Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  He smiled and opened the door.

  I climbed inside and tore through the invitation.

  Reine,

  My therapy went over its time. I will meet with you in a few hours. Go home and get dressed. Peter knows where to take you.

  Love you always,

  Jean-Pierre.

  My heart beats increased. Anticipation flowed through my veins. Jean-Pierre knew how to surprise and romance me.

  What are you doing, baby?

  Delirious with excitement, when I got to the house, I hurried to get ready, undressing and showering. The baby twisted around. I was getting an understanding of the child’s placement. When I showered, the baby floated upside down, pressing little feet against my side. The right bulged out, as one foot pushed the skin up a little, looking like an alien trying to tear through my flesh.

  You’re excited too? We’re going to have so much fun. Your dad is cool like that.

  When I left the shower and entered the bedroom, a large box stood in the center. I opened it. A gown sat inside.

  I grinned.

  I don’t know, if this gown is going to fit, Jean-Pierre. Did you factor in the baby belly?

  I pulled it out.

  A knock came at the door.

  The baby wound its little body around, pressing a small foot to the left, as if wondering who’d come to see us.

  Aunt Delphine appeared. “How are you doing dear?”

  “Oh!” I covered myself with my robe. “I’m doing fine.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen it all,” she said. “Let’s help you in.”

  Since his aunts had heard about the pregnancy, they’d found reasons to come over almost every day. Recently, they’d just been popping up. Maybe thinking that if they waited too long, they would miss the appearance of the baby.

  Aunt Delphine eyed my belly. “How’s he doing?”

  “Fine. You still believe I’m having a boy?”

  “Oh yes. It’s hanging low. Girls are high.”

  Jean-Pierre’s other aunts had argued last week that I was having a girl.

  Aunt Delphine helped me into the gown. “How was your session with the brain doctor?”

  “Uh. . .fine.” I pulled the rest of the gown up. “Auntie.”

  “Yes?”

  I smiled.

  She widened her eyes. “Oh, am I messing with your boundaries again?”

  “Just a little bit.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. When I was pregnant, I had five women dressing me. I was so big, I refused to lift my hand. It was ungodly. You do everything yourself. I worry about you.”

  It’s called not being used to being rich.

  I giggled.

  She gazed at me and smiled. “You’re a good girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay. I’m going now. I’ll see you later.” She waved goodbye.

  I love you, but let’s make it much, much later.

  After I finished dressing, I checked my reflection in the mirror. The scars on my cheek was still there, but more thick faded lines. There was no ignoring it, but I’d learned that the scars didn’t make me. Sometimes kids turned my way and pointed, but then I wondered, if it was because a scarred Jean-Pierre walked next to me.

  Everyone is always staring at us, wondering about our story and why we have matching scars.

  I often wondered what strangers must’ve thought when they spotted us. Did they think we were part of a cult?

  I looked at the rest of me. The gown was red and sexy as fuck. As sexy as one can get with a nice belly, protruding under sequence fabric.

  I turned to the side and grinned.

  Hey, we still look fabulous. Don’t we, baby?

  I had been talking to our child in my head for a while. At first it scared me. Was I going crazy? But the doctor said it was fine.

  I turned around some more and glanced over my shoulder. The back of the gown was open with strings of pearls spreading along my back. Some of my inked violin strings peeked out.

  Okay. I’m as sexy as a big pregnant lady can get. Mission accomplished.

  The door opened.

  Jean-Pierre’s voice filled the air. “Damn. I may not take you anywhere. I may just tear that gown off and fuck you right here.”

  The baby kicked, happy to hear daddy’s voice.

  I laughed and held my stomach. “Maybe that’s an option.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He closed the distance between us, and when he hugged me, he cupped my ass. It had gotten much bigger with the baby weight. Since the extra pounds, he’d been smacking and fondling my ass every second he could get close to me.

  I batted his hand away, knowing if he continued I wouldn’t let us leave the room. He’d made me just as insatiable as him.

  Rafael had joked that we would probably end up having ten kids.

  “And how is my little princess?” Jean-Pierre lowered to my big belly, whispering French for several minutes. He made sure to not speak too loudly, explaining that it was their secret conversations.

  We don’t even know if that is a princess, but if we have a girl, you are going to spoil the shit out of her.

  I chuckled as he rubbed my belly and whispered, “Goodbye for now, little one. We’ll talk later, when mommy falls asleep from daddy tearing that fat—”

  “Jean-Pierre.”

  He rose and pulled me in his arms. “The child knows.”

  “Does not.” I snickered.

  “She knows how I put her to sleep.”

  Recently, when I walked a lot, danced, or even. . .fucked, the movement rocked the baby into a nice sleep.

  During my slumber, that was when the baby woke up, partied, and had a good old time making a playground of my womb. And for a few hours during that time, Jean-Pierre rubbed my belly, whispering to our child and touching the little feet as they pushed and tapped at my skin. Thus, causing the child to be up all night.

  I shook my head, thinking about the ruckus they would cause tonight.

  “What are you smiling about?” He nipped at my mouth.

  “I’m happy.”

  “Good.” He kissed me again. “Let’s go, reine.”

  We left the castle and climbed into the limo. Excitement buzzed through me. I had no idea what we would do, just that it would be awesome. My man never disappointed and always came correct, when he romanced me.

  I’m so fucking blessed.

  The limo left our estate and pulled out of the stone and iron gates. A crescent moon sat in the sky. Stars glimmered in bright, blueish blackness.

  “Tonight, we’re going to play a game.” Jean-Pierre pulled out a silk blindfold from his pocket. “Do you trust me?”

  I didn’t like the idea of being blindfolded, but with Jean-Pierre, I could do anything. With him, I was safe.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  He took his time, placing the silk blindfold over my eyes and then he kissed my lips. “I hope you love the surprise.”

  “I will. I always do.”

  Darkness served as my view. I remained comforted in the feel of Jean-Pierre, as he slipped his hands along my arm, sending delicious shivers through me.

  He kissed me and whispered, “Have I told you how gorgeous you are this evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “I doubt, I said it enough.”

  “You always do.”

  “Your stunning.” He devoured my mouth. My arousal wet my panties. I groaned as our tongues twisted and filled the silence.

  Minutes passed.

  We kissed and made out.

  Then, I felt the limo’s movement stop as it must’ve parked.

  Where are we? What is my Jean-Pierre doing now?

  With him, it could be anything. There were no limits to what he could and would do for me. I just hoped I could give him as much.

  Our baby moved into its usual position, probably getting comfortable for a nice rest.

  Jean-Pierre helpe
d me out of the limo, since I couldn’t see. I focused on my other senses and inhaled the salty air. Ocean waves roared around me.

  We’re at the beach.

  “Take off your shoes, reine. Someone will grab them.” He held my hand while I slipped each one off. Sand smoothed against my feet. A cool ocean breeze brushed my shoulders.

  Yes. Definitely the beach.

  I beamed, loving it. I’d told him many times that the beach was my favorite place so far.

  He held my hand and guided me forward.

  What are we going to do here?

  Barefoot in the sand, I walked with him for at least five minutes. He said nothing the whole time. My heart beats increased.

  And then, we stopped.

  He whispered, “There’s three steps. I’ll guide you up each one.”

  “Steps?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I was at our beach.”

  “Stop trying to guess.”

  “How could I not?” I giggled as I walked up the three steps and then moved forward. The surface was smooth, but I still couldn’t get an indicator, of what I was walking on.

  Okay. Where the hell are we?

  After a few feet of walking, he said again. “There’s one more step.”

  “O-kay.” I climbed.

  Someone giggled off in the distance.

  Who was that?

  It was definitely a female and someone familiar. Another hushed them. I swore I caught a little chatter off in the distance. I tensed.

  Relax. Of course others are out here. It’s probably our staff.

  “Okay. Stay right here.” He tried to let my hand go.

  “Say what?” Terror hit me. “Where are you going?”

  He kept his voice low. “Don’t worry. I’m right next to you. I just need both of my hands.”

  So spoiled with him, I frowned. “Why do you need both of your hands?”

  He chuckled and let me go. “You’ll see.”

  “Will I?”

  The blindfold was still on. And I no longer had his hand. Thank God, I continued to feel his presence around me. It was so powerful and imposing, I felt comfortable. And then movement sounded in front of me. I jumped a little. Whatever was going on, it had happened in unison and was made by a lot of people.

  Tensing, I held my hands out to the side.

  What. The. Hell? How many people are around us?

  And then I got my answer.

  Music filled the air. The beginning of some heroic piece. There was a lovely lyrical theme. The soft melody of a violin. And then several violins swooped in accompanying. A double bass boomed.

  Holy shit. How many musicians did he get?

  A piano came next. Then several cellos. And then all the other musicians played together at once.

  Jesus!

  I broke down each instrument. Flutes and piccolos. Oboes and bass clarinets. English and French horns. And I knew the song. Of course I knew the song.

  Strauss’s Sonata.

  Each note twirled and danced in the air. My fingers shook, not from fear. It was because I was so consumed with emotion, so blown away by him.

  Because even beyond the song being ingrained in him. Even beyond the fact that he made it his life, to play this song during the major moments of his life. Even beyond the expense and enormous logistics it would’ve taken for him to get an orchestra out on the beach, playing the sonata masterfully in the moonlight.

  It was something else that had my heartbeats increasing. My blood flowing. Tears streaming down my cheeks. It was another fact completely, that had an overwhelming feeling of love absorbing any fear that ever lingered in my heart.

  There was a familiarity to the notes, not just because I knew the song by heart from practicing it for Jean-Pierre.

  But. . .

  I know the players. Oh my God. Jean-Pierre, did you really do this?

  I wiped my tears with shaking fingers.

  How did you do that, Jean-Pierre? How did you get the whole Belladonna symphony out here?

  “Take off your blindfold, reine.”

  Sniffling like an emotional mess, I pulled off the blindfold. My makeup must’ve been a mess. And it wouldn’t improve anytime soon.

  “Oh, Jean-Pierre.” My voice cracked.

  We stood on a stage.

  I was next to him as he conducted and led the Belladonna symphony through the sonata.

  Holy shit. He’s a beast.

  I’d seen him conduct, on old YouTube videos but being there, right in his presence, was breathtaking. Those huge arms rocked and swayed, guiding each musician into the proper rhythm of the song.

  With his right hand, he twirled the baton, making invisible swirls with the tip. With his guidance, the violins swayed, so seduced by him. Subtly he raised his left hand and maintained the main orchestra’s tempo, caressing the air and tempting the flutes.

  So. Fucking. Sexy.

  I’d never seen him hotter. And he was in full tuxedo, but still I’d never seen him more gorgeous, more in command and in control.

  And he owned, Strauss’s Sonata. One would’ve thought Jean-Pierre had written the piece himself. He made use of the entire upper range of the cello’s notes—leaping toward the lines that put fear in most cellists’ hearts.

  They’ve practiced this. There’s no way they would play this good with Jean-Pierre, without weeks and weeks of practice. Maybe months. . .

  And it came to me.

  His therapy.

  I grinned.

  Your therapy was practicing for this performance? Okay. I’ll take that.

  Jean-Pierre continued through the Sonata. It was in that moment, where I realized there were others on the outskirts of the symphony watching.

  His aunts stood around, decked out in sequins and elaborate gowns.

  Holy shit!

  The guys were on the left. Rafael, Louis, and Giorgio. It had been a while, since they’d all been here. And now they were all coupled up. Through the months, I’d met and loved the women my new cousins had fallen in love with. The women and I had sort of made our own group, forming friendships through the connection of our dangerous men.

  I smiled at my girls and shook my head.

  How long did you all know about this?!

  While Straus’s version of the Sonata had the second act, dark and brooding, Jean-Pierre brightened and shortened it, rushing to the third movement.

  That was when I spotted someone on the right. He’d been standing there alone near the oboe players.

  Daddy!? Jean-Pierre, you flew my father out?! Oh my God!

  I’d called my father. He hadn’t answered. And then, a few times, he’d called at odd hours, leaving short messages. Time passed and we both hadn’t called each other in past months. In the end, I was too much of a coward to explain anything to him. And then, when Aunt Celina’s head came to the house, I put it off. It had been the main point of my doctor and my discussions in therapy.

  Daddy’s here. When? Where? How?

  Just when I thought I’d cried enough from excitement, I bawled. And that was when I knew. I knew why Jean-Pierre had invited them all.

  God. . .I’m so slow.

  Jean-Pierre paused from conducting. They symphony continued to play. He grinned as if he heard my statement. As if he knew that I’d just figured out, what he was going to do next.

  He lowered to one bended knee and pulled out a small black box.

  And the Belladonna Symphony lowered and then slowly faded out.

  Breathe, Eden. Breathe.

  The baby moved.

  Another tear came.

  It was all joy.

  All happiness.

  All heart-consuming emotion.

  I whispered yes, before he could get the question out. And so, he never said it, he slipped a heavy ring on my finger. The diamond looked like a tiny boulder.

  Jean-Pierre rose to kiss me. I was so happy, I probably would’ve g
rabbed a priest and married him right there.

  But then, my father hurried onto the stage and held me. “It’s good to see you, Eady E.”

  I giggled. “Dad, don’t call me that here.”

  “Why not?” Dad patted Jean-Pierre’s back. “He already knows your nickname.”

  He does. You two have been talking? What’s going on?

  “Daddy.” I hugged him hard. It had been so long. I’d wanted to go and visit him, so many times, and he’d found excuses for me to not come. “When did you get here?”

  Jean-Pierre and him exchanged looks.

  “Oh.” Dad shrugged. “I’ve been around for a while.”

  “Meaning?” I quirked my eyebrows at the both of them.

  “It’s a long story, for another time. He needed help with something.” He patted Jean-Pierre’s back. “But I gave him my permission about the marriage.”

  “It took long enough,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

  What was going on?

  But we had no time for that as others rushed the stage to congratulate us. All my friends from Belladonna had been there. It was a bittersweet for a moment, as I wished Leo could have been there…or even, Aunt Celina.

  The orchestra ended. We all headed off to several lovely, decorated tables feet away from the ocean. Candles and lamps lead the way.

  Jean-Pierre had pulled out all the stops.

  Right when I was going to tell him that, he surprised me again. “Look to the sky.”

  Color exploded in the air.

  “Fireworks,” I whispered.

  “A good sonata always ends with fireworks.”

  Chapter 32

  In the Birthing Pool

  Jean-Pierre

  In the shower, I fucked Eden. Hot steam surrounded us. Earlier, I’d been rubbing her sore feet.

  Damn. I love her.

  This was the last month of her pregnancy, I couldn’t help but pamper her. But then, she’d looked too good in those tiny shorts, with that big pregnant belly over them and my big buttoned shirt opened halfway. She was no longer able to fit anything and didn’t want to wear anything but my shirts anyway.

  I loved it.

  After both feet were properly rubbed with various scented oils, I had her clothes off in minutes and her in the shower. Pumping into that lovely fat ass, I rubbed her clit.

  “Oh, Jean-Pierre!”

  Steam rose. Warm water rained down on us. Her body had changed so much. The shower sprayed on her full breasts. Those nipples had darkened and became bigger. I loved lapping at them.