Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  I stared at it, trying to figure out what the small fountain could be serving.

  Jean-Pierre stood on my right. “Would you like some?”

  “What is it?”

  “Absinthe.”

  “This might sound stupid, but would it make me hallucinate?”

  “Aww. la fée verte.” He chuckled. “You’ve heard her reputation of being the green fairy. Well, the truth is you won’t see fairies and other things, but. . .you will have one hell of a day.”

  I laughed. “Then why does it have such a big reputation of being hallucinogenic?”

  “One of absinthe’s ingredients is wormwood which contain thujone. That’s a hallucinogen. Oregano has the same compound. So in large amounts of wormwood and oregano, you would hallucinate.”

  “But we’re talking a large amount?”

  “Enough to die from alcohol poisoning first.”

  I studied the fountain again, admiring its beautiful antique quality. It was like I’d taken a time machine back 150 years to a Parisian café.

  I grinned. “Are you going to try some?”

  “Yes, if you do it. I’ve had it before, but drinking it with you, should be fun.”

  Jean-Pierre gestured to the tailor’s assistant.

  Victor went to the fountain and what continued was a dance. I watched the whole ritual in fascination. He pulled out two crystal glasses, placed a flat antiqued spoon on the top of each glass, and then he set a sugar cube on top of each spoon. A long green bottle of absinthe came next. He poured a small amount in, letting the pale green liquid trickle over the sugar.

  Next, Victor sat the sugar cubed-top glasses underneath the fountain taps.

  I stared at the clear liquid in the glass. “What’s in the fountain?”

  “Chilled water.”

  Victor twisted a sleek knob at the back of the fountain. Slowly drops of water left both taps and fell upon the sugar until the cubes dissolved. A sweet scent filled the air. I knew the name of the fragrance, but I couldn’t catch the scent’s memory.

  Victor’s father took over.

  Alexandre brought over my glass, he spoke in French.

  Jean-Pierre translated. “Alexandre wanted you to know that you’re the first woman to have a glass in his shop, and he’s been in business for over thirty years. Most women usually shake their heads no and let their husbands drink it.”

  I took the glass. “I’m honored.”

  Alexandre continued.

  I waited patiently as fast French words danced out of his lips.

  Jean-Pierre chuckled. “He said that absinthe's popularity grew in the 1840s due to French troops having malaria. It was supposed to help with that. The troops brought home their taste for it. He hopes that when you go to America, you’ve found a taste for it too.”

  I turned to Alexandre. “Merci, monsieur.”

  Jean-Pierre and I toasted.

  I took a sip. The cool liquid reminded me of black Jelly Beans. A sweet licorice. I swallowed some more. “I like it.”

  “Then, let’s enjoy the day.” Jean-Pierre guided me to the back.

  I followed, taking a few more sips of the absinthe.

  We spent the time in Alexandre’s shop laughing as Jean-Pierre showed me the fabrics that he loved.

  “The different between a $5,000 suit and a $50,000 one, is savant-level sewing and impeccable fabrics.” He took my free hand and gently placed my fingers along the soft materials. A silky texture smoothed against my tips. “The rarer and more elusive the furry animal the more premium the fabric.”

  “Hmmm.” I tasted some more of the absinthe. “And now. . .it is time for you to strip and model.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I would love to watch you. . .do anything.”

  He laughed. “What do you want to see me in?”

  I scanned the space. “Anything in here. I love a man in a well-tailored suit. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He curved his lips into a delicious smile. “I’ll try anything on, if you help me undress in the dressing room.”

  “Hmmm. I think I can be of some help.”

  I never got my fashion show from Jean-Pierre that afternoon, but I did get fucked in the back of the dressing room. He lifted me up, like he did on the Eiffel tower and even the shower this morning, pumping his cock into me and making me moan.

  I came hard with the taste of absinthe on my tongue.

  The next day, we journeyed some more through Paris.

  Jean-Pierre drove.

  Rafael and Louis followed in the cars behind.

  The whole ride, Jean-Pierre told me about the country’s interesting culture. Many of the French mocked the snobbish capital-dwellers of Paris. Still, Jean-Pierre believed all French cities and towns held a people that lived life with passion.

  “That’s why so many writers flocked to Paris.” He maneuvered his car with sensual skill. Even when Jean-Pierre drove, he turned me on. And that accent didn’t help either. “F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway. They painted a picture of the city as profound and romantic.”

  I want to hump his brain.

  All I could do was lounge in my passenger seat and enjoy every word as the stunning city sped by my window. As this sexy man drove me forward. As my world continued to open up to new surprises each day.

  I don’t want this to ever end.

  For a few moments, I wondered if there was a wife experience, before shaking that thought out of my head completely.

  At night, we explored art in the Louvre. Originally a royal palace, the world’s most famous art museum had been in the top five for my bucket list. It displayed celebrated works such as “The Mona Lisa” and the “Venus de Milo”; “The Nike of Samothrace,” and Michelangelo’s “Dying Slave”.

  Holding hands, we strolled the museum’s long marbled halls.

  No one else existed in there but us. The place held a lovely silence that was only interrupted by our footsteps and conversation.

  I was in awe of Jean-Pierre’s control in Paris.

  How much money and power did one have to possess to rent out the Louvre for the evening?

  The whole place was massive.

  We ventured to the Sully Wing—the oldest part of the Louvre. The lower ground floor of the Sully had remnants of the Louvre’s medieval castle. On the ground floor stood the statue of Aphrodite better known as “Venus de Milo”. The first floors had thirty rooms with artifacts and sculptures from Ancient Egypt. We kissed by the famous Seated Scribe.

  Later, Jean-Pierre took a picture of us together as we stood in front of a colossal statue of Pharaoh Ramesses II.

  And it felt like a real date.

  No.

  A real couple’s trip.

  Maybe even a honeymoon.

  But the problem was… it all felt so real.

  Like this was my life.

  All real.

  No pretending.

  No faking.

  No girlfriend experience.

  No payments.

  When he touched my hand, my body warmed.

  When he kissed me, my toes curled.

  When he fucked me, my heart sang.

  Sinking.

  I was sinking.

  Falling.

  Down.

  Down.

  I was drowning in him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as we stepped onto the second floor. “Is everything okay?”

  I forced a smile. “Yes.”

  Stop overthinking all of this. Enjoy Jean-Pierre while you have him.

  He paused and turned me to him. “Tell me.”

  “I’m overthinking.”

  “Overthinking what?”

  This is not what he’s paying for. Relax.

  “Eden?”

  “Sorry. I’m just. . .enjoying myself so much. . .I—”

  He whispered. “And you don’t want it to end?”

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed my hand and guided us
forward. “Then, that’s a conversation we should have.”

  What? It is?

  He smiled. “You look shocked.”

  “You wanted a girlfriend experience with no emotion or—”

  “No, I wanted you.” He stopped us and hit me with an intense gaze. “I wanted your full attention without anyone around. No interruptions. I wanted you all to myself to give us time to see if this could work.”

  I swallowed, unable to grasp the magnitude of what he was saying. His words made sense, but they lay heavy with things that had been left unsaid.

  I took a chance and ended my idea of what a pleasing prostitute would give him. Instead, I continued to be myself and asked the hard questions that had popped to my mind. “When did you decide that you wanted my full attention? Was it the first time I played for you at your party?”

  “The first time?” He let out a long breath, surprising me. Again, some emotion lingered beyond those words. But I had no idea what it was.

  He raised my hand and kissed my fingers. “The first time is another conversation that we’ll need to have.”

  “Why?”

  His face shifted to a neutral expression. “Because the first time I saw you. . .was not the first time you saw me.”

  My heartbeat increased. I tensed. More from how carefully he was wording everything. A hint of fear edged his eyes. Whatever he had to say, he knew I wouldn’t like it.

  What could he be afraid to say to me? He’s the man that rented out the Louvre for the night. I’m just the small town violinist that’s happy to be here.

  Still, there was no doubt to what I was feeling. Tension thickened between us. Jean-Pierre turned away and guided us forward again.

  I let go of his hand. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s discuss it at dinner.”

  I didn’t know how long he had the Louvre or what he’d planned later. In any other situation, I would’ve pushed the topic further. Had we been at the movies or standing in some mall, there would’ve been no excuses.

  I followed him but didn’t give him my hand.

  Granted, he hadn’t grabbed it either.

  Whatever he had to say, it had somehow divided us. A visible line passed between us as we headed to the end of the floor.

  Dishes clanked further in the distance.

  When we rounded the corner, a small staff greeted us as they set up our table.

  Jean-Pierre gestured to the lovely decorated table near the wall and the large painting that hung next to it. “We’ll eat here by Ingres’s Turkish Bath.”

  “Wow.” Stunned, I stared at the image. “I studied this in college. I had to do a report on it. Ingres painted it in the late eighteenth century.”

  “I know.”

  “You love this work?”

  “No, I know that you did a report on Ingres.”

  I widened my eyes in shock. “What?”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  I walked over to the table. “What do you mean you knew I did a college report about it?”

  “I had my men look into you. The first time I saw you, I wanted to know everything about you.”

  “That’s how I felt about you.”

  “But unfortunately. . .you didn’t get the full story on me.” He sighed. “You should know everything, before you say yes to my extension.”

  “Everything about you?”

  “No, Eden.” He frowned. “Everything about us.”

  Chapter 33

  Confessions

  Present day

  Jean-Pierre

  Our dinner at the Louvre had been the proper moment to tell her everything. Every minute with her, I’d wondered when I would tell her. There’d been no doubt that I would keep this war a secret. She had to know how her aunt had walled her off and even invaded her privacy with the security cameras.

  But most of all, she had to know all the things I’d done too. I’d invaded her privacy. I’d broken into her home and been prepared to steal Belladonna back to me. I’d become obsessed and out of control.

  I’d killed for her. I’d destroyed families and broken homes just to have a moment where I could sit at a table across from her.

  My heart ached as I lowered my voice. “You have to know the truth.”

  She gave me an intense gaze and remained silent.

  Sound came from behind me. Louis appeared right on time. He pushed a huge flat screen tv that had wheels at the bottom and stretched out pass the length of his body.

  I’d given him my tasks this morning.

  He read the list of things I wanted. “Are you sure, Jean-Pierre? Everything is fine between Eden and you. Why change things?”

  “Because I don’t want anything to get between us anymore. And the only way I can make that happen is with the truth.”

  Louis shook his head. “But we’ve come so far. What if she walks away?”

  “I’m more worried that I won’t let her walk away, if even she wants to.”

  So much had happened.

  We’d brought guns and men to New York for Sasha.

  During our last meeting at a high-end hotel in New York, Sasha didn’t show up. Instead, he’d delivered a gang of Jamaicans to kill Louis, Rafael, and me. We’d barely made it out of New York. Later our pilot notified us, that several planes had been following us. At the last minute, I made the decision to lead the planes back to France, verses taking them to Belladonna.

  A shoot out happened in France. My men outnumbered Sasha’s newly appointed Jamaicans. We sent their bodies back to America.

  No regrets. That forced me to stay in France and heal, which brought Eden to me.

  And more events continued outside of us.

  While Rafael and I fought Jamaicans in Paris, Sasha had made his play against Kazimir. The news reported that the Lion was dead.

  My gut said to wait for clear evidence. Many times people had been reported killed to only pop up on the other side of the globe and full of vengeance. It was best to tread carefully with my support for the Russians in the future.

  Kazimir’s Uncle Igor had planned a month of ceremonies and funeral celebrations for his nephew. Days later, Louis had reported that there’d been a shootout in the castle.

  This morning, the news had reported Igor dead along with others.

  The Russians are taking care of everything. All I have to do is sit back and watch. Whoever is alive, I’ll decide if I need to deal with them or not.

  In the Louvre, Louis slid the tv next to our table, handed me the remote control, and then left. I knew he was annoyed with me. From his point of view, there’d been no reason to tell Eden the truth. I had her where I wanted her. Many of my men found Celina’s death a viable option to winning the whole war.

  But I’d loved and began broken relationships based on secrets and lies. I would not start like that with Eden.

  I turned the tv on.

  “What this?” she asked.

  “Footage from your apartment three years ago.”

  She shifted her view to the tv screen. “My place?”

  “Yes.” I stiffened, forcing myself to deal with what was coming ahead.

  The image played of Eden’s apartment. The camera views were divided by four different camera screens. One camera showed Eden sleeping in her bed.

  “This is the night I broke into your apartment.”

  She raised her hand to her chest and widened her eyes as she stared in shock.

  On one screen, I came into view.

  At that moment, I paused the screen.

  She turned to me. Her bottom lip quivered. I knew that if I placed my hand where she held her on her chest that her heart would be booming against my palm.

  “This will be a lot to tell you in one night.” I rose from the table and kept the remote in my hand. “Surely, there’s already so many questions in your head. I want you to know everything, Eden. Including all of the things. . .the bad things I’ve done. . .in the name of winning your heart.”

  She s
lowly shook her head. “Why. . .”

  “Take your time. I know this is a lot.”

  She let out a long breath. “Why is there footage of my apartment in the first place?”

  “Because your Aunt Celina had security cameras put into your apartment.”

  “For how long?”

  “That I don’t know. I assume they’ve been in there as long as you have.”

  She closed her eyes. “She. . .Aunt Celina found the apartment.”

  “Then, she probably put them in before you moved in.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “But as much as I want to just make this about her. I have to tell you what I’ve done.”

  She opened her eyes and swallowed. “Okay.”

  “You had Belladonna. My violin. On this night, I saw you playing on stage. And your playing. . .” I tried to find the words to show her why I’d become obsessed. I attempted to think of a metaphor or something to help her get how dark I’d been and how much light she’d bathed on me through the strokes of her bow. “Eden. . .I saw you and…”

  I tapped the remote control against my thigh. “I was lost before you. I was suicidal. Not in the sense of getting a rope and tying it around my neck, but I was ready to die. I was consistently putting myself in harm’s way. And there was nothing that made me happy. I searched this planet. I fucked everything. I drank. I snorted. I did it all and nothing moved me. So I thought about my old life.”

  I caught my breath, unsure if she was even following me still. Did I sound like a madman? Was I making a valid case for myself?

  I faced her. “I thought back to my violin, Belladonna. I knew I couldn’t play her, but I thought that if I just had her in my hands. . .maybe the magic would come back. Perhaps, I could smile and laugh for one more second.”

  “So, you broke into my apartment to steal Belladonna?”

  “I did.” I pressed play on the remote. “But as you know I never took the violin from you. Everything changed that night.”

  I pointed to the camera footage in the right corner.

  On the television, I crept down Eden’s hallway, resembling that same dark vampire in the night was searching for blood. No matter how many times I watched this, I still could not forgive myself.

  How bad was I then? How dark? No wonder Rafael joined this crazy journey with me. He was probably happy to see me excited about something besides death.