Yora

The steamy kitchen was bustling with life. Around me the scents of freshly made food wafted through the air, whilst the 2 temporary chefs ran amuck, holding platters and bursting through the traffic doors and into the second dining hall, where I could catch small glimpses of our guests streaming into the room gradually, one by one.

I still had not yet seen the two that I was looking forward to the most, though. It was almost like they had gotten lost in the house, which wouldn’t have been all that surprising, considering how our new guest was dangerously curious about what was going on. Cig loved to talk too, therefore they must’ve still been on their merry way to the party.

The group that stayed by my side, five in total, lounged in the corner of the kitchen, away from the main over-looker of the prepared dishes, Mae, and those two temporary chefs who were under his control for the time being, Frederic Blood and Florence Theodore.

It was amusing seeing how the role of the chef rotated from one person to the next among us. Anyone who was decent with a knife was automatically put in the kitchen. Even I had taken up that role at one point, but it was not yet my turn to fill that position again, not until the rotation had come back to me, which could’ve been any day now, though only if such a luxury as eating would be allowed by the professor.

Lynn was standing on my left, watching his personal assistant command the two men working. Mae was indeed the only one who could oversee the downstairs workload perfectly. He was qualified solely on the fact that his own family had served our family for generations. Without him, Lynn would perish.

I stopped observing him to glance at Alexander on my right, who was tapping his chin impatiently, waiting for everyone to gather in the dining hall. I’d told them all of my new roommate, as well as the fact that Cig would be escorting him to us, eventually. A majority, like Christopher and Terry, who were sitting at my feet discussing paperwork amidst such chaos, were completely nonchalant about our new guest. Even Lynn didn’t seem to mind the stranger who had arrived with Bell, therefore I doubted Mae would be bothered by it either.

In fact, I did not think most of our party would even pay attention to a new face. They all had their own problems and secrets, and so it didn’t strike me that they’d care very much for someone else during such a tense time.

The ones who I did suspect were cautious about my new roommate, had been the ones that I’d guessed immediately. Alexander, for instance, was number one on my list.

I pushed my hair back, feeling the long strands fall nearly to my shoulders. Staying cooped up in the house without a proper barber was allowing my hair to grow at a fast rate. It would soon become long enough to pull it into a small ponytail.

Christopher tugged on my pant leg, alerting me to him. “Terry wanted to ask a few questions about this Mr. Michael, Linda.”

He’d said my last name with a Spanish accent, like always. He liked complimenting people, and apparently I was ‘pretty’ to him. I believed it, since Christopher never truly lied.

Terry, his own personal assistant and childhood friend, adjusted his glasses as he replied in a deadpan voice, “You just want to ask him those questions because you’ll definitely find out what is going on between them. Whereas I would only like to keep a record of our business partners, Laice.”

They bickered amongst themselves on the floor, looking very much like the childhood friends they were.

Christopher E. Laice Westley and Terry Tsure.

I breathed, “If you want to know more about him, I suggest you start asking about his appearance. He’ll be coming shortly and I wouldn’t want you to lose him in the crowd of the party.”

The third heir of the Westley family fortune stared up at me with velvety blue eyes. Christopher looked like a young version of his half-brother, Alexander, despite being only two years younger. “So . . . is he handsome?” He asked that last part much too enthusiastically for Terry’s taste. The assistant hung his head and groaned, tired from the workload that never ended, not even in the middle of an ongoing murder mystery.

Lynn, the second heir of the Westley family fortune, stood closer to me and gave a light laugh at his younger brother. In comparison to the velvety blue eyes of his siblings, his were the stormiest blue, like the darkest ocean. “That is an important factor, Yora.”

“Is it?” I asked, sarcastically. “Well, he is quite handsome, and he’s sharp . . .” I told them, hiding my grin, “Like a detective.”

“Oh~” Christopher sat up, leaving his assistant to grumble at their unfinished work. “Tell me more, please.” He pleaded with the sound of what I knew was what all younger siblings did whenever they asked for something. He was the spoiled baby of Westley, behind that overwhelming presence that all of his brothers and sisters had.

I did not think I held any presence whatsoever. My sister, on the other hand, held the most.

Truthfully, I was not envious towards her or the Westley family. I did not think it was necessary to fret over that, not when I was aware that I would’ve chosen a much quieter life than any of them. They worked themselves down to the bone, and it was difficult to watch them . . .

. . . but they would’ve said the same for me, too.

These people truly enjoyed where they had been placed in their careers and lives, which ultimately made me assume that family had a great part in it. It was their strength. That was probably why they had stuck around the manor, to find out who had disrupted their everyday lives with such an inconvenient claim.

George Westley was dead and gone for good, and for the better. All of them could thrive in their current positions, without the pressures of the older generation watching their progress.

Thus, this ‘murderer’ could’ve been any one of them.

But to place such trauma on their entire family, for the sake of finding a murderer, felt a bit too extreme. This was something deep, something that legitimately hurt someone enough for them to kill, and to punish their own blood?

“So you implied that you knew him before this,” Christopher interrupted my thinking, “Has it been a long relationship?”

At that, Terry pushed a stapled stack of papers to his employer’s chest, “Why are you implying that he’s in a relationship with this person?”

Christopher took the papers, ignoring his assistant’s demands to complete the work, “Yora never brings anyone home other than Cig. And Cig has already been betrothed to someone for years.” He said, waving off Terry.

“Mr. John W. Michael has been forced to come here, just like the rest of us.” Terry sighed once more. “I cannot believe you would still go on with this gossip even with what is happening to us right now—”

I amused them both, “It’s no lie that I am very interested in him.”

They both looked at me, one with an overjoyed expression and one with a blank look on his face. That was when Lynn nudged me gently and whispered, “I wouldn’t tease them too much, Yora.”

I smiled back at him, and then at them. Again, with a sarcastic tone, I answered, “I wouldn’t dare lie to my own precious family.”

I really wouldn’t.

John was a person who was genuinely interesting to me. That was true. But in regards to Christopher’s hopes of me finding anyone as a potential romantic interest—that was much harder to admit.

Looking down at my gloves, I gripped my hands and placed them on the table behind me, to support myself as I waited with the rest of my group.

Even if I ever saw him as a love interest, I wouldn’t act on it. I’d tease him, and learn more about him . . .

Christopher was right. I never brought any friends home, nor had I ever helped someone who wasn’t family. What I had done back there in the foyer, for John, had been a spur of the moment response to a curious stranger who had nothing to do with Westley or Modiano.

He was different. An outsider.

I was only curious. That was all.

Terry and I exchanged subtle looks. His brown eyes pinned mine, as if to ask me if I was actually being serious.

As the youngest lawyer for Westley, Terry was trustworthy, even with personal information. He would do nothing with it, unless it intruded on Westley's business. My own love life wouldn’t ruin anything, not with Alexandra being the heir.

That was why Christopher was so keen on seeing me happy.

But honestly, as I fixed my gloves, making sure they were secure and tight, I did not fully believe I deserved such happiness.

So—

I could not reach out to it, much less grab hold of what I truly wanted.