The Consequence

by Giana Darling

  Candy snorted indelicately. “That is officially the understatement of the century.”

  “Candace,” Sinclair warned softly.

  “As much as I love to disagree with Candy, she does have a point,” Margot chimed in. “What do you do in this situation? Call up your sister and say, ‘hello, Elena, you know that man you planned to marry and spend the rest of your life with? Well, I’m sleeping with him’.”

  “Boy, I don’t envy you that conversation,” Robert said with a wince.

  “It’s not about the sex though, or at least, it wouldn’t be for me,” Candy admitted with a guilty look in my direction. “It would be that Sinclair was choosing you to spend his life with and not me.”

  My heart rattled and rocked on the turbulence of their words. My previous levity drowned beneath the waves.

  Sinclair’s hand moved soothingly back and forth over my thigh but it didn’t bring me any great comfort.

  “It would be the sex for me,” Margot countered. “Knowing that my man thought my little sister was hotter? Horrible.”

  “Quiet,” Sinclair ordered, his voice steely. “You are speaking about a situation that is impossible to understand from the outside looking in. More importantly, you are being insensitive to Giselle. She has done nothing wrong.”

  “Except for having knowingly slept with a taken man,” Margot muttered.

  Her words found their bull’s-eye in the center of my chest.

  “You know nothing.” Sinclair’s eyes blazed bright as a lightening strike as they landed on her. “I will explain something to you which is none of your business even though you seem to think it is. My past girlfriend thought my sexuality was disgusting, you understand? She found me repulsive and vile, and when we did have sex, it was never making love. I have great respect for Elena but she never loved me, not my entire soul. To stay with her would have been a great wrong, for both of us. Giselle is my partner now and forevermore. If any of you have a problem with it, I do not care to here it.”

  Utter silence fell in the wake of his bitter speech. Even I was a bit afraid of the bristling fury he kept barely contained under that ice-cold façade. Gently, I tangled my fingers with his on my lap.

  “I’m sorry,” Margot said, more to my surprise. “I didn’t mean to cast judgment. I can’t say that I fully understand your connection but I do respect you Daniel and if Elle is the woman for you, I won’t stand in your way any longer.”

  “She is the only woman for me,” he stated imperiously.

  I dragged in a shaky deep breath of relief. God, I loved this man.

  “Okay,” she nodded at him before looking to me. “Okay.”

  He turned to stare at his other colleagues, daring them to speak out.

  Surprisingly, it was Duncan who blinked twice and said softly, “Sinclair, man, we knew she was the one in Mexico, almost from the very start. Why do you think we stayed quiet?”

  “We want you to be happy, you’re happy.” Robert shrugged.

  It was a lot more complicated that they made it seem but I could see by the way that Sinclair’s frown turned to one of confusion and then melted away, that their approval meant a great deal to him.

  “Now, Elle, how would you feel about a personal tour of the building site tomorrow?” Richard interjected smoothly. “I could always use an artist’s eye.”

  My laughter eased the tension at the table. “I would love to.”

  “Speaking of an artist’s eye,” Candy said, “I’ve had another three offers for the Dreams Under Water painting, Sinclair.”

  “No.”

  “Sin… At least consider it. You don’t even like it.”

  I looked between the two of them, at Candy’s frustration and Sinclair’s adamancy.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Sinclair’s biological mother’s painting,” Candy explained.

  “Excuse me?”

  Sinclair’s mother had been an artist? How was it possible that I didn’t know that?

  “Candace,” Sinclair warned.

  “Your mother?” I asked him.

  Richard let out a low whistle. “Damn, man, you didn’t tell her about your mother?”

  “When did you expect me to tell her? I just made her mine and you are jeopardizing that by making it seem like I am keeping secrets from her.”

  Candy bit her lip. “I’m really sticking my foot in it tonight, aren’t I?”

  “Yes,” Sinclair agreed but his voice wasn’t cold because it was obvious that Candy was upset.

  I was too. “Tell me about your mother.”

  He closed his eyes briefly to hide the flare of pain that turned them deep and soft as wet velvet. “My mother was an artist. It was how she met my father, Alain Sinclair. She was selling her paintings at a fair in the countryside outside of Nice. She left her family, her caravan, for him without ever looking back. I think they had known each other for only a few days when she took off with him.”

  “Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  It was a romantic story, a Frenchman falling in love with an exotic, artistic gypsy, but I knew it had a sad ending, one where Sinclair was orphaned at the age of seven. His mother’s abilities made it obvious where his love of art had come from so I wondered why he seemed to be so sensitive about her paintings.

  Reading my thoughts, as he so often did, Sinclair explained, “My mother, Apolline, produce a lot of work, mostly nature inspired abstracts. When I had the means, I tracked down as many as I could. The one that hangs over the reception desk is the only one that I have real memories of. She painted it when she discovered she was pregnant. I remember her telling me that she had dreamt of permanency, of a home, a husband and a baby since she herself was a child but she always thought it was an impossible dream.”

  “Hence the name, Dream Under Water,” I murmured, getting it.

  He nodded.

  I looked into his face, seeing the pain at the tight corners of his eyes and the strained press of his lips. Talking about this wasn’t easy for him, especially in front of others, but he wanted me to know him and he was making the effort to open up in a way I was sure he had never opened up before.

  “Love you,” I whispered.

  The tension in his muscles eased as he leaned forward to press a kiss into my hair.

  “Toujours,” he whispered into my ear.

  That night Sinclair told me we were too tired to play. I was definitely exhausted, from all the emotional upheaval, our two previous, rigorous rounds of sex, and jet lag. I also knew that I would never be too tired to play with Sinclair. I told him so, but he only smiled slightly before ordering me to get ready for bed.

  “Have you seen my pill pack?” I asked, rummaging through my suitcase.

  Candy had done an excellent job packing but of course she hadn’t included my back up pill packet and the one that I always kept in my purse had temporarily gone missing.

  I looked up at Sin anxiously as he popped his head out of the bathroom to stare at me for a long moment before shaking his head.

  “Putain,” I muttered under my breath, but he heard me.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, but if I can’t find it in the next day I need to find a clinic to get a refill. It’s dangerous to miss more than two days in a row.” I bit my lip. “If we want to be one hundred percent careful, we should probably use condoms until I can get this figured out.”

  Sinclair frowned at me. “Do not be ridiculous, Giselle. You are mine now. What is the point if I can’t take you bare?”

  I laughed, as he meant me to and decided that I would look again in the morning when I was less disorientated from a long flight and emotion exhaustion.

  Happily, brushing my teeth beside my Frenchman, washing my face and moisturizing while he took a quick shower and then slipping into bed together in our pajamas was its own kind of distracting bliss. He wore charcoal grey drawstring pants that rode low on his narrow hips. They exposed t
hose ridges of muscle the arrowed straight into his groin. I decided they were the best pants in existence and thought about asking him to wear them every day, all day. But then I thought of him in his three-piece suits and kept my mouth shut because those were incredibly sexy as well.

  Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the fact that if I wanted to dictate his dress, I could because it was something women did when they had a man. They played dress up with him and for him. I was already planning my outfit for the next day when I would get a tour of the building site for the hotel they were constructing. I wanted to look good to the people we met with because I was a reflection on Sinclair and I wanted them to be proud of me.

  On that thought, I tipped my head up on Sin’s chest so that I could look at him. “I don’t really know much about you.”

  “You know enough to love me.”

  I shivered because I was in his arms and those were good words.

  “But I don’t know the little things,” I stressed.

  “The little things are little for a reason. You know what’s at the heart of me, do you need to know what my favorite colour is?”

  “Yes,” I said, immediately. “What is it?”

  “Giselle…” he said, partly exasperated, partly amused.

  “Sinclair…” I mocked him.

  There was laughter in his voice when he said, “I’m partial to Titian red.”

  I blushed as his fingers filtered through my hair. I’d known he loved my hair and it didn’t take a genius to see he was into redheads given he had also been with Elena.

  Which led me to my next question. “How many lovers have you had?”

  He burst out laughing.

  Seriously.

  One second we were lying with me tucked into his side, my arm around his belly and his hand around my waist, languid and cuddling. The next, he was frozen mid-crunch, his stomach rock hard beneath my hand and his entire body jerking so much with laughter that my body was thrown off his.

  I was so surprised I just stared at him.

  When he was finally finished except for the odd chuckle, there were tears at the corners of his eyes.

  “Are you quite finished?” I asked, a little enthralled because I had never seen him laugh so hard but also annoyed, because what I had asked wasn’t funny.

  “Oh, Elle,” he chuckled before reaching over to tug me back into his side.

  I resisted.

  He sighed around his smile but gave in, crossing his arms behind his head. I tried not to notice how his biceps bulged and his abs drew taught.

  “Do not be angry with me, mon amour. I was only laughing because you bring me so much joy.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered, swinging upright so I could cross my legs and fold my arms over my chest.

  He bit back a laugh, a chuckle rumbling around stuck in his chest.

  “You would really like to know how many lovers I’ve had?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fourteen.”

  He searched my face for my reaction but I was surprisingly relieved. Fourteen wasn’t a massive number and I realized as soon as he spoke the words, that I wouldn’t feel any jealousy about the number anyway. Sinclair and I were different. He loved me so much that he’d left his orderly life and perfect partner for me, an inexperienced artist.

  “Okay,” I said as I dropped down at his side again. “What’s your favorite meal?”

  His arm instantly slid around me again, securing me firmly to his side. His squeeze told me that he was happy with my reaction to his confession.

  “Anything with duck.”

  “I love duck too!”

  I couldn’t see his face but I knew he smiled.

  “Who are your favorite musicians?”

  “Elle, it’s been a very long day and as much as I would love to play twenty questions with you, I also have to be up in four hours to be on site.”

  “Okay,” I said, a little disappointed.

  Sin’s hand slid up from my waist into the hair at the back of my head, curling it into his fist so that he could tug my head back in order to look at me.

  “We have time now, Elle. There is no need to rush.”

  Emotion surged up my throat so just to be safe, I didn’t open my mouth to speak. Instead, I nodded.

  His other hand slid out from behind his head so that he could gently run his fingers down my jaw. “All the time in the world,” he emphasized.

  It might have been wistful thinking, but I believed him.

  Chapter Five.

  When I woke up the next morning, Sinclair was gone. I vaguely remembered him pressing a kiss to my hair before getting out of bed but the jet lag had lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep and I couldn’t wake up enough to give him a proper goodbye.

  There was soft music playing throughout the suite, a throaty French voice that I recognized as Jacques Brel. I stretched the lingering laziness out of my muscles before I rolled out of bed to investigate. A shiny silver iPod was plugged into a dock on the antique roll out desk with a note tipped against it.

  Any self respecting Frenchman loves Jacques. Any teenage French boy listens to English pop so I also admit to at one point loving the Backstreet Boys and Christina Aguilera. Now, I listen mostly to jazz, as you know; Miles Davis, Frank Sinatra, Nora Jones and Diana Krall. I compiled a playlist while you slept last night.

  I grinned down at the note. Even though I knew what he said last night about knowing the important things about him was right, I still longed to know the trivialities, the quirks and fears and desires that made Sinclair the love of my life.

  I listened to the eclectic playlist as I showered in the gorgeous wood paneled bathroom, shaking my booty to Britney Spear’s Oops, I Did It Again, before crooning along to Edith Piaf’s La Vie On Rose.

  I had plans to meet Richard at eleven o’clock at the hotel in St Germaine des Pres, my old stomping ground, and I wanted to make a good impression on anyone I might meet who was close with my Frenchman. Candy had packed my bag but she had done well. I chose a thick cable knit oatmeal turtleneck sweater with exaggerated braiding and an inky black pencil skirt that I paired with wicked high heeled black leather boots Cosima had bought me as an early Christmas present.

  As if sensing my thoughts, my phone rang just as I finished brushing out my curls and stepping into the footwear. My sister’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Bambina,” Cosima shouted when I answered. “Where are you? There is a sale at Barney’s and when I was walking by the other day, I saw this amazing eggplant dress that would be incredible on you. I don’t care what you are doing, drop it and come shopping with me.”

  I smiled into the phone. “I would love that but I’m actually out of town at the moment.”

  There was a long silence that I felt physically like Cosima had run into the wall of my words and was reeling.

  “Out of town,” she echoed softly.

  “Yes.”

  I bit my lips as I grabbed my purse and heavy jacket before leaving the hotel room. As much as I wanted to focus entirely on my potentially devastating phone call with my sister, I didn’t want to be late to meet Richard.

  “Okay,” Cosima said finally, still soft spoken. “Do you want to tell me where you are or who you are with?”

  “I can… But I’m not sure you want to know.”

  Another long pause. My heart was beating in my throat. I always suspected that Cosima knew about Sinclair and me but this conversation was proving it. I just didn’t know what she thought of it and it wasn’t exactly something that I wanted to get into over the phone when we were across the Atlantic from each other.

  “Oh Gigi,” she sighed. “Please take care of yourself, okay?”

  “I am, Cosi. For the first time maybe ever.”

  I waited for her censure, for a reprimand at the very least.

  Instead, I got another gusty sigh and when she spoke again, her voice was tender as a caress. “You are a beautiful woman worthy of epic love. I’ve always
wanted that for you. But love is hard, the epic kind the hardest.”

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Not for the first time, I wondered what horrors my sister’s young life had held.

  “I am. When you get back from ‘out of town’ I will tell you a little bit about it and you can tell me a little bit about your vacation,” she said.

  It was both a threat and a promise.

  I had better be ready to divulge everything to her when I returned.

  Strangely, the thought comforted me. If she wasn’t screaming at me for my adulterous ways now, I had hope that she would be at least mildly supportive of Sin and I when I finally told her the whole truth.

  She further confirmed this by saying, “I will tell the family that you took a brief vacation. Say hi to him for me and take care, bambina.”

  Before I could respond, she hung up.

  I stared at the dark phone screen as I stood in the underground waiting for the metro to take me to the hotel. There were so many subtle layers to our short conversation that I was still processing them when I arrived at the site of what would be a Dogwood International Hotel.

  It was set close to the narrow sidewalk that was characteristic of the neighborhood but there were beautiful wrought iron gates and green plants lining the walkway up to the white stone façade. Sinclair had told me that they weren’t building a new hotel so much as transforming two adjacent classic French homes into one building. The small space between the two edifices was breached by a new glass and wrought iron atrium that housed the lobby. I stepped through the one of the double sets of tall black wooden doors into the marble foyer and gasped at the beauty I found there.

  Drop clothes and building supplies still littered the white veined marble floors and the huge multi-faceted windows were grimy with drywall dust but I could already tell that the space would be extraordinary and utterly Parisian.

  “I was going to ask what you thought but I can tell by the beautiful expression on your face that you like it,” Richard boomed as he strode towards me from the left side of the building.

  He was wearing a dusty denim button up and blue jeans, decked out in a Canadian tuxedo that he somehow pulled off. I laughed as he embraced me in his strong arms, enjoying his scent of stone and fresh sweat.