The Day Sara Lost Everything: Chapter 9

Anthony led Sara down the dark and dreary streets. It was always like this for Sara. Whenever her mood was dark and clouded so was the whether. Just an odd coincidence, but it had a disturbing effect none the less. Anthony’s hand was warm compared to the night air. Her shirt was flimsy and the rush of the breeze sent her nipples in a frenzy. She worried that he might look back at her and notice. Of course he did. But this man was different. He noticed her erect nipples, but he had enough tact and decorum not to stare or say anything. Sara never even knew he had seen.

He led her up a cobblestone path to a large green front door. The house was a large Victorian manner, painted mauve and hunter green. The outside was breath-taking.

“Mi casa es su casa,” said Anthony, in a mock Spaniard voice.

“Gracias, senor,” came the reply from Sara. She was impressed. No one in this small town bothered to learn anything but the local redneck slang. But yet here he was. A gorgeous man who not only spoke sophisticated English, but knew Spanish as well. Sara only knew Spanish because she had a Cuban pen pal when she was young. Little Jose had known some broken English, but in the end it was easier for Sara to learn his language.

She had been so lost in her daydreams, that Sara didn’t notice that Anthony had led her inside. She was standing in a spacious foyer. The rooms, from what she could see were modestly decorated. The theme of the house was indescribable. Earth tones were prominent with the occasional dark purple or bamboo piece to offset the rest. The lights were set in the ceiling, bathing the room in a pale glow, softer than that of the moon.

They advanced to the sitting area and Sara made a strange observation: NO TV. What man in America didn’t have a television? Apparently this one. Where one would imagine the entertainment console, sat a roaring fireplace. It was a clay-red in color and had a blazing fire burning in the hearth. A bottle of wine was sitting in a metal bucket filled with ice on the mantle. Beside it sat two of the most beautiful goblets she had ever laid eyes on. Anthony moved to the fireplace, reached up, and poured the wine into glasses.

“Feel free to have a seat, Sara.” His eyes were burning into her soul, seducing her in the mildest of ways.

“I’d rather not. But thank you for the offer.” Sara wasn’t sure what was going on. But she felt sitting would be a big mistake. So it was in the act of shear defiance that this was said.

“Well then my dear, perhaps you would like the grand tour,” said Anthony. The twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable. And yet for some reason Sara obliged.