by Kenya Wright
A long, black beaded gown lay inside.
I picked it up and stood.
Leo whistled. “You lucky I’m not into wearing girls’ clothes, because I would’ve knocked you out and ran off with this.”
It wasn’t just a gown. It was a see-through lace one with gorgeous beading and jewels adorned in intricate places. Most of my body would be covered, but there were teasing spaces that only exposed lace over bare skin.
I muttered, “Wow.”
Leo rummaged through the box. “He’s freaky. There’s a mask inside.”
I placed the gown back down in the box and took the mask from him. “He’s not freaky. This is kind of my brand right now.”
“A masked violinist?”
“Sort of. It’s my alter ego.”
“It’s a shitty alter ego.” He spread his hands out in the air. “She’s a violinist during the day, and a violinist at night. But at night. . .she’s wearing a lace mask.”
“Leave me alone.”
“And you can still tell it’s you with this one.”
“Not the point.” I studied the mask Jean-Pierre had provided. My mouth and the bottom half of my face would still be displayed. In many ways it was similar to the one that I’d worn. The major difference is that this one held expensive French lace. It was so soft, I feared it might melt in my hands. Jewels scattered the lace around my eyes.
I put the mask on my face. “This is what I wear when I play at the Candy Shop.”
He frowned. “And you still get tips?”
“Not funny.”
“Looks a little crazy that you’re playing in a mask, but whatever. It’s a brothel. Not a lot of judgement there.” He grabbed the mask from me and put it on his face. “I like it. Mysterious and lacey.”
“There we go.” I took the mask back from him and put it in the box. “You’re getting it.”
“Only because someone showed up in a limo.” He returned to the box, took out six-inch black heels, and dangled them in front of me. “So…this new employer is dressing you?”
“Just for this performance.” I grabbed the heels from Leo, hoping I could fit them.
“He’s styling you for a performance?”
“It’s a private party.” I put one shoe one and it fit perfectly.
Leo quirked his eyebrows. “Did you tell him your size?”
“No.” I stirred and took off the shoe. “Maybe he asked Shalimar.”
“I don’t know if this guy is creepy, or romantic. What does he look like?”
“That would make a difference?”
“Hell yes. If he’s gorgeous, I would see how this plays out. Sure, he wants you to play the violin.” Leo winked twice. “Sure. But he’s trying to take off panties too. The roses. The shoes. The expensive gown. This is game.”
“Game.”
“Yeah. Out-of-my-budget game, but game, nonetheless. I’m actually proud of you. Finally, you’re working that pussy power.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “So, you would still play the performance, if you were me?”
Leo leaned his head to the side. “Is he attractive?”
“God, yes.”
“Then, hell yeah, I would be playing in the outfit that his limo driver bought me along with flowers. Shit. I might be naked, when I showed up.”
I shook my head.
“You know I’m nasty, right?”
“I know.” I laughed, placed the shoes in the box, and left the couch.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to practice.”
“Practice what?”
“The music I’m playing tonight.”
He called back. “You need to be practicing twerking and how to drop it low because he’s going to want more than playing tonight.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Well, he only paid for playing, so that’s all he’s getting.”
“Good. Stick to your morals. Unless the figures on the check go up. Then have your daddy take you to the bank.”
I laughed and shut the door.
“Work that pussy power, girl! Get that bag for the household.”
I shook my head at my cat. “What are we going to do with Leo?”
V had never left the windowsill. I was glad because if she’d seen that gown, she would’ve thought it was her new scratch toy.
I walked over to my laptop and pulled up Jean-Pierre’s album. As soon as I pressed play, his first song came on. He called the song, Iliad and had full composing credit.
A skilled violin filled the room. He had such a delicate bow stroke, delivering the ability to make the violin sound any way he desired. His breathtaking notes rode the air. I sat down next to the windowsill and stared out the window.
I couldn’t even see what was happening behind the glass.
I was blind to the world moving outside.
His song had my attention.
How beautiful it was? How it drummed through my heart, touching parts of the organ that I didn’t know could be touched?
When the song ended, I rose, placed the song on repeat, and returned to the window.
V climbed onto my lap and snuggled.
I barely knew she was there, as I closed my eyes and imagined Jean-Pierre playing the Iliad on stage.
How beautiful he must’ve been. How could those heavy arms play something as delicate and small as a violin? And how could a man that wrote something so melodious and heartwarming as the Iliad, now be rumored as a butcher?
On the fourth play, I wondered why he’d named the song that title.
The Iliad was an ancient Greek epic by Homer. It told of battles and quarrels between King Agamemnon, and the warrior Achilles.
Had he been going through a battle? There had to have been quarrels with what happened to him later.
On the sixth play, I took Eros out and began mimicking some of the notes, unable to just sit and not play along.
On the tenth play, I fell in love with the composition. I’d already liked it. That had never been up for debate. But now the song flowed within my soul. It was in the music files of my brain. Forever imprinted.
On the fifteenth play, I knew I would play it for him. I just didn’t know if I should, or if he would want the reminder. I just knew the desire burned in my fingers.
On the twentieth, Leo came in to complain, tired of hearing me play it over and over.
I switched to my Bluetooth headphones and practiced the songs until the afternoon. I was nervous about tonight’s job. Leo’s assessment of the situation didn’t help. The fact that I was doing this behind my aunt’s back didn’t make this any easier.
It made me glad that I had Shalimar involved.
Everything will work. It has to.
Chapter 6
The Freaky Proposition
Eden
My phone rang right as I arrived at the Candy Shop.
I checked the screen.
Shalimar: Where are you? Nervous? Need anything?
Me: Yes. The package arrived this morning. I put the gown on.
Shalimar: You’re covered. He didn’t try to be slick?
Me: I’m covered. It’s just a lot going on. I look like I’m a pop star on a world tour.
Shalimar: Better that than lingerie. Come to the office, so I can see. Everything will be fine.
Me: I just showed up in my Uber™. I’m coming inside.
Shalimar: Hurry. We don’t want to keep him waiting.
I left the Uber™ and stumbled toward the Candy Shop. I kept a long black coat on, covering the beaded lace gown. Jean-Pierre had sent six-inch heels with the outfit. Although they were stylish and unique, the damn things were hard to walk in. My pocketbook held the mask that Jean-Pierre had included in the package.
I carried my violin case in the other hand.
It took a few minutes to get to the VIP section. The guards nodded.
I wobbled inside the main lounge, got my rhythm, and hurried past tons of women catering rich men. I hit
the red door and took a right for Shalimar’s office.
She stood in the doorway with a worried expression. “Good. You made it. You look amazing.”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
“Hey, this would scare most.”
“It does.”
Shalimar rushed me into her office. “Take off the coat. Let’s see.”
I undid it and showed her.
“Damn. You clean up well.”
I pulled out the mask he’d included and tapped my right foot. “I’m nervous as hell.”
“You are, but he wants you to play music and be sexy. And you are sexy. Don’t worry. If I thought it was more, I would end it. Regardless, Jean-Pierre always follows rules and limits.”
“Good.” I considered, bringing up the fact that he’d hinted at wanting more, but chose not to. Secretly, I wanted to know where this was going.
“Listen.” Shalimar took the mask and placed it over my face, tying its silk strap at the back of my head. “Tonight, is surviving for tomorrow. Nothing else matters. Make that money. Keep eating.”
“I’m ready.”
“Say it with boldness.”
I chuckled. “I’m ready!”
“Okay. Let’s get you in there and then get you out.”
I straightened my face and followed her up to the fourth level.
His room stood at the end of the hallway along the back wall.
She opened the door peeked in. “He’s not here yet. He’ll be in soon.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll just tune up…or something.” I slipped inside and waited by the fireplace.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I should check on everyone. Are you okay if I go?”
“Yeah.”
“You can do it.”
“Thanks.”
Shalimar left.
I didn’t want to sit down. The black lace revealed so much. I wasn’t sure which position would be less revealing.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m playing for the Corsica’s accountant. Don’t worry. It’s for good money. Relax.
The room contained a number of over-stuffed sofas arranged around the fireplace, with low tables beside each one. The light in the space came from the fire and the lamps set on each of the tables, and the walls were paneled with dark wood, giving the room a cozy, intimate feeling. The carpeting underfoot had a thick, dense pile. Nothing was overtly flashy, but the room as a whole screamed money.
Endless moments dragged past as I waited.
I tuned my violin for a little bit, plucking the strings and twisting until the sound vibrated just right.
The whole time, my stomach did somersaults.
After a slow eternity, I heard a noise at the door, and it opened slowly. I held my breath.
It was him, of course.
Jean-Pierre.
Wearing the mask for some reason made me feel less naked, but still I forced myself to exhale. Passing out from a lack of oxygen probably wouldn’t make a good impression.
He crossed the room. With each step, my heart slammed into my ribs. His walk was smooth, but dominant as if he owned everything around him. His eyes locked with mine and made me melt, right as he stopped directly in front of me. I gazed into those blue eyes, feeling an electric connection flowing between us.
I rose. Even with my heels, he towered over me.
He wore a suit, a navy one with a blue shirt matching those ice cold eyes. He had on a dark red tie and I thought of blood. And still with all that, he looked good enough to eat.
His gaze roamed over the black lace gown. His voice was as deep as I remembered and riding that sexy French accent. “Tu es belle.”
“You are beautiful.”
It was hard to string two words together when he stood there, whispering French and smelling of rich cologne.
I concentrated on not stammering. “Merci.”
I swore he groaned. A shiver of lust ran through me.
“Ten thousand for the night,” he whispered.
“Okay.”
He licked his lips. “And nobody else will touch you.”
Nobody else?
He moved closer to me. “Are you comfortable with this arrangement?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
How could I not be, when he was standing there looking at me, dripping gorgeousness? The money had been a huge temptation, but those intense blue eyes had lured me here. No matter how much I thought about the extra funds, I couldn’t deny that it was the man that intrigued me.
“The rest of my party will be arriving shortly.” He reached out and touched my hand again, raising it to his lips. Warmth pulsed through me. “I can’t wait to hear you play. It is always the best part of my day.” His voice lowered. “Since you. . . La vie est belle.”
“. . .life is beautiful.”
I could barely speak. “Thank you.”
A playful smile hit his face. Those lips were curved just right, and I wondered what was on his mind. That gaze held a devilish gleam as if he was contemplating how to devour me.
My breath caught, and I swore he noticed as his gaze lowered to my throat and he licked his lips again.
In my mind, he came close to me, and I didn’t back away. How crazy was it that already I wanted his arms around me? In that moment, as we gazed in silence, I yearned for his arm to slip around my waist. Already, I craved his warmth.
And although neither of us spoke, no unease came.
Instead, I inhaled him. His scent hit me hard and I couldn’t help but inhale deeper.
He leaned closer to me. “Vous jouez avec le feu et vous ne le savez pas.”
“What did you say?”
His fingers brushed against my cheek as he slipped his hand into my hair.
My pulse pounded violently. I remained transfixed by his eyes.
Slowly, he moved closer and right before our lips touched… he stopped. His dark lashes lowered, and he hesitated. His breath slipped across my lips in a warm rush. “Have you come up with a price?”
“A price?”
Every inch of my body wanted that kiss. I didn’t know what happened. I blinked and looked away. His hands slipped from my body and the cold air made me shiver.
Remember. You’re in a brothel, not some first date. Sex is a commodity here.
I backed away, close to begging for a kiss.
He held my gaze for a moment and a surge of heat passed between us. I wanted to reach out and pull him into my arms.
His voice sounded rough. “I’d pay anything for more.”
“I’m not…offering more.”
“No?”
“No.” Pushing my way out of the lusty fog he’d created, I walked off into the opposite direction and headed to my violin case. Holding Eros would anchor me. There was no need to further discuss it. In fact, I was completely embarrassed. Here I stood in a brothel, having a sensual moment in my mind, while he’d just been trying to get laid by a prostitute. Had he never brought up money, I might’ve begged for a kiss.
And that is why you shouldn’t be up in here, trying to make money. Stick to your hustle game. Violins.
I took Eros out.
Jean-Pierre came closer and stood next to me as I held Eros in both hands. His gaze watched my fingers pluck and tighten the strings. “You want to kiss me, but you don’t want money involved?”
I didn’t respond. What else could I say without sounding stupid?
“I like to deal with money, instead of emotions.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“I’m just here to play the violin.”
“Hmmm.” He gazed at the bow in the case. “How long have you lived in Belladonna?”
“Five years.”
“I’ve been to Belladonna a lot and to the symphony performances too. I have investments there.” He studied Eros. “A very valuable investment. Last week, I came to
claim it, but at the last minute I decided to let it remain where it was.”
He pulled the bow out of my case and slipped his fingers along the length. “Do you know what Belladonna means?”
I watched him hold the bow. “Belladonna means beautiful woman.”
“Yes. It’s also the name of a deadly plant. Some call it nightshade.” He walked over to me with the bow, but instead of giving it to me, he took Eros from me like he owned it. “Have you ever seen a belladonna plant?”
“No.” Amazed, I watched him as he held Eros with such exquisite power.
He plucked the A string, twisted the knob, and tried again, delivering a perfect tune that I hadn’t captured the many times I’d used Eros. He continued with the next string and I stepped closer to him, studying the gentle way he touched Eros and gazed at him.
“I’ve been to Belladonna a lot and to the symphony performances too. I had investments there.”
The Belladonna symphony laundered money for the mafia. It made sense that it would be the Corsicans, due to the committee’s French roots. Jean-Pierre might’ve been involved in some of the chaos.
“A very valuable investment. Last week, I came to claim it, but at the last minute I decided to let it remain where it was.”
And then things began to make sense. When he first saw me, he glared at the instrument first. Had he played Eros before? There’d been no discussion of the violin’s history after the heiress died and they found the instrument in the closet. This was a huge leap, but this week had jumped to odd enough to think out the box.
If Jean-Pierre had played Eros for years, and then went into scandal, the committee would’ve kept that part of history quiet. In fact, many benefactors would’ve wiped out the violin’s past all together. It sounded crazy, but I couldn’t hold back my curiosity.
“Have you played Eros before?” I asked.
He twisted the violin around as he studied it. “Is that what you named her? Eros?”
“The violin is a he.”
He smiled and handed Eros over to me. “Is it now?”
I held Eros and placed him in the case, nervous with the way Jean-Pierre was gazing at him.
“Yes. I played the instrument,” Jean-Pierre said. “I named your Eros, Belladonna long ago. Sure, the violin was like a beautiful woman to me, but also, there was a respect that needed to be in order. When I thought of Belladonna, I envisioned the poisonous plant. Full of toxic, ripe berries.”
