by Turner, Lori
“She’s a few years older than you—but if her age is a problem….”
Her age wasn’t the problem and Bo corrected his father.
“Dad…I appreciate your interest in my personal life—but I’ve decided not to date until I’ve figured out my life. For now…I just want to focus on me…and work.”
Morpheus smiled, then he said…
“I get it son. I just want you to understand that I can open doors for you. I know people son; important powerful people. Just say the word and you can have whatever you want—and I can help you get it. This is the legacy that I have to offer. You have so much promise—and it pains me to think that you might sell yourself short all due to disagreements that occurred in our past.” He stared at his son when he said…
“Bo—the world isn’t what it seems to be—and it’s about time that you realized this. I’m in the position to make your life have real meaning. Will you at least talk to Eliza?”
Bolden stared into the crowd, and when he spotted the beauty in the red dress, he felt a quickening in his pants. Even from this distance, it was obvious to him, that she possessed an unusual lure that attracted men. Her irresistible nature explained the men circling her like honeybees yearning for their next sugar fix. Fool that he was, he wanted to join the swarm. He wasn’t sure why his father had suggested that he meet her, because as far as he was concerned, he was sticking to his guns, as it concerned Denver. That much, he was sure of…on the other hand…there was something about this woman that defied reason and when it came to her, he disregarded suspicions that typically clanged like warning bells. He had tested his limits, attempting to avert his gaze, but ignoring Eliza Pendleton was beyond him. Dammit all to hell; now he knew that he couldn’t leave until they’d been formally introduced.
Without warning, like a flip of a switch, Bo witnessed the abrupt change. His father’s entire demeanor morphed into something other than what he’d been only seconds earlier. His father said…
“Bo—I’m glad that you’re here son. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on everything. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to talk about Fawn or her antics—not now—maybe later. For now, let’s go join your mother. I’m in the mood to dance.”
When Morpheus slid his cigar between moistened lips, it was at that moment Mikita noticed him. They shared a friendly exchange, and she held his gaze. He grinned, flashing her with one of his roguish smiles, and his length stiffened when she didn’t turn away. He was shameless—wicked even; an unprincipled man. And the beauty in this situation was that Mikita knew this about him—she knew, yet once upon a time, she’d passionately, and unflinchingly loved him. He felt the pull of her eyes as well as the abrupt disconnect. Her attention broke, latching hold to someone else. Jealousy overtook him, and in that instant he’d been slain. Morpheus wanted her back—and he was determined to do whatever it took to make that happen. Even if it meant killing the man standing beside her—the man pawing the woman he wanted and loved. The woman he would reclaim for himself and just maybe, take as his first wife.
**********
Chapter 3
11:58 AM
The Delors New Year’s Day
White Ball
“It’s not good for a man to be alone.”
Marisela stood in the archway holding a flute half filled with sparkling wine. She lifted the glass, seductively positioning the rim against her lower lip. Lucien had stepped away from the houseguest in search of a particular vintage of champagne, when he’d been startled.
Marisela was a friend to his sister—and hopelessly infatuated with him. He smiled, masking his desire to be anywhere except alone in the wine cellar with Marisela.
“I’m not alone.” He said cleverly. “The spirit of my family is here—this wine cellar contains a part of my lineage because every one of these bottles came from one of my families vineyards in France.”
Marisela giggled, then she wobbled, before gracefully regaining her balance. She’d obviously had too much to drink. The cellar had been built specifically to store wine, and not to entertain guest. Each room was lined with wooden shelfs, and the space in between these shelfs was limited. Marisela strolled over to where Lucien stood, crowding his personal space.
She lifted up on tiptoes whispering in his ear…
“That’s not what I meant—and you know it.”
Lucien lifted a bottle, then blew dust off the label to read it. Marisela sneezed. She shook her head wildly, rubbing her nose free of the dust. When she gathered herself, she closed the distance, pressing firmly against his side. She gave his arm a feel of her breast. Lucien was a patient man but he didn’t come down here for this. If he wanted to steal away, finding a cozy place to cuddle—it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be with Marisela.
He remained focused on the task at hand, while she slurred saying…
“So…what’s so special about this champagne that you’d much rather be in this dusty old dark cellar—instead of partying upstairs with me—and your other guest?”
Lucien placed the bottle back in its slot. He didn’t waste time looking at her. He wasn’t interested in her, or how she looked. Plus…the space had gotten overly cramped, so he abandoned his task. He placed one hand at the base of Marisela’s back, keeping his eyes on the passageway. While guiding her with gentle nudges, Lucien would urge her to move whenever she slowed and he feared she might stop.
When they were at the tasting table and the stairs were within sight, Lucien said…
“I was looking for a special champagne—a vintage bottled by my grand-poppa. It’s a New Year’s Day tradition. My family—we have reason to celebrate.”
“Yes—I can see how that would be a special reason to be down here. Family…”
She said and he heard a sadness in her voice. Unexpectedly, she twirled unsteadily on high heels to face him. Lifting up to his height, she slanted her head at an angle, attempting to line up their mouths. She aimed her lips to kiss him but her body swayed, giving Lucien time to bob, then dodge her efforts. She said…
“I wish I was one of you—a Delors. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
Her breath smelled like a bouquet of all the wine and mixed cocktails she’d drank—and the combination didn’t smell like flowers.
They were out in the open, but her stare cornered him; and this feeling was worst than being trapped. He had to get out of this cellar. More to the point, Lucien needed to get away from this woman.
“We’d better get back upstairs.” He suggested. “They’ll be looking for us—and we wouldn’t want to make them worry.”
“No…we wouldn’t want that” she said, as if the notion was an afterthought.
Marisela followed his lead, staggering when they got to the stairs. She blurted out…
“I love you Lucien—I always have.”
Oh God—Lucien thought to himself; what in the world had he done to deserve this. He ignored her drunken remark, directing her focus on her feet and moving up the narrow staircase.
“Maris…” he used the shortened version of her name. “…lift your head and keep your hand on the railing.”
With each step, Lucien had to encourage her to lift her leg, then to plant her foot on the next step. He guided her every step of the way. Considering her unsteadiness, Lucien surmised that he’d underestimated her drunkenness. His sister, Chantel had told him about Marisela’s brother and that no one had heard from him since yesterday—and he supposed, this explained her overindulgence in wine and alcohol. Lucien had not seen Tollin in months, and last he’d heard, due to his hair-trigger temper, most of his friends had written him off. But not everyone had thrown in the towel and he wasn’t sure how long their devotion would last. This morning when his guest arrived at his penthouse, according to the rumors, the doorman had rang his bell, and when there’d been no answer, the doorman had told them that Tollin Pettier more than likely wasn’t at home. Since then, speculations of every sort churned the gossip wheels. H
e’d heard a few hushed comments in passing but the careless remarks weren’t worth sharing with Marisela. By her current state, he imagined that she’d heard an earful and by the look of her the whispers and scandalous hearsay had been discouraging. Since arriving at the Delors’ New Year’s Day White Ball, his sister’s friend had been liberally drinking.
They were at the top of the stairs, entering the main kitchen. The servants were moving around stoves and granite countertops; filling trays with finger foods and busy making certain this party would be talked about for weeks to come. Weaving through this cast of characters, Lucien used this opportunity to comfort Marisela.
“Maris…” he said,
“Have you contacted your parents? By now—they may have heard something.”
Marisela shook her head, causing the room to spin. She said…
“Shouldn’t have done that.”
At first, Lucien didn’t understand what she’d meant—that is, he didn’t understand until she began leaning like a snapped branch on a tree. He steadied her, leveling her until she stood upright. He placed one hand on either side of her shoulders, guiding her to a chair. When he helped her down, he looked into her eyes. The sclera was bloodshot and he imagined that tomorrow, the events of this day would be a blur. If he was right, not remembering would be a blessing in disguise.
Lucien lowered his mouth near her ear, then he said…
“Relax—I’ll get someone to take care of you.”
The Delors celebration was a wildly popular party and attendance required that the guest wear white. The house was packed with the who’s who of societies rich and powerful people, and they were all dressed in white on white. The room looked like a sea of clouds, dripping jewels like raindrops, and that made spotting his sister all the more difficult. When he thought he might have to search the entire house, across the room, Lucien spotted his sister and her husband Clive. He gestured, causing Chantel to crane her head. After a few seconds, she noticed that her brother was pointing at Marisela.
The Delors Uptown home, was one of the families larger inner city brownstones. The place was so large that it took up half of a city block; with a helipad on the roof. Shortly after midnight, the doors had opened, and their New Year’s Day White Ball celebration had begun. As one of the wealthier families in the city, the Delors family were somewhat like royalty. Lucien watched as his sister tried her best to cross the room all the while being respectful whenever she was stopped to talk to a group of people. She would smile, then say a pleasant remark, while wishing them well, and telling them to enjoy the Ball. One after the other, Chantel chitchatted, then excused herself until finally she was standing alongside Lucien.
Her brother wasted no time, saying…
“Chantel—could you please see to your friend. I have an errand to run.”
Chantel looked at her brother after considering her friend.
Mildly shocked, Chantel said…
“Oh my lord—she looks a mess. What happened to her?”
“What always happens on a day like this—the story never changes. Overindulgence. Liqueur can be a powerful remedy for weak-minded people”
“Lucien! Don’t be mean.”
“She’s drunk.”
Lucien had never cared much for Marisela, but he’d always been respectful whenever they shared the same space. In spite of his right to have his own opinion, his sister chided him.
“And for good reason—I’m only sad that I didn’t noticed the signs. I could have prevented this from happening.”
Chantel understood her friends heartache but she had other things to consider. Her family was hosting this Ball and she saw no need to dampen the spirits of their other guest. On a day like today, no one wanted to witness pouting and they surely didn’t want to see a grown woman using liquor to drown her woes. No—that just wouldn’t do. Appearances were important, and too easily stained.
Chantel faced her brother, with her back to the crowd. She couldn’t chance being overheard.
“Don’t worry—I’ll take care of this. I’ll instruct someone to assist her to one of the guest bedrooms. She’ll be out of the way—and she’ll have time to sober up—or sleep it off.”
Lucien nodded, then he walked away while thinking; problem solved. Chantel snapped her fingers, gaining the attention of the person nearest her. She instructed the maid to take Marisela to one of the guest bedrooms, and to remain with her, making sure that her friend rested comfortably. With that done, Chantel hurried to catch her brother. She hooked their arms, then joined him as he weaved through a crowd of people.
“It’s a shame Lucien. I think Marisela’s brother has finally lost his marbles. Who invites friends to a New Year’s Day party—then snubs them, by not even being at home. Who does that?”
Lucien nodded and smiled at some of the guest, while creating a path wide enough for him and his sister.
He said…
“Don’t be a part of the problem Chantel.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Practically every person in this house has an opinion about Tollin and the fact that he brushed off his remaining friends. The guy had a bad year and maybe he needed some time to himself. Did you consider that? Maybe solitude is what he wants…and can you blame him?”
She drew in close, not to be overheard when she said…
“His parents arrived at his home in Santa Barbara—but, they didn’t find anything indicating that he’d spent the night there.”
“Chantel…don’t feed into the gossip. All of this hullaballoo floating around this house…don’t believe any of it because I don’t think any of it is true. Can you imagine the thoughts that haunt Tollin? Think about the images that form his dreams. I don’t know about you, but if our places were switched, by now, I’d be a basket-case. For goodness sake, the man was responsible for a little girl loosing her life.”
He’d not meant to sound crass because he mirrored his sisters concern. He shared this sentiment when he asked…
“Doesn’t he moor his yacht at the marina?”
“Yes. According to my sources, the Pettier’s are flying back to the city and one of their first stops will be at the marina.”
In the distance Lucien eyed his parents. They were talking to the mayor and seeing them had sparked a concern. He wondered if Marisela’s parents had notified the local police or if they’d enlisted help from some of their insider connections.
“Lucien…”
His thoughts were drawn to his sister, when he said…
“Make it quick Chantel. If I leave now—I’ll be back in no time.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry? Clive said that you’d gone down to the cellar, looking for a bottle of champagne.”
When he’d slipped away from the party, Lucien had thought his absence had gone unnoticed—but after running into Marisela, then hearing about his brother-in-law; he wondered who had been keeping tabs on him.
Lucien said…
“I was looking for grand-poppa’s special vintage. I didn’t see it in the cellar but I know where there is at least three bottles.”
“Where?”
“At my place.”
Chantel huffed, giving him her version of a pout.
“Lucien—what about the Ball. You can’t leave—not yet.”
“I’m not leaving the city. I’m just going across town. I’ll be back so fast, no one will ever know that I’d left.”
“I’ll know…and what am I to tell momma and poppa?”
“Tell them that I’ll be back.”
“And Marisela…?”
He frowned…
“What about Marisela—she’s your guest—your friend, your problem and not mine.”
“Lucien, don’t pretend that you don’t know that she’s interested in you. She’s worried about her brother and if something awful has happened to him, she’ll need to be consoled—and who better than you.”
“Chantel stop jumping to conclusions. When i
t comes to Marisela’s brother—just say as little as possible, especially if the information isn’t substantiated. Besides—I am not interested in her—and I think she knows this.”
“Lucien—she likes you—a lot.”
“Your friend is interested in me even though she knows that I am not interested in her. What kind of relationship would that be?”
“Those are the best kinds of relationships. It’s absolutely wonderful when the other person wants you more than you want them.”
Lucien laughed. She was one to talk because he knew that Clive had practically begged his sister to marry him; but he also knew that his sister had been madly in love with Clive—and that’s what he wanted. Lucien wouldn’t sacrifice romance, to be with a woman who loved him and the sentiment only went one way. When he married, he would marry for love and for life—not because some woman had a oneway crush on him.
When he was a few feet from the front door, he pulled his sister to his side. In this part of the house the crowd of people was the thickest, and he wanted to be heard over their noisy voices.
“I’ll be back in less than an hour. If you can—pull poppa aside, and ask if he can request a favor from the police department.”
Chantel frowned, appearing confused. Lucien said…
“Chantel—Horatio Bloom is the head of missing persons. If Tollin doesn’t show up, he might be able to help. Talk to poppa—get him to ask Horatio to wave the forty-eight hour wait as a favor to him.”
He smiled, then he said…
“For all we know, Tollin is probably playing the hermit, held up in his penthouse. Maybe he decided that there wasn’t anything worth celebrating today. Hell, can you blame him. He’s dealing with the memory of killing that little girl, and losing Eliza. With that kind of weight on a person’s shoulder, who could blame them if they chose to shy away from the world.”
Chantel nodded, then Lucien skirted around the guest, until he finally reached the front door—stepping out into the mad rush of street party’s. Lucien’s heart plummeted, faster than a brick thrown from the roof. The traffic on his block was at a standstill. There’d be no traveling on the ground for him. He pulled out his mobile phone, then pressed a button to phone his pilot. After one ring, the phone was answered.
