“You little manipulator,” he teased.
Devvy shrugged. “I have to be to keep up with you. You’ll keep me on my toes.”
“And me on mine.”
“When I get home, I’ll tell Bastien to look out for a psychiatrist that does home visits.”
“Back to that, are we?” he asked, gruffly. “Can’t we just leave it for the minute? Your proposition might be the solution I’ve been looking for all my life.”
“Sex isn’t the answer, Alex,” she retorted with a sniff. “You need to get to the root of the problem, and Bastien will be so relieved if he has to look for a psychiatrist. At least it’s an active step toward a solution, and you know how proactive he is. It will make him feel better.”
“It won’t cure me, Devvy.” He sighed. “I already have one.”
She stiffened and tilted her head to look up at him. “You see a shrink?”
He nodded.
“Are you lying to get out of this?”
He rolled his eyes. “I do not lie, Devvy. I may manipulate the truth a tad, but I don’t outright fib. I’ve been seeing the same psychiatrist for the last twenty or so years.”
Devvy stared up at him, studying him a second. Slowly, she murmured, “I think I’ll still tell Sebastien to look for one. You need a change. If you’re getting worse in this man’s care, then it’s time for a fresh pair of eyes to look at your case.”
“I’m happy with my current one.”
“Tough. I’m not. You’ve said it yourself, Alex, things aren’t getting any better. And they’re not going to, are they?”
“They might. Our relationship is only new. The longer we’re all together, the stronger that will make me.”
“You need to know that you can rely upon yourself as well. Lean upon me as much as you must, darling. I’m strong enough, but you have to know, deep inside, that you’re strong, too.” She placed her hand over his heart. “Do this. For me.”
He looked down into her eyes for countless seconds, enough for the elevator to be called once more, and dropped his head to buss her lips with his own. “If I must.”
She nodded. “It will make me feel better. Now, this is the last time I’m staying in this damned box. So, what are you going to do to me to make me pay for dragging you out?”
His lips twitched and he was on the brink of answering when the doors opened. She ignored the newcomers, but saw Alex’s head jerk in a nod of greeting. She heard two people conversing in French but continued to ignore them, staring instead with intent at her lover.
“After we visit my mother, we’re going to go to Les Fenêtres.”
Her eyes widened. “We are?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s where we’re going. I’m going to fuck you in Bastien’s bed. His sheets are going to smell of us, and when he gets home, all stressed and tense and probably with a migraine, we’re going to rub him down and take all his tension away.”
“Are you going to sleep there?”
The low throb permeating the elevator came to a halt and the doors jerked open.
“Do you know I’ve never stayed the night at Les Fenêtres?”
“No, I didn’t know but I could guess. So, will you?”
He looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
Chapter Twelve
Madame Ivanov was a strange woman.
In fact, she was more than strange. She was downright weird. And considering the majority of people in Devvy’s acquaintance were a tad unusual, labeling Antoinette as odd was an understatement.
Dressed all in black, as though she were in mourning and not because the color suited her, she wore a dowdy skirt and a too-large, button-down shirt. Horrible they might be, but they were expensive. The quality and cut were there. They just did nothing to suit Antoinette Ivanov’s sparse frame.
It was that very reason that made her look as though she were in old-fashioned mourning. Many women wore all black, but in this case, it was different. Devvy sensed it.
Her apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement was nothing more than Devvy expected from the part of the capital that was considered one of the best Paris had to offer. The elite lived here. The sixteenth was high society’s most favorite place, and with views of the Palais de Chaillot, and the huge mass of green that was the Bois de Boulogne, Devvy knew Alex had bought his mother a piece of prime real estate.
It was strange how he provided for her, when he didn’t particularly like her. Devvy had spotted that from the very start. He was distant, abrupt. Whenever she touched him, the muscles in his arms tensed as though he wanted to thrust her away from him. She spoke more than he did, and he listened with disinterest, his eyes wandering to the magnificent view of Paris.
If Alex was bored, Antoinette was anything but.
In truth, she was giddy with pleasure at seeing Alex. The instant they’d walked through the door, her eyes had been glued to her son as though she lived and breathed for these pockets of time he deigned to bestow upon her.
The dour face had been almost illuminated by her joy. She’d been so happy, it had taken a few moments for the older woman to even notice Devvy was there. Even then, she paid little attention to her.
When Alex had made the suggestion she come along to visit his mother, they’d agreed to introduce her as his partner but with her maiden name and as Devvy, not Devina. Even though Sebastien’s name was big news and his marriage even bigger, he’d set security on her before and immediately after their wedding to ensure that the paparazzi wouldn’t take snaps of her. To him, her privacy had been of the utmost importance. There was a fifty-fifty chance something had slipped through the tight net he’d sprung, but it was highly unlikely.
She had to wonder if he’d been so precautious because he’d envisioned the day when she’d have to meet Alex’s mother.
His privacy drive ensured that no one, outside of people invited to the wedding and Bastien’s acquaintances, knew what she looked like. Even the wedding guests had been politely asked to refrain from using the cameras on their cellphones.
At the time, she’d thought it peculiar. Now, it kind of made sense.
Especially if Antoinette was as dour by nature as she was by looks.
Christ, Devvy could only imagine the woman’s reaction to the fact Alex shared a bed with a man, never mind a man and his wife! In fact, the thought was so amusing she covered her mouth with her hand until she composed herself.
As it was, she’d been given a cup of coffee in light china cups and sent to the corner of the terrace where all of them were sitting. She had then been promptly ignored.
“Je sais que…”
“English, for Devvy’s sake, Mère. It would be rude, otherwise.”
Antoinette nodded tightly and shot a glance loaded with dislike Devvy’s way.
It wasn’t the first time Antoinette had tried to talk in French, but the three other times she’d tried, Alex had barked at her in their shared tongue and his mother would shoot a glare at her before reverting to English for Devvy’s benefit.
Devvy was growing quite accustomed to glares. It seemed to be the only look Antoinette was capable of bestowing upon her.
For the most part, she talked of charity functions, her friends and their foibles. Chitchat Alex definitely found boring.
It wasn’t the most uncomfortable occasion of her life, but it was definitely up there with one of the highest. And she was the daughter of Miranda Nelson, for Christ’s sake. There had been some real doozies in the past.
She was entirely and utterly unwelcome here. Antoinette literally exuded rejection. In fact, it was so strong she could have bottled it and labeled it, “Do not return.”
The best part of this whole uncomfortable mess was the view. Heavy, sweeping clouds weighed down the skies, but a rich blue, shot through with shards of sunlight, played peekaboo. It bathed Paris in the most glorious light, and Antoinette’s apartment was in a tall building on the corner lot, so she had a two-faceted view that made the horrib
le visit worth it.
“So, you are obviously seriously involved if you have brought her to meet me.” Antoinette’s voice broke Devvy’s thoughts. So much so, she jumped in her seat.
Alex replied, “Her has a name. And yes. Devvy and I are serious.”
His brusqueness had Devvy frowning at him. Alex was always slightly recalcitrant. Always a little difficult, an angular person rather than a smooth curve. His attitude toward his mother spoke of something else.
There were layers here.
On the surface, Antoinette appeared a loving if overly possessive mother. She seemed to live for the moments her son would visit. In between, she fiddled with charities and other social events to fill her time.
Alex looked and was acting like a brat. Especially in the face of his mother’s genuine joy to see him.
Yet, why did Alex dislike her? If he did dislike her as much as he made perfectly clear through his behavior, why act the dutiful son and pay for his mother’s way? Not that Alex had shared that pertinent fact with her. Bastien had.
It was all very confusing and she had the horrible feeling it was tied into Alex’s behavior the first night they slept together. When Alex had leapt from her arms and to the side of the bed like a little child.
For good measure, why not add in this morning’s farce in the elevator?
The pathological desire for space, be it physical or emotional. The need to be in control of his environment…
The path seemed to lead here.
She could be firing blanks but her instincts were pretty spot on where Alex was concerned. Something had happened to Alex as a boy. Something either his mother had caused or something she’d done to make him dislike her so deeply, that as an adult, he couldn’t help but revert to the helpless child he’d once been.
The fact he paid for his mother’s living expenses also spoke loudly. Alex didn’t trust his mother, but whatever he believed her to have done, he wasn’t certain of her part in it.
His feet were firmly on both sides of the fence.
She’d like to ask him for more details, but she had the feeling he’d clam up the instant they left his mother’s building.
“What do you do, Devvy?” Antoinette spat, her eyes mean.
If eyes could be mean, that is. All narrowed and filled with malevolence.
Devvy knew it was a strange way to describe someone, but Antoinette did have a mean cast to her features. Combined with the all-over black, she had a very saturnine look about her. An almost…unholiness.
Now Devvy knew she was being over the top, a little extreme maybe, but Antoinette was once again exuding rejection like an anti-pheromone. Alex’s mother had judged her, found her wanting on the basis of a handful of comments, and that was that. Devvy was not, in Antoinette’s eyes, good enough for her son, and her attitude portrayed that.
“I’m a cosmetic scientist.”
Antoinette sniffed. “Another scientist. Do not think to advance yourself by using my son’s name, hein? He does not have the, how do you say, “free ride” tattooed on his forehead!”
The attack hadn’t been entirely unexpected, yet it still came as a shock. Devvy replaced her cup of coffee onto the table.
“I can assure you, madame, I am quite successful in my own right. I’ve no need to use Alex to advance my own position in the scientific community.”
“No one is as successful as my Alexei,” Antoinette boasted, a zealous gleam in her eyes.
Alex snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Maman. This isn’t a competition.” He reached for Devvy’s hand and squeezed. His fingers clung to hers, and she didn’t let go. “Devvy is a very successful woman in her own field.”
“How long have you known her? How do you know you can trust her?” came more questions. A lock of hair fell from Antoinette’s messily bundled hair and stuck to her brow. It was only then that Devvy noticed the other woman was perspiring.
Having her here, the ramifications of Devvy’s presence and what she obviously meant to Alex was scaring Antoinette.
Literally. Physically.
Devvy shook her head at the notion and was about to reply but Alex stopped her by declaring, “Stop insulting Devvy. I brought her here out of respect to you, but I can see I was wrong to do so.” He made to stand and Antoinette shook her head, quickly holding out her hands to pacify him.
“I apologize. I did not mean to imply anything.”
“Ça, c’est de merde, you weren’t implying, you were stating!”
Devvy reached forward and placed what she hoped was a calming hand on Alex’s shoulder. Seated around a small, circular mosaic-patterned table, he was close enough to touch. “Calm down, Alex. I’m not offended.” She wasn’t. Her mother was quite capable of making similarly cutting statements. At least Antoinette seemed to have her son’s wishes, and not her own, at heart. To Antoinette, she said, “I mean him no harm.”
“Again, I apologize. I should not have made such a statement, but he is my son, and I want only the best for him.”
Alex lifted their clasped hands to his mouth and brushed Devvy’s knuckles with a kiss. “Devvy is what’s best for me. I wouldn’t have brought her to this inquisition, if our relationship wasn’t serious.”
Antoinette bowed her head. “I care for your welfare, mon fils. That is all.”
She stood and retreated to the salon, which was separated from the terrace by a wall of French doors. Devvy watched as she disappeared and immediately prodded Alex with a finger.
“Why are we here if you don’t want to be?” she asked, more curious than pissed at what Antoinette had said. She’d taken a lot more abuse over the years. College at fourteen had been a real joy.
“It is my duty.”
“Bullshit. This isn’t 1814. We’re in the new millennium, don’t you know? If you don’t want to see her, you don’t have to.” Even though she made the statement, it said a lot about Alex that he was here, even if it was against his wishes.
“I don’t have to do anything, but I choose to visit a few times a year. If I didn’t see her, she would bombard me with her presence. This is a small sacrifice.”
“What do you mean, bombard you?”
He grunted and tugged his hand free from their clasp. Standing, he strode over to the balcony rail and muttered, “Haven’t you noticed? She has to hover. Over everything.”
Yeah, he wasn’t exaggerating.
She did smother. Hovering was too polite a word for Antoinette’s behavior.
If she wasn’t trying to fill his already full to the brim coffee cup, she was asking if he was hungry. If he wasn’t hungry, she’d ask why he wasn’t. Her overreaction to Devvy’s presence was another example of her extreme ways.
It could have been seen as doting, but it was a little too avid to just be an act of love.
Feverish summed it up.
At one point, when he hadn’t sipped at his coffee cup—because it was boiling hot and fresh from the pot—she’d asked him why he wasn’t drinking it and before he could reply, had shouted for her maid. The ensuing barrage of words had almost had the poor woman in tears!
Alex had said something that shut his mother up and quickly drunk his coffee as though demonstrating it was perfectly all right. Only that had satisfied Antoinette.
To be quite frank, if Alex had psychological issues, Devvy was starting to see his mother was a direct cause!
“Has she always been like that?” Devvy asked.
“Always,” he stated grimly, and then sighed. “That’s not true. Before my father left us, she used to smother him instead of me.”
“How old were you when he went?”
“Seven.”
His tone had been grim ever since his mother had departed to, Devvy could only assume, compose herself. But now, there was a heaviness to it. A darkness.
It concerned her enough that she stood, walked over to him, and then wrapped her arm about his waist. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re all “growed” up now.”
He je
rked a shoulder. “The only reason she stays away is because she knows I won’t let her into the penthouse. At first, when I moved in, she used to try. It sounds awful but I used to tell her to go away.
“I try. I always come here with good intentions, meaning to start afresh. It just never works out. She’s…suffocating. It’s like she sucks all of the oxygen out of the room.”
It might have sounded a little dramatic, but after a lifetime of this, Devvy could easily understand.
While Antoinette’s behavior could be deemed as slightly peculiar, it was the hectic energy with which she acted that made it worse. She was the most restless person Devvy had ever known. Jumping up and down in her seat, rearranging something or other, turning the tray just so, as though trying to make the scene perfect for Alex.
She’d lean over and touch his cheek, but it wouldn’t just be a fleeting touch. She’d hold the pose for an uncomfortable amount of time.
She was the sort of woman people studied surreptitiously and silently asked themselves if their eyes were deceiving them.
“Before the agoraphobia became so bad, when I used to go out at least once or twice a week, she used to follow me.”
Devvy choked out, “You can’t be serious.”
He grimaced. “I wish I was. She tried to keep a discreet distance, but after the first time I caught her spying on me, I saw her a lot. The café opposite my building was her hiding place. She used to wait for me there. “
“Is that why you don’t go out anymore?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve always appreciated my home comforts so the fault isn’t hers entirely. You can see why I feel like I’m choking whenever she’s around though, right?”
Devvy shook her head. “You’re a better person than me, Alex. I’d have cut her out of my life a long time ago. Either that or made her see a doctor.”
He snorted. “She won’t. You don’t think I’ve tried? She’s just obsessed with me. Always has been.”
Devvy frowned. “She isn’t just anything. She’s nuts! Christ, it’s not exactly normal to stalk your own child!”
Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 20
