lacing back up.

I turned in time to see Elias vomit in the puddle of piss he’d just made. The sight triggered my own nausea I’d been fighting and I stumbled to the other wall and spewed all the wine I’d drank all along the wall of the building. The last time I’d been this sick from wine, I was thirteen and Winston had found it quite humorous. The good thing was, this was one more thing we had in common. No head for copious amounts of wine. At least, not on an empty stomach.

His carriage man had to assist us both into the back of the carriage and while Elias passed out on the cushions as we traveled, I took in the scenery. When we finally arrived at his home, I was still impressed. It was a castle in every sense of the word. Five stories, stone with vines growing up the length. A beautiful garden surrounded the grounds and there was a huge maze made up of shrubbery several yards from the back entrance, which I could see as we approached down the winding road. We were dropped off at the main entrance that had two large, red oak doors. The heavy doors opened with a creak and two servants brought us inside. Elias’ father didn’t seem too happy that his son was in such a state. I’d learned from our conversation that his father didn’t like that he patronized the tavern or the park. He’d felt both were too dangerous for his son to frequent. All the more