Ange'el

By Jamie Le Fay

“Sky stood up, followed him, and placed her sword on his neck. ‘Do it Sky! For mercy’s sake, end my torment.’ He challenged her in a husky voice, grabbing her hand and digging her sword farther into his neck.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781633159327

Book preview

 Appendices

CHAPTER ONE

Beginnings

A Surprising Reception

Morgan was exhausted; she had been travelling for over ten hours with very little sleep the previous night. She was leaving the baggage claim area of John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York. She saw a man holding a sign with her name on it. She walked towards him, smiling, but he looked puzzled. She was used to this reaction. She looked quite young for her age, and they were expecting an older woman.

The man holding the sign smiled and said, Ms. Morgan? She nodded. Welcome, madam. My name is James. He took her luggage, leaving her only her handbag.

A group of three men walked towards her. The eldest extended his hand. She recognised him as the mayor of New York, Mayor Jack Dawkins. He had a huge open smile and a welcoming face. Welcome, Morgan. I hope you had a good trip. She smiled, humbled by the unexpected presence of such a high-profile figure. She felt slightly self-conscious—he was wearing a formal and clearly expensive black suit with a royal blue tie, and his white hair was perfectly combed and very shiny. She was wearing her most comfortable travelling outfit, a white linen Indian-inspired tunic and matching pants with her favourite turquoise scarf around her neck. She wore very comfortable flat sandals that made her feel quite small in comparison to the tall American men that followed the mayor and surrounded her in a circle. She wore no makeup, and her curly hair was half tucked in between her neck and the scarf. She quickly gathered her long dark hair and hopelessly attempted to smooth her curls, running her fingers through the unruly locks that reached her waist. I might as well try to control a tropical storm, she thought to herself, smiling.

She could not help but notice the man that stood just behind the group. It was clear he was part of the welcoming party, but he did not look, dress, or act like the rest. He stood at the back and looked directly at her with a kind, warm expression. He was heavenly, breathtaking, very tall, and athletic. He had a strong lean body, his back was straight, and he held his head high. He had the elegance of a man from a different time. She felt giddy and inebriated as she looked directly into his eyes. It was as if he was glowing and floating in midair. She shook her head and blamed the jet lag, while he lowered his eyes as if overwhelmed by the same feelings. She immediately focused her attention on the mayor, who was explaining that he was going to be travelling internationally that day but that he had wanted to come personally to welcome her and to wish her a pleasant stay.

He introduced her to her appointed driver and to her personal assistant, then looked back in the direction of the handsome stranger. The mayor extended his arm in the direction of the other man, who approached the mayor with a warm smile. His brown hair touched his shoulders; the top part of his hair was gathered in a loose ponytail that left some of his wide curls waving in front of his eyes. He wore a light goatee that perfectly framed his face. The mayor put his hand on the back of the younger man.

Morgan, I would like to introduce you to Gabriel Warren, who will be your host and guide during your visit to New York. His eyes were like the sea; they shifted from blue to green, reflecting the environment around them. He extended his hand to her and held her hand gently in between his two hands for a brief amount of time.

Pleasure. The top of her head barely reached his chin. As he talked to her, he bent his head and shoulders, and she looked up to meet his eyes. His voice was reassuring, and his words were sparse but polite. He spoke in a British accent that was very pleasing and charming. We should start walking to the car. I am sure you are looking forward to reaching your hotel room.

The mayor nodded, and as they walked, he continued, Gabriel’s foundation, Ange’el, is a major benefactor of many of our most important New York City venues. They support the Metropolitan Museum and are involved in a variety of initiatives that support the United Nations and several medical research projects. I leave you in the best possible hands. My flight will be leaving soon. Please enjoy your stay in our wonderful city. He bowed his head to Gabriel, who bowed back.

Carl, the driver, and James, the personal assistant, walked ahead, followed by Morgan and Gabriel. She was still puzzled by the special treatment and the number of minders assigned to her. We made arrangements for you at the Pierre. I trust you will enjoy your suite and views of Central Park.

Sounds delightful, she replied.

As they walked, Gabriel appeared to be somewhat nervous. He was polite and attentive, but at the same time, he seemed to continuously scan the surrounding area. As a man ran in their direction, Gabriel gently used his arm to lead her behind him, placing his body in between her and the running man. The man rushed past them, probably late for his flight. Gabriel stepped out of her way, placed his hand on her back, and encouraged her to move forwards. He started moving faster; his expression was somewhat pensive and preoccupied. He opened the car door and led her inside.

Inside the limo, he opened a bottle of sparkling water and added a piece of lime to it. As he handed her the water, he also placed beside her a plate of fruit, strawberries, blueberries, and green peaches. She smiled; it was exactly what she needed and what she liked. She was puzzled and grateful for his precision. What a happy coincidence that my preferences and desires are met so effortlessly.

She realised she was totally drained of energy, but for some reason, she felt an amazing inner peace. She ate a strawberry, sunk into her seat, and relaxed. James was at the front of the limo, talking to Carl. She could not hear them as the limo had a partition that separated the front seats from the back.

You may want to sleep a little. The traffic at this time is very bad. It will take us about an hour to get to the hotel. His voice was calming, considerate, and hypnotic. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She woke up as they reached Manhattan; the hustle and bustle of town woke her. It was a warm and clear winter day in late November. The Christmas lights were already up, and the Christmas shopping crowd navigated around the traffic, carrying their bags and packages. As they arrived at the hotel, he opened the doors and gently but decisively attempted to move her and the rest of the group inside the building.

She was not sure what bothered her most, the fact that he was constantly touching her back and taking a clear position of authority or the fact that she was complying and enjoying it. She was so independent, so headstrong, that his gestures were both annoying and surprising. She was not a child, she did not need to be taken care of, and she certainly did not need to be pointed to the door of the hotel. As he attempted, once again, to rush her inside, she stopped and walked slower. He looked at her, puzzled, surprised, and perhaps slightly irritated. She smiled, amused by his reaction and happy with herself.

He seemed to relax as they got inside the hotel. Black-and-white marble tiles adorned the floor of the high-end hotel, making a clear introduction to the luxury that was yet to be experienced by the guests. A rotunda that led to a marble staircase was surrounded by colourful paintings depicting Greek gods and angels that borrowed their style from the Renaissance. They did not have to check in and went straight up to the grand suite.

Morgan was amazed by the size and sophistication of the suite. She had her own private terrace, a master bathroom bigger than most hotel rooms she had ever stayed in, and a huge living room that was separate from her master bedroom.

I assume you are too tired to dine out today? I have made arrangements for a light dinner to be served in the suite’s living room in a couple of hours. We have taken the liberty of reserving a massage in the spa at 18:30 just in case you need it. Please don’t be obliged to take it. I’m staying next door, and with your permission, I will join you for breakfast tomorrow morning so that we can discuss this week’s plans.

She nodded gratefully. Good night. Thank you, Gabriel.

Breakfast with a View

As she opened the door to let him in, she could not help but hold her breath. Those eyes. He wore a light blue shirt without a collar and perfectly tailored grey pants. The cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned, allowing his sleeves to come down and reach his knuckles. A long shimmering grey scarf wrapped several times around his neck. There was no sign of vanity. Everything about him was practical and simple and yet of great quality and taste. Why do I feel I have known him forever? He was relaxed and happy to see her.

Good morning. May I come in?

Hi, Gabriel! Yes, breakfast arrived just a few minutes ago. This place is amazing. Shall we have breakfast on the balcony? I cannot get tired of this view of Central Park.

He smiled and followed her. She continued to praise the hotel, and he told her about some of its history and shared some stories of the staff and guests over the years. He was apparently a frequent guest, staying there every time he was in town. She asked him where he lived, and he offered that his family owned some land just outside the city.

He told her that her speaking engagements had been booked for Thursday, giving her two free days to recover from the jet lag. She was addressing a large audience in Central Park on Thursday, and afterwards, she had interviews with several high-profile TV shows. On Friday, she was heading over to the United Nations to attend a conference focused on girls’ education, and on Saturday, they would drive her to the Catskill Mountains so that she could spend Thanksgiving with her old friend Ann Surrey, a very distinguished fiction writer. Ann had invited Morgan to visit her at her holiday home in Woodstock, a haven for artists, musicians, and writers. After spending a few days in Woodstock, Morgan was planning to return home to London, where she currently resided. She had spent the last six months on the road and was in serious need of some rest and relaxation.

She was relieved to know she had some time before addressing the media. Although she was used to it, she really did not enjoy media engagements. She preferred addressing parents and girls directly.

Morgan was the founder and CEO of the Hope Foundation, which focused on the empowerment of girls globally. In recent years, the support for girls’ empowerment from world leaders had increased significantly since gender equality became part of the United Nations Millennium Development Goals, and Morgan’s foundation was the leading organisation when it came to driving significant positive impact in the world. The Hope Foundation ran leadership, science and technology programmes for girls in Western countries and invested all the profits from those programmes in the education, health, and safety of girls in developing nations. Because the foundation relied only on self-funding, it allowed Morgan to keep a truly independent voice when it came to raising awareness of the problems faced by girls around the world. World leaders and nonprofit organisations consulted Morgan on an ongoing basis, but what she really enjoyed was interacting directly with parents and with girls. The Hope Foundation employed a strong operational team that managed the day-to-day activities of the organisation. This allowed Morgan to spend most of her time travelling the world to speak at conferences where she raised awareness of the issues facing women and girls.

Morgan picked up the suite’s complementary binoculars and looked out to the park. She could see the brown, yellow, and red leaves that covered the ground and a little girl jumping in delight as she experienced the pleasure of stepping on crusty dry leaves. Morgan smiled, excited by the idea of doing exactly the same, and seconds later, all she could think about was the smell and taste of roasted chestnuts, reminiscing about her childhood in Portugal. Gabriel struggled to contain his curiosity and delight as he watched her. She seemed so alive, so present, and so willing to enjoy and experience life. Her childlike smile and enthusiasm were contagious, as if not touched by the hardships of life.

Perhaps I will rent a bike and spend the afternoon exploring Central Park, she said with enthusiasm.

She was expecting him to smile and nod in approval, but he didn’t. His jaw clenched a little. He was lost in thought for a few seconds and then replied, I took the liberty to organise an itinerary for today. I would love to give you a personal tour of the Met, one that very few people have had the chance to experience. He stopped, waiting for her response.

She loved art and adored the Met, she visited every time she was in town, she was happy with the alternative plan, and it seemed to mean so much to him. Sounds wonderful. The Metropolitan Museum is heaven on earth, she replied, and she saw his shoulders relax; he smiled and explained that she should wear comfortable walking shoes and practical clothes but also pack an evening dress. The Met was hosting an evening party for all their benefactors, and Gabriel would appreciate if Morgan would kindly accompany him to the event.

Sure, she said, although the jet lag may make me a very dull companion in a few hours.

I promise to bring you back before midnight, he said with a polite smile.

It was difficult for her to look directly into his eyes, in particular in the rare occasions when he smiled. She could easily get lost in them. There was no doubt he was a very attractive man, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. There was something special about him, something she was struggling to define. Once in a while, the calm and reserved Gabriel displayed a glimpse of a very different side to him. It showed in his eyes, and she was very curious about it. Still waters run deep, she thought to herself.

He caught her looking at him, and she blushed. She recovered with a question: Your accent, where are you from? England?

My family tree does go back to Europe and, before that, to the Middle East and North Africa, but I was born on a family estate nearby. May I pour you something to drink? Coffee, tea, juice?

She noticed his hands were on the coffee before she even replied, Coffee, please.

He filled her cup with coffee and poured some lemongrass tea in his own cup. He kept his eyes on the cup for a little while. I was wondering if we should change the venue of the event in Central Park? It might rain, and perhaps we could still secure an indoor venue. I have contacts in ...

Two days before the event? she said, thinking that it was a very odd suggestion. And how would we inform the community? It would just generate a lot of confusion.

He nodded, took a sip of tea, and remained quiet and pensive. The sun touched the locks of hair that so perfectly framed his face; the wind transformed them into sun-kissed golden caramel waves that danced in front of his eyes.

Before we go to the Met, I must stop by the Angel of the Waters. I always visit when I am in town. It is a tradition.

Gabriel did not react right away; he kept his eyes on his tea as his long fingers hovered over the rim of the cup. Sure, I will take you there on the way to the Met. He was somewhat assertive in his statement, not leaving much room for negotiation. Morgan could not read the man in front of her. One moment, he was smiling and looking genuinely interested in her. In the next moment, he was sombre, and his mind was somewhere else. The food was delicious. She was served just fresh produce, and the waiter reassured her that it was all organic and sourced locally. She had some poached eggs with spinach on a beautiful slice of bread full of seeds and whole grains.

The sun was shining, but the wind suddenly picked up. Before she realised she was cold, Gabriel had switched on the outside heater next to the table. His ability to predict her needs was both reassuring and somewhat scary. He sensed her reaction. A few minutes later, he excused himself, saying he was going to make the rest of the arrangements for the day and would return to pick her up in half an hour. He had not touched his food.

Water Angels

She took an unusually long time to get ready. She looked at her very pale, tired, and jet-lagged face in the mirror and performed the unusual act of adding some blush to her cheekbones. The bathroom suite was supplied with all the beauty items anyone could ever need. She observed her features—her defined cheekbones, her strong dark eyebrows that framed her large brown eyes, her freckles. She was not a standard beauty, not like the women featured in the magazines, but she had interesting features. She was not the woman that a man would turn for on the street, but she was the woman whose beauty a man discovered once she had charmed him with her genuine smile, joy, and cleverness.

She was surprised—her appearance was not something she usually cared about. She had long ago decided to stop chasing physical perfection. She quickly realised the cause of her current anxiety. She smiled, making fun of herself. He is so out of your league, honey, she thought. Morgan was usually confident and was not one to doubt her value, but these were unusual circumstances, and she could not figure out why he tested her peace of mind. She rebelled against it. She decided to wash her face. She tied her long curly hair behind her back and pledged right then and there that she would stop feeding those thoughts. She was wearing a simple brown dress, a chartreuse scarf, and plain white sneakers. She prepared a bag with a royal blue evening dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes, then she heard a knock at her door.

The power games restarted as soon as they walked down to the reception. She wanted to walk, but he insisted they take the limo. He did not leave room for negotiation, and his tone was firm. It is best we take the limo, he said, and as soon as they walked outside the building, she saw James, Carl, and the limo. The door was already open.

The car went as close as it could to Bethesda Terrace in Central Park. To Morgan’s surprise, all three men got out of the limo and walked with her. Carl and James stayed behind, keeping a respectable distance, while Gabriel walked by her side. Soon, they stood in front of the fountain. On top of it stood the statue of a winged angel, water cascading down into a pool covered with water lilies. Gabriel seemed somewhat distracted and nervous as he observed the usual tourists that wandered around that popular location.

Morgan attempted to ignore Gabriel’s stress as she absorbed with all her senses one of her favourite locations in the world. She believed in magic—the magic of places, the magic of people, the magic of coincidences, serendipity, and fortune. She enjoyed wandering through the world with the open mind and curiosity of a four-year-old child, where the mystical, mythical, and magical inhabit the same space and time as the ordinary and the practical. At Bethesda Terrace, she always felt close to a source of magic and creativity, as if she was tapping into the place where dragons, angels, gods, sorceresses, and demons came to life.

Apparently, Bethesda is blessing the water, giving it healing powers. The lily in her hand represents purity. She assures a pure and dependable supply of water to New York City, she said, trying to capture his attention.

He smiled and replied, You will be pleased to know that Emma Stebbins, the sculptor, was the first woman to receive a public commission for a major work of art in New York City.

She nodded with enthusiasm and replied, "One of my most favourite moments in television was to see Bethesda come to life in the series Angels in America." She had conquered his full attention.

Do you believe in angels, Morgan?

I believe in working towards their virtues—temperance, purity, health, and peace. She was pointing to the four cherubim that represented those virtues at the base of the fountain. Aesthetically and functionally, I love the idea of winged humanlike creatures.

Gabriel lowered his eyes and frowned. And yet the pursuit and preservation of purity can drive prejudice and hate. Many crimes against humanity have been committed in its name. Purity is best left as an adjective for water.

She nodded as he spoke. Yes, that is true, and even some of the nuances of temperance are still used today to chastise women who are outspoken and fully alive. Virtues such as modesty or chastity, which are also related to purity, are used as an excuse to promote violence against women and girls and to limit their rights and freedoms.

Shall we walk back? I am anxious to show you my surprise at the Met.

She nodded, although she was very frustrated by his need to control every minute of her day.

CHAPTER TWO

Gravitational Pull

Womanhood

They entered the Met via a back door. She was led down a set of stairs and through three access doors that required him to enter passcodes and even provide his fingerprints. He was carrying a basket that was given to him by the Met staff as they walked in the building. She was puzzled but very curious.

Are you taking me to the dungeons? she asked.

Yes, indeed. I have conspired to lock you in the safest place in New York. At this time, you are a prisoner of the Met, but I hope that what you are about to see will be enough for you to rejoice in your captivity. As he opened the last door, she was led to what seemed to be a large warehouse filled with golden light that was coming through several small windows protected by steel bars.

Are these genuine? she asked.

Yes, all genuine works of art. Paintings, dozens of paintings, from Klimt, her favourite artist. She was deeply passionate about his work. She held her breath for a few seconds.

Stunning!

She quickly approached Danaë, which was on the floor. The painting was leaning against a wooden box that most likely served as the container to transport it to the Met. She kneeled on the floor and, with teary eyes, sat appreciating the great beauty and fine detail of her most beloved masterpiece. A vulnerable, beautiful naked woman curled asleep, enveloped by her own flaming orange hair and gold rain dust that flowed between her legs.

He stayed at the door, giving her space to live the moment, allowing her to feel joy without having to contain it or to explain it. His eyes never left her. He watched her face light up and her eyes flicker. He was watching his own favourite masterpiece. He held his breath, waiting for her approval.

She looked back at him. How? She was happy, curious, and grateful.

Ange’el, my organisation, is a sponsor of the Met. When I found out that a Klimt exhibition was going to be showcased in a few weeks, I thought you would not like to miss it. She nodded, excited.

They walked together around the room, pausing to observe each artwork. There was always a quiet moment of wonder followed by very animated conversation as they exchanged information about each painting. There was so much joy flowing through her body; it was reflected in the way she almost danced as she moved and the way she almost sang as she talked. Her voice had a higher pitch, and her accent became more noticeable. Morgan’s southern European hands endorsed her words with vibrant and graceful gestures. He was clearly very knowledgeable regarding the history and meaning of each piece. Even more extraordinary was his capability to connect them with her work and read her mind. He mentioned how Klimt’s paintings showcased the multifaceted scope of womanhood, introducing the cycle of life, love, sexuality, vulnerability, strength, and death.

He asked why Danaë was her favourite, given her small passive role in the original Greek mythology when she was seduced by Zeus, who visited her in the form of golden rain. She blushed as this was something that bothered her too, but she had an answer.

Her vulnerability and sensuality, her perfectly imperfect body and sexual awakening, her cheeks touched by passion, she said, and as she looked into his eyes, she could not believe what she had just confided in this handsome stranger. She lowered her eyes. She blushed and quickly mentioned that Water Serpents and Athena were her favourites too, displaying very different characteristics of womanhood.

He was still recovering from her words. She moved him from the moment he had seen her speak on TV three years ago—alive, passionate, intelligent, and mastering a disarming candour. She used kindness, knowledge, and wit to move mountains and launch a thousand ships to sea.

Men will one day realise how the pursuit of perfection is a curse. A plague that will destroy the real beauty and uniqueness of this world. It was his turn to speak from his heart, to say too much. It took him a few seconds to recover his composure. He realised he was staring at her, so he lowered his eyes; took a step to his right, away from her; smiled, pointing to the portrait of Athena, the war goddess; and said, She reminds me of a dear cousin. I hope to have the opportunity to introduce her to you, Morgan. Sky is a very special woman. His words sounded slightly sad, and for a second, he seemed lost in thought.

I would be delighted. You know, she continued, Danaë and Athena are both faces of every woman.

Yes. Yes. They are. I wish we could reach a point where we could abolish rape and violence from this world. I am grateful for everything that you do through your foundation, Morgan.

His words were covered in honey, and his mouth and eyes showcased a certain vulnerability that he was struggling to hide. She was puzzled by it. There was no game being played. He maintained a respectable distance and spoke to her with the same affection one would expect from a close relative. It was the touch of shyness that showcased that he may indeed be as attracted to her as she was to him.