Six years later...
Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, France.
"America?" Her tone heightened in disbelief.
With her dark brown eyes now widened at the slender man seated opposite her in the empty glass-walled room, the young woman of her early twenties sat with her back straightened and her fingers clutched onto the violin in her grasp.
Her curly black hair was left to fall and frame the sides of her face, ending at neck-length, with the dark brown skin of her neck and shoulder exposed by the elegant off-shoulder golden dress that shrouded her pear-shaped curves.
The wooden floor beneath their feet was illuminated by the bright afternoon rays that peeked through the velvet curtains behind her. With the lonely spacious room ornamented with various musical instruments organized in an orderly fashion, the crystal chandelier above their heads glittered.
With her eyes still wide and her expression frozen for a moment, she then cleared her throat before lowering her head at the elder man she spoke to. Her tongue switched back to their native language, French, "Pourquoi l'Amérique, mon oncle ? (Why America, uncle?)"
The grey-haired man stared at her through the spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose, his wrinkled white skin blemished with freckles and his lips pressed into a frown. "C'est ton père qui l'a commandé. Il dit qu'il a des affaires en suspens là-bas et que les détails vous seront envoyés dès votre atterrissage. Vous devez partir pour l'Amérique dans deux jours. (Your father ordered it. He says he has unfinished business there and details will be sent to you as soon as you land. You are to leave for America in two days)".
"Deux jours!?! Mon oncle, c'est trop tôt ! (Two days!? That's too soon!)", She leaned forward as her expression only molded to a disapproving grimace.
The old man slowly rose from his seat, straightening the sleeves of his coat. "Toi plus que tout le monde devrais savoir que ton père ne laisse aucune place à la dispute, Karen. Et j'attends de vous que vous vous respectiez et que vous fassiez ce qu'on vous dit sans hésitation. Compris ? (You of all people should know that your father leaves no room for argument, Karen. And I expect you to respect yourself and do what you are told without hesitation. Understood?)".
Watching the coldness in her uncle's dark grey eyes, the crease above her brows slowly loosened as she rose to her feet as well.
Karen bowed, "Je comprends, mon oncle. Je préparerai le départ ce soir. (I understand, Uncle. I will prepare for departure tonight)".
He nodded with a scoff, turning away from her to make his way to the wooden door.
The moment he pulled open the door, he paused, throwing one last gaze over his shoulder to the humbly bowed figure of his 'dear' niece.
His eyes narrowed, "Karen?"
She raised her head, "Yes, Uncle?"
He suddenly switched tongue, his voice still thick with an accent, "And make sure what happened six years ago in America, doesn't repeat itself".
Her brows shot to the roof of her skull, feeling a cold dread cripple down her spine to the underlying meaning of his words. Her lip gaped to speak, forging a level of confidence in her tone, "Yes, Uncle... Of course".
He walked out with the door shutting behind him.
Karen immediately let out a loud breath she hadn't realized she was holding in, feeling her shoulders slump in helplessness.
"Zut! (Damn)" she cursed under her breath, tightening her grip to strangulate the string of her violin's neck.
Her slitted glares could bore holes into the smoothed wood of the floor the longer she stared, clenching her jaws.
America? It rang in her head...
Why would her father enforce such a despicable decision on her without any consideration?!
And in two days!? What sort of business did he have pending that was so urgent, he couldn't even consult her personally? Not to mention, she hadn't even laid eyes on him for more than fifteen months and then he springs this one on her out of the blue?
Karen kissed her teeth as she turned to walk to her violin case on the floor.
Her thoughts continued to rumble; The least he could do was give a phone call!... Especially knowing he was about to force her back into the same country after what happened six years ago...
She lowered herself to carefully place her violin, shutting the case, Karen's eyes fell to read the name encrypted into the expensive wooden case.
Maléfice...
Her expression fell into a grimace as she slowly straightened her back to stand up, grasping the handle. "I guess this is one of the prices to pay for carrying such a surname".
She tread out of the room.
• • •
And just as planned, two days later, Karen landed on the grounds of the United States of America, welcomed by the hot summer sun and blazing heatwave as she walked through the airport dragging the only luggage she came with behind her.
"Karen!!!"
Her booted heeled feet halted within the light crowd, craning her head in the direction of the loud voice that called out her full name.
Her eyes immediately fell on the tall lanky figure waving out from the crowd behind the rail.
"Matthieu!?" Her feet turned in instinct as she closed the distance between them with long strides, tugging the edges of her lips even wider.
Standing out among the crowd was the tall American man with red hair brushed backwards, dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans.
His figure was slenderer than muscular, with the outline of his collarbones from the lagging neckline of the worn-out shirt.
His pale white skin colorfully decorated with abstract tattoo graffiti that stretched from around his neck and down to both arms and knuckles.
With his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark shades, one side of his face was tainted scantily with small tattoo shapes, along with the silver piercings on both ears — one earring attached by a chain to his lip piercing — plus the pin pierced into his right brow.
He smiled widely as he watched Karen smuggle herself through the bypasser of the airport, crossing the rail opening to stand a few feet away from him.
Karen then chuckled, her voice calm but still laced with her French accent. "I guess you're still as loud and rude as I left you".
The man she called, Matthieu, with a calm smile drank in her appearance from head to toe, before knitting his brows slightly.
Karen noticed. "What happened?" She looked down at the floral dress and boots she had on, with her hair ornamented with a rose pin.
"You look modest".
"Why doesn't that sound like a compliment?" She crooked a brow.
"It's not supposed to. I don't remember you looking anything close to..." He took another glance, "This when last you came here when we were teenagers".
A light scoff escaped Karen's lips, "That was six years ago, Mat. Can not still expect me to remain the—"
"Is it because of what happened?"
A sudden weight hit her chest to his blunt question he spat without thought. Karen's expression froze for a moment before masking it with a slightly forced smile.
"L- Let's not talk about what happened back then, shall we?"
Matthieu took a moment to observe her brown doe eyes then the twitch of her smile.
His lips curled into a smile, relaxing his shoulders as his hands slid into his pocket. "Did you get the briefing on your way here?"
"Hm. I received your email before boarding. I had enough time to go through the details".
Matthieu then smiled, "Well isn't that lovely". He stepped closer to throw an arm around her shoulder, motioning her towards the exit. "I guess things will go even smoother from here on".
The two proceeded out of the airport, oblivious of the lensed view that observed their backs from a distance in hiding.
An image shot was taken of the two of them just before they stepped out of the building with only the sides of their face visible to the camera view.