by Grady, D. R.
Beau didn’t seem intimidated though since he carefully shoved her aside and stepped into her foyer.
“I have company.” Not that she needed to warn him. Without turning, she knew Vlad loomed like a death specter behind her.
“Ah, that’s why you took so long.” Beau offered Vlad a hand. “I’m Beau DuBois. You must be Vladimir Wellington.”
“Nice to meet you, DuBois.” Vlad shook the proffered hand and even sounded perfectly normal.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Beau picked up the nuances of the tension in the air, but he was as relaxed and normal as usual.
It was almost like he didn’t fear Vlad in the least. Why was that?
“You, too.” Beau offered a slight smile before turning his attention back to her. She realized then that Vlad had trapped her against the wall that contained the vent she shared with Beau’s flat. There was no way he had missed their interaction. His eyes were intent and watchful as he performed a full scan of her person before he was apparently satisfied she was fine.
Helena realized he heard enough to make him rush upstairs. In his usual big brother manner, he raced to her rescue. From what she could gather, he read whatever signs they were throwing off with ease. Apparently whatever he saw made his lips twitch in amusement.
“Are you staying for supper?” she asked, already sure of his answer.
“Of course. All I have in my place is baking soda and some moldy cheese.” He made himself comfortable and she knew it was to give her the time she needed to assess what was going on. From the amusement in his eyes, she guessed he wasn’t in the least bit concerned about her now.
Men, why did they have to be so infuriating?
“What are you making?” Vlad’s expression gave nothing away. Unlike Beau, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, amused, or indulgent. She guessed it was a combination of all three, but couldn’t determine at what levels.
Perhaps that’s why she was having trouble with the relationship all of a sudden. It had been perfect in Italy, but now she was scared. That was the correct term. Scared. She wasn’t certain what he was thinking or feeling.
To make matters worse, she didn’t know where her own thoughts and emotions were. This man had been the star of her fantasies for so long. Now that he was her reality, things weren’t quite as rosy as they had been in her dreamscapes. Everything was perfect there.
Perfect and chaos didn’t mesh well. And right now her thoughts, emotions, and mental state were utter chaos. This wasn’t what she had signed on for. It wasn’t what she envisioned, and yet here it was.
With a long sigh, she turned from the door and trudged into her kitchen. She had two big, hungry men to feed. Maybe by the time she placed food on the table, the chaos would have dissipated enough that she could wade through the destruction and discover what was left. Maybe she’d meet up with a unicorn who could explain life to her. In a way that made perfect sense.
From the obvious signs, she might need to check into a mental health facility.
***
Despite his reservations, Vlad decided he liked Beau DuBois. The man didn’t show any signs of romantic interest toward Helena. That was his first great characteristic. But what swayed him in favor of the man was the big brother attitude he did show toward her.
He must have heard their disagreement in the kitchen and come to make certain Helena was okay.
Vlad respected and admired the man for that. He hadn’t met Vlad yet, didn’t know what situation he was stepping into, but he still flew to Helena’s rescue. This man protected his own, and since Vlad had been hewn from the same mold, he was appreciative.
Emerson, Maks, and Aleksi would all jump to her defense as well, but this man lived under the same roof. It was good she had a protector so close. He still planned to run an extensive background check on Beau DuBois, that was already in place, but he was far more comfortable with the man now.
Helena disappeared into the kitchen and he heard pots and pans rattle. He and DuBois exchanged looks before ambling over to the kitchen counter that separated the space from the living room.
“Do you need help?” Beau asked.
“Not yet.” She bent to take a lid from a drawer. He appreciated the view. DuBois appeared to have a masculine appreciation for Helena, but it was from a brotherly perspective. He didn’t growl at Vlad, but his message was still clear.
Don’t mess with her unless you’re serious.
Since he was dead serious, he figured he passed the big brother test.
Helena filled two pots, one with sauce and meatballs and the other with water. She also tossed a salad with ease. Vlad realized he liked how she moved. There was something elegant and casual in her movements. Her body flowed, in an easy and efficient manner. He appreciated both of those qualities.
“Do you want us to set the table?” DuBois stretched his fingers out then curled them into a fist before repeating the process.
“Yes.” Helena checked the pot of water.
The man flowed off the bar stool with the ease of a man in peak physical condition. His eyes narrowed as he tore his attention from Helena to take the measure of the other man. The way he moved bespoke of more than a musician’s training. When Helena’s phone rang, he was thankful.
After she answered the call, he turned to DuBois. “What did you do before you were a musician?”
Nothing in the other man’s demeanor gave him away. That was telling. His body didn’t tense, his eyes didn’t shift, there was no alarm coursing through him.
His lips did curl up. “I’ve always been a musician, even as a child.”
“But you didn’t earn your living as one until recently.”
The musician’s smile told him exactly nothing. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“You shouldn’t, not until you trust me.”
“Then we agree.” DuBois didn’t waver, but he did set the table with efficient movements. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a military weapon.” There was no pride in his voice, no boasting. If this man was what he suspected, DuBois would take that as the warning he intended.
“Does Prince Aleksi know that?”
The very fact DuBois knew to ask that question told him a lot more about Helena’s neighbor. “I don’t know.”
“Did Prince Aleksandr know?”
Another good question. “Yes.”
DuBois nodded as he turned to select some napkins from the holder on the counter. He added them to the table. “Don’t hurt her.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Good. I don’t know what you were playing at before, but now you have a lot of making up to do.”
“We’re in the early stages of our relationship. Neither of us have ever been in one before. We’re bound to screw up.”
“Never?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
“Ah, that explains some things.” The man stood back and surveyed the table. “I think that’s everything.”
Helena concluded her call and stopped beside him. “You forgot the glasses.”
“Oh, yeah.” DuBois turned back to the kitchen and opened a cupboard.
“How is it that you know Helena’s kitchen so well?”
“We have a system. Beau buys the groceries and I cook.”
“I like to eat, but I hate to cook.”
“He was eating out all the time, and I wasn’t eating much because it’s not fun to eat by yourself. I convinced Beau we could save him money and me from having to buy a new wardrobe.”
“The system works well.” DuBois patted her head. She snarled at him.
Definitely a brother-sister relationship.
“Are you two always like this?”
“Yes,” they both answered at the same time. When he tried to pat her head again, Helena neatly side-stepped him with a poke.
“The water is boiling.” He pointed to the stove. Helena scuttled in
to the kitchen.
She removed the lid and dumped the entire package of pasta into the water. A few stirs later and the water boiled again. Helena set the timer, and then stirred the gently bubbling sauce. She added cheese to the salad, handed the bowl to Beau and adjusted the temperature under the sauce all at the same time.
“It’s fun to watch her cook.” DuBois used his head to indicate Helena as he set the salad bowl on the table then returned to the kitchen. There he dug in the refrigerator for a pitcher that he also set on the table. “She brewed this last night.”
He gazed at the perfect color. “Is it iced tea?”
“Yeah, we’re both addicted.”
“Does it have lemon?”
“Of course. But no sweetener, so if you want that you have to add your own.” That must have reminded DuBois because he opened a cupboard and took down a sugar bowl and another container that held packets. By this time Helena finished her tasks and set everything on the table.
Once they were all seated and DuBois actually gave thanks they started on the meal. It was as delicious as it smelled. How could women make a meal like this taste so good? His pasta inevitably turned soggy and the sauce usually burned. As for a crisp, fresh salad like this, it was impossible for him to achieve.
If things settled, he wondered if he could learn to cook like this. It might be fun and it was practical. His eyes slid to Helena. The fun part would come if she was the one teaching him.
“I have a piece,” Beau announced after they finished off everything Helena made. There wasn’t so much as a bite of pasta or a sliver of carrot left.
“A piece of what?” Helena stacked the plates into the dishwasher.
“A music composition I just wrote.”
Helena spun around to stare at DuBois. “And no one has ever heard it?” Maybe to avoid her penetrating gaze, he added something to a little compartment in the appliance.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t play this piece yet.”
Red crept into the man’s cheeks. “I did just write it.”
“How many times have you practiced?”
DuBois pursed his lips. “Twice?”
“At home or in the studio?”
“The studio.”
She nodded, and started wiping down the countertops.
“It’s beautiful.” The man frowned. “Or it will be once I figure out how to play it.”
“How is it you can’t play something you composed?” Vlad asked. It seemed really odd.
“I sustained an injury to my left hand a couple of years ago.” DuBois’s answer was nonchalant. He read between the lines.
“You might need to take up the violin again.” Helena rinsed her dishcloth.
“I know, but I like the piano.”
“So do I. But if it continues to give you trouble, you might need to resort to Plan B.”
“My physical therapist thinks it will get better, but I have to practice.”
She paused in puttering around the kitchen. “I have noticed improvement.”
“Right. She said it takes time.”
“That piece you played last evening that you struggled with, is that because of your injury?” Vlad asked.
“Yes. There’s a sweeping moment in the crescendo that I can’t quite reach.” Frustration threaded his words.
“That’s hard.” He well remembered some men he had worked with throughout the years who not only wouldn’t play the piano again, but wouldn’t enjoy another sunrise or sunset. They had sacrificed their lives for their country.
DuBois’s eyes met his and Vlad read the same memories there. “It could have been worse.”
He nodded and turned to see Helena strap on her guitar. “I’m ready.”
With efficient movements, despite the injury to his left hand, which he could now see, DuBois finished wiping down the sink. He tossed the sponge onto the sink ledge. Vlad followed the two of them out of Helena’s apartment.
On the way down the stairs he noticed DuBois hadn’t just injured his hand. He limped a little on the stairs, like something had also happened to his left knee. There was no doubt in his mind now that DuBois had sustained a pretty severe injury to the left side of his body – in combat.
He didn’t say anything because that was part of the code. Also he didn’t want Helena to know that the man’s life had been far different than what she obviously thought. He didn’t doubt the man had traveled with an orchestra or the like. But he did doubt his career had been solely making music. He recognized those who, like him, were battle trained and more precisely, had experienced combat up close and personal.
Once they reached DuBois’s front door, he recognized the invisible means of security. This man knew all the tricks and he utilized them even now. Interesting.
With a deft twist of the key, DuBois unlocked the door as he removed his imperceptible security measures. Helena probably never noticed.
Speaking of Helena… “Did you lock your door?”
She nodded. “Beau did.”
“You have a key to Helena’s apartment?”
“Of course. I have a key to everyone’s apartment in this building.” He doubted the man needed those keys to enter any of the apartments here or elsewhere.
By that time they were inside and DuBois assessed the place for signs of intrusion. He performed his own security check, watching for movement, exits, entrances and the like. He and DuBois both arrived at the conclusion that all was well. With easy movements that belied the stiffness in his knee, and now that he had seen him on the stairs, he recognized the signs, the man crossed the room to the spectacular baby grand piano that occupied the turret in the old mansion.
He seated himself and waved some pages at Helena who stood behind him. “I see them,” she muttered and strummed a few chords on her guitar.
DuBois’s hands flexed above the keyboard. When they hit the keys, beautiful, haunting music poured from the instrument. There was no denying the man was talented, gifted really. He wondered what had caused the musician to join the military. He knew most of the men in Rurikstan’s military. It concerned him that he hadn’t heard of DuBois before now. After all the places he had lived, he should have at least heard about the man.
Technically he had. Even he had heard of the composer side. He had never heard of the military hero. DuBois was definitely one of those. For a man to sustain an injury like that and survive meant he had fought hard and long. To pose as a normal person, despite the injuries proved he was resilient and determined.
“Beau this is the best composition yet.” Helena made several enthusiastic remarks when they finished the piece. She frowned. “But you’re dragging with your left hand.”
“I know,” he stated without rancor. “That’s why I wanted to hear you play this.” He grinned. “After you’ve had a chance to practice.”
“This was my first time.” She offered a haughty sniff. Then ruined the effect by clapping him upside the head. Not hard, but it got her point across.
He laughed before he pointed to the sheet again. “Practice.” He flexed his fingers, mostly those of his left hand and then the music spread across the room again and Vlad savored the feeling of peace.
It was fleeting at best, but a good soldier learned to appreciate it in the times one experienced it. The moment could be shattered in seconds, so you took what you were given while it was available.
DuBois stopped abruptly to scribble some notes. Then he set his fingers back onto the piano keys and after a few chords, started playing his composition again. Apparently in a place both of them recognized because Helena picked up the notes at the same time. This pair were utterly in sync and he was man enough to realize it upset him. His every possessive instinct reared up with an ugly snarl.
With a lot of effort he forced them down. There was nothing other than kinship between them. He knew that. His logical side knew it, understood it, appreciated it even. The caveman side growled and snapped and wanted to scoop he
r up, toss her over his shoulder and haul her back to his cave.
An action that would land him in dire straits.
It didn’t stop the Neanderthal from trying to exert his dominance.
He quelled any feeling of jealousy because Helena had proved over the years that she was faithful to him well before they began this relationship. She could have tested the waters with other men. But like him, she must have also instinctively realized whatever was between them was too precious to sully. He hadn’t staked any claims in the years past, but she remained faithful to a man who didn’t deserve her loyalty.
Why didn’t he deserve her loyalty? A little voice argued in the back of his mind.
Discomfort lined that question and Vlad realized he didn’t want to delve too deep. Why didn’t he deserve it? Helena wouldn’t have given him that gift if she didn’t feel he was worthy.
The music in the room swelled, lifting him out of himself and sweeping him away. He was most grateful.
As before, the music suddenly stopped and Helena rounded on DuBois. “How did you miss that note? You wrote it.”
“I was trying something.”
“Your left hand is hurting.” Helena lifted the guitar off.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. You’re in pain, but you want to hear this so you’re willing to keep playing when you shouldn’t.”
“I said—”
“I don’t care what you said, you have to stop,” Helena snarled, and the pair were soon bickering like kids. That quickly, his fears and doubts evaporated. Their squabble made it evident all over again that there was absolutely no chemistry between them.
With a firm mouth and a jerk, DuBois stood and then gestured to the piano bench. “Fine, then you play this piece.”
“I’m not a good piano player.” Helena stared him down with narrowed eyes.
“Too bad. Play.” There was an edge to his voice that made Helena’s back stiffen, but apparently she understood that tone, because with a huff she handed him the guitar and plopped onto the bench.
To give him credit, DuBois didn’t gloat or act smug. Instead, with care, he hung the guitar on an instrument hook then crossed his arms. Helena placed her fingers on the piano keys, and leaning forward slightly, played. Like she said, she lacked DuBois’s touch with the piano. Yet the piece was so beautiful it didn’t much matter.
