fact that she met him there proved she had a spine, if not a brain, and because of that Creon decided she deserved a moment of his time. Besides, she made such a pleasant sound when she was startled. Maybe he would hear it again.
He smiled down at her innocently, as if to let her know that he was just playing a little trick. She met his eye, but she also took a step back—which meant she was brave but scared. Creon liked to see those two emotions together; it made him feel like he had won something.
“Again, I ask for the father but instead I get the son,” she said in accented English.
“I speak perfect Spanish,” Creon replied in her native language, still smiling at her. “And you know my father doesn’t meet reporters.”
“Your father doesn’t meet anyone. That’s why I’m here,” she continued stubbornly in English. He shrugged impassively, refusing to take the bait. She crossed her arms and studied him. “Tantalus Delos hasn’t let anyone see him in almost twenty years now. Strange, no?”
“He likes his privacy,” Creon said through a grin that had grown tight.
“Privacy is the one luxury a billionaire aristocrat can’t buy. You’ve heard the stories about your father, yes?”
“They’re all lies,” Creon said as smoothly as he could, but her eyes were so doubtful he nearly faltered. How dare she?
Over the years there had been many stories floating around the tabloids about his father—that he had been maimed, that he had lost his mind to an obsessive-compulsive disorder like Howard Hughes, that he was dead. Creon knew at least that his father was alive, and he had vehemently denied all of the other accusations time and time again. But the truth was, Creon hadn’t seen or spoken to his father in nineteen years. No one had seen Tantalus except Creon’s mother, Mildred Delos.
His mother insisted that Tantalus was in hiding in order to protect himself and the House of Thebes, but she never could explain to Creon why his father wouldn’t call him on the phone, not even once. It seemed like such a little thing to ask.
“All lies? You know this for certain?” the reporter pressed as soon as she saw Creon fall into his own conflicted thoughts. Creon noticed that she kept speaking in English, almost as if she was taunting him. “For years now, you, your mother, your whole family, say all these things are lies, but how do you know for true? Tell me, Creon, when is the last time you saw your father? I know he was not at your graduation from university.”
Creon gritted his teeth. “My father is a very private man. He—”
“Pssh!” she exclaimed derisively, cutting Creon off with an imperious wave of her hand. She shouldn’t have done that. “This is not privacy, this is lunacy! Can any man’s privacy mean so much that he would abandon his only son simply to stay out of the papers?”
Creon’s hand shot out and he had her by the throat before she could even raise an arm in protest. She had such a tiny throat, so slender and fragile. Creon thought it was like holding a thin kitten in his hand. Her eyes blossomed with fear. The pupils opened up and reflex tears beaded on their dark surface like dew. She was lovely in terror—a perfect, pleading mask of alabaster white skin, wide eyes, and, best of all, her mouth, an open oval of red surprise like she was waiting to be kissed. Creon wanted to hold her like that for days, but a split second of enjoyment later he heard a snap.
Like a switched-off TV, the light in her eyes contracted to pinpricks, and then went completely dark.
Creon dumped her body in the water and ran back to the citadel so quickly no normal person could see him pass, even if they were standing inches away.
Still shaking with a half-sickening thrill, he went straight up to his room, and froze when he opened the door. His mother was waiting for him. She was sitting next to his packed suitcase with her narrow, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap, holding something. Her head fell to the side as she stared at him. His mother only needed to look at him to know that the meeting that she had arranged, the meeting that was supposed to be nothing more than a polite gesture, had ended violently.
“Did you have to kill her?” she asked seriously and without reproach. Mildred