30-03-2019, 06:49 PM
"Yeah, they're ALL gonna have to fight THIS lush for it," Cara said, jerking a thumb at Sally and abruptly steering the conversation back to questions. "Now, Helena, I read the Most Powerful Thirty Under Thirty issue, and it says you're single?"
"That's incorrect," Helena said flatly.
The two interviewers paused for a moment. Cara checked notes.
"I'm sorry, our information on file..." Helena raised a hand to interrupt.
"I am married to Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione. He is the only man I have ever called 'My Husband' and I will call him that when we meet again. I know they say 'til death do us part,' but I'm not dead yet, and he is still the man I married." Sally picked up the non-existent conversational slack.
"But you've dated a few men and a couple of women, I've heard, since then." Helena gave a dry chuckle to that.
"I was 22 years old when Vincenzo passed, Sally, and he was 79. Do you think a married couple with that much of an age difference never had the 'this is what I want for you after I'm gone' conversation? My husband told me that he did not want me to spend the rest of my days alone and mourning him. Never marrying another man is my own idea, not being alone after he was gone was his."
The two interviewers allowed almost ten seconds to pass. Helena smiled. If she thought she could get away with smoking on American Daytime Television, she'd have lit one up right then. She'd taken control of the interview, and the whimsically-tipsy bubbly blondes now got that she wasn't going to allow it to be a fluff piece.
Her ability to command the minds of others wasn't something that could be transmitted over video, so she'd seized the power by sheer force of her personality. Helena's primary religious belief was that if God existed, He had a swift kick in the One True Nuts coming for the life that she'd been born into. She had an image of an afterlife, though, and in moments like this, she could imagine Propappou and Vincenzo looking down at her via the scrying pool of the gods from Clash of the Titans, an arm around each other like the buddies she always imagined they would have been if they'd ever met; both proud of their little Helena.
Sally broke the silence.
"Wow, that's beautiful, Helena, thank you. Now, in addition to ruling your nation, the San Finzione family also owns a powerful international business conglomerate, and you've recently branched out into a new area. Why don't you tell us about it?"
Helena smiled. A real one now.
The interview continued.
* * *
Thirty tourists gathered in a reception room on the grounds of Castle Finzione, but hadn't entered the castle itself as they waited for the guide to arrive and start the tour. The man sat on a bench and waited, for the guide with the others, reading a leaflet about famous historical battles that took place at or near the castle.
He could barely believe that he was here. The call had come early in the morning, and the amount he'd been offered more than made up for their list of conditions, like jumping on a plane immediately and checking into a hotel before going to the curious meeting in the park as soon as he landed. And now he was about to enter Castle Finzione.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Not his own, they'd insisted he trade them his for this newer, fancier model when they gave him the other tools he'd need. He bent his wrist carefully, clutching the sleeve of the windbreaker he wore ad wincing imperceptibly before reaching for it and checking the incoming text. It was a simple question mark, reminding him that he'd forgotten to message if he'd made it past security.
He sent a thumbs-up back and put the phone back in his other pocket. The tiny glass bottle in his pocket had easily been explained away as medication, and it had distracted security enough that he was able to get the item up his sleeve through screening. When he looked up, he noticed others getting up and congregating toward a uniformed man holding a sign.
The tour group began to move. He hung at the back, unable to hear the tour guide talking as he pointed at chandeliers and tapestries.
He took a greater interest in a large portrait of a woman sitting in a chair and smiling; wearing an elegant gown and emerald tiara and holding a scepter of gold.
The tour group was starting to get too far ahead of him. He caught up with them as they were about to leave the entrance hall and took one last look back at the portrait of the woman he'd come to kill.
The portrait of Contessa Helena de San Finzione.
* * *
"That's incorrect," Helena said flatly.
The two interviewers paused for a moment. Cara checked notes.
"I'm sorry, our information on file..." Helena raised a hand to interrupt.
"I am married to Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione. He is the only man I have ever called 'My Husband' and I will call him that when we meet again. I know they say 'til death do us part,' but I'm not dead yet, and he is still the man I married." Sally picked up the non-existent conversational slack.
"But you've dated a few men and a couple of women, I've heard, since then." Helena gave a dry chuckle to that.
"I was 22 years old when Vincenzo passed, Sally, and he was 79. Do you think a married couple with that much of an age difference never had the 'this is what I want for you after I'm gone' conversation? My husband told me that he did not want me to spend the rest of my days alone and mourning him. Never marrying another man is my own idea, not being alone after he was gone was his."
The two interviewers allowed almost ten seconds to pass. Helena smiled. If she thought she could get away with smoking on American Daytime Television, she'd have lit one up right then. She'd taken control of the interview, and the whimsically-tipsy bubbly blondes now got that she wasn't going to allow it to be a fluff piece.
Her ability to command the minds of others wasn't something that could be transmitted over video, so she'd seized the power by sheer force of her personality. Helena's primary religious belief was that if God existed, He had a swift kick in the One True Nuts coming for the life that she'd been born into. She had an image of an afterlife, though, and in moments like this, she could imagine Propappou and Vincenzo looking down at her via the scrying pool of the gods from Clash of the Titans, an arm around each other like the buddies she always imagined they would have been if they'd ever met; both proud of their little Helena.
Sally broke the silence.
"Wow, that's beautiful, Helena, thank you. Now, in addition to ruling your nation, the San Finzione family also owns a powerful international business conglomerate, and you've recently branched out into a new area. Why don't you tell us about it?"
Helena smiled. A real one now.
The interview continued.
* * *
Thirty tourists gathered in a reception room on the grounds of Castle Finzione, but hadn't entered the castle itself as they waited for the guide to arrive and start the tour. The man sat on a bench and waited, for the guide with the others, reading a leaflet about famous historical battles that took place at or near the castle.
He could barely believe that he was here. The call had come early in the morning, and the amount he'd been offered more than made up for their list of conditions, like jumping on a plane immediately and checking into a hotel before going to the curious meeting in the park as soon as he landed. And now he was about to enter Castle Finzione.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Not his own, they'd insisted he trade them his for this newer, fancier model when they gave him the other tools he'd need. He bent his wrist carefully, clutching the sleeve of the windbreaker he wore ad wincing imperceptibly before reaching for it and checking the incoming text. It was a simple question mark, reminding him that he'd forgotten to message if he'd made it past security.
He sent a thumbs-up back and put the phone back in his other pocket. The tiny glass bottle in his pocket had easily been explained away as medication, and it had distracted security enough that he was able to get the item up his sleeve through screening. When he looked up, he noticed others getting up and congregating toward a uniformed man holding a sign.
The tour group began to move. He hung at the back, unable to hear the tour guide talking as he pointed at chandeliers and tapestries.
He took a greater interest in a large portrait of a woman sitting in a chair and smiling; wearing an elegant gown and emerald tiara and holding a scepter of gold.
The tour group was starting to get too far ahead of him. He caught up with them as they were about to leave the entrance hall and took one last look back at the portrait of the woman he'd come to kill.
The portrait of Contessa Helena de San Finzione.
* * *
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