Melanie.
Malachi stills, his fists clenched. His rigid posture, an indication of the tension in him. His wide back and shoulders, filling up that black blazer he has on. His black hair ruffled on his head.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, darkly.
Anger in his voice. I draw closer, standing beside him. His scent is a mild touch of earth and rain.
"I had to be here." I give him a side long glance; his gaze remains fixed on the coffin before us. "I had to be here for you." I quietly add.
I don't even know why am here. I don't even know the reason I took the first flight here the instant I heard the news of Leon Tenshaw's death and funeral last night. It wasn't made public until yesterday. The news reported the family needed privacy.
"You should be in Paris. I gave you specific orders. It isn't safe here." He tightly growls.
I shake inwardly at the sound, but ignore it.
