by Kathryn Shay
In her room, Mari dug out brown snow pants and a parka. She and Brie had bought them at a local athletic store after they’d been invited to Calla’s, and neither had any heavy, outdoor clothing. Luckily, Calla had extra when they visited.
She pulled the top of her athletic suit over her head, kicked off the bottoms and slid on tights. Then she eased up the down snow pants. She donned a white turtleneck, grabbed her boots and jacket and went to the living room to see how the girls were doing.
They sat on the couch, dressed in the outer gear, including white boots, heavy knit caps and furry mittens. “I’m almost ready,” she said putting on her yellow down coat with a drawstring on the waist and a hood lined with fur. She opened the foyer closet and snugged on a white hat and mittens with angora trim.
They went out through the garage, the girls ahead of her squealing with delight. She laughed at their exuberance.
First, the three of them rolled the wet snow into balls. Yvette got one done first, and Lilliana placed the second layer, creating a lopsided base, but it was cute. Quickly, Mari rolled one and added the head. “Go get the trimmings,” she said to her daughter.
Since they kept them in the garage, Lilly returned with a plastic box. She gave Yvette a pink hat, scarf and gloves. She added the coal eyes, two pieces for the nose and a tree limb they’d fashioned into a mouth. Then they stepped back to admire their handiwork. “She’s so pretty,” Yvette said.
“She is.” Mari, smiling, pointed to the creature. “What shall we name her?
“You name them?” Yvette asked, her brows raising.
“Of course. Every time we make one.”
Lilliana said to her friend, “You can name her.”
Yvette was thoughtful. “How about Adèle? My great grand-mère’s name.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Mari scanned the yard. The far left side was untouched.
Lilliana saw it, too. “Mama, can we make snow angels?”
“I never made one,” Yvette said.
Lilliana took her friend’s hand. “Come on, we’ll show you.”
In minutes, the three of them were on the ground, gliding their arms up and down. Life was good, Mari thought as she totally enjoyed herself.
* * *
Jordan sat in his office with a blank screen in front of him. He promised himself he’d complete this second book, a sequel of sorts to his ethics prize winner. Actually, it would blow up the whole concept he’d built that book on. He clicked on the table of contents. He thought about the hard truths of his life, his mistakes, that he’d had to face, and how difficult it had been to get the first three parts down on paper. Part four was up next. He’d knew this would be even harder to write, and he was right. A hole formed in his gut as he thought back to the last few years: how he’d been gliding along with Yvette, until something happened to upset Elise. It was an unfortunate way to live, but Yvette was worth it.
He spent three hours detailing some of the saddest parts. At one point, he went to the kitchen to get coffee. And stared out the back window. He didn’t want to write anymore. He’d rather be with his daughter. With Lilliana. With Mariella.
“Merde!” Had he not learned his lesson?
Before he got into a funk he couldn’t escape from, he changed into boots, grabbed his winter jacket and his keys and headed out the door.
At he swerved into the driveway, he found Mariella and the girls laying in the snow, a light dusting falling onto them. They were moving their arms and legs up and down. They didn’t seem to hear as he drove in as they were yards away and yelping with delight. Squeals from Yvette had been too rare in her life.
Mariella noticed him only when he reached them. She stopped moving but didn’t sit up. “Dr. Dubois, what are you doing here?”
“Taking a break. I thought you might like one. I was hoping to treat the girls to lunch out.”
“No, Papa.” He was hearing a lot of that from his recently-recalcitrant daughter. “Mrs. Moretti made special soup. We’re having some for lunch. It smells like gardens and spices.”
“Minestrone,” she said with raised brows. “You’re welcome to stay.”
“I can’t impose.”
“No imposition.”
He frowned. “What are you doing down there anyway?”
“Making snow angels.”
“I don’t know what those are.”
“Ah.” She extended her arm. “Help me up?”
He grabbed her hand but instead of standing, she yanked him down.
“What the...?”
He landed on his knees, half on top of Mariella. When the girls noticed what happened, they piled on.
Finally, after much kicking and howling, he eased them off. They fell back on their butts still laughing.
He wasn’t laughing. Now, he was torso-to-torso with this exquisitely beautiful woman. Her face was full of...something he couldn’t read. Her cap shielded her head from the snow, but flakes had fallen onto her cheeks. As if propelled by some force, he raised his hand to brush the wetness off her face. He looked down at her lips, then pulled the glove off with his teeth and brushed her lips with warm fingertips. Her intake of breath was loud.
Their gazes locked. They exchanged meaningful looks until Lilliana came over to them. “Is Mama hurt?”
He rolled off her. “No, no, I fell on her.”
“You’re big and she’s little.”
“Lilly, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” Her scarlet cheeks were not only from the cold. She sat up. “Besides, I made him fall down in the snow to make angels.”
Her child didn’t seem convinced. Jordan rolled to his feet and this time did indeed help Mariella to hers.
Lilly hugged her, then said, “Let’s get our outside clothes off, Yvette.”
The girls spirited off.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jordan asked, peering down at her.
Looking up at him, she raised her hands to her lips. Pressed her fingertips against them. And said, “I’m not sure, Jordan.”
He didn’t miss that she called him by his first name.
* * *
They ate soup with the girls. Steam rolled off the broth, the fresh vegetables were crisp and full-bodied. The Italian bread had gotten crusty from being in the oven. After finishing their milk, the girls rinsed out their dishes. “May we be excused to go play in my room, Mama?”
“It’s fine by me.”
Jordan glanced at his watch. “Yvette, it’s later than I thought. As soon as Mrs. Moretti and I finish our meal and clean up, you and I are going home.”
The pout.
“Not again, young lady. No arguments this time.”
Her face fell. “Yes, Papa.”
When they were alone, Mariella was at a loss for words. So they finished the meal in silence but then they had no excuses. Pushing her bowl away, she saw him scowl at his. “Would you like some more?”
“No, thank you.”
“Would you like to talk?”
His chair was adjacent to hers and he braced his arms on the table. “What would we talk about?”
“Our...interaction in the snow.”
His expression was full of remorse. “I apologize for overstepping.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t.”
“I was on top of you, I touched you like...”
“You wanted to be my lover?”
“I’m your teacher, Mariella.” She adored the way her first name rolled off his tongue. “A relationship between us is unconscionable.”
“That is an issue.”
“And I’m fourteen years older than you. That’s an even bigger problem.”
“Jordan, what would you do, what would you want us to do, if the former didn’t exist? Because as far as I’m concerned, age means nothing.”
“Ah, ma petite, you’ve hardly experienced life.”
Fueled by frustration, anger surfaced. “Don’t call me a child’s nickname. I’m a grown woman.”
&nb
sp; Pushing back his chair, he stretched out his legs and folded his arms over his chest. That body language was his answer.
“Let me fill you in on some details. When I was thirteen, I was betrothed to a boy the same age. It was when Papá insisted on arranged marriages.”
“In this day and age?”
“He rescinded his decision when my oldest sister’s marriage turned abusive. She’d been promised to the abuser, but had fallen in love with somebody else in the U.S.”
“Amazing.”
“Anyway, I started sleeping with Arturo at fifteen because we thought, what the hell, we’re getting married anyway. We also were crazy in love already. By seventeen, our relationship developed into serious, deep adult love. He was a good man.”
“I know you lost him.”
“I’m only telling you this because of the point you made about our ages. I’m older than my years.”
“Because he died?”
“Partly, but I also got pregnant at seventeen, so we married at eighteen. I had Lilliana six months after we were wed.”
“Your parents allowed all this?”
“We ran off together to get married. When we returned, and the king started to grumble about what we’d done, Arturo reminded him that he was the one who arranged our marriage, so there was no reason to be angry.” She laughed remembering the expression on Papá’s face.
“When Lilliana was six months old, Arturo was at the restaurant he ran with his family and a stove blew up in his face. He died after five excruciating days.”
“And you were so young.”
“I got older by the day.” She sighed. “I finished university in Casarina’s capital city and at twenty moved to the U.S. where my sisters were.”
“How did your parents take that?”
“They were not happy. But Mama realized I needed a new start, so they allowed it. Besides, I promised to come back after law school.”
He remained silent.
“So, Jordan, for most young women, my age is too young to get involved with a thirty-eight-year-old man. But I’ve already lived one lifetime.”
“Even if I could accept our age differences, there are grave concerns over professional ethics.”
She held his gaze. “I see options. We hold off dating until April, when school is over.”
“Or?”
“It’s simple. We sneak around.”
“No, I won’t do that to you. And that’s a hard line for me.”
“Then it’s decided. We’ll be friends until April. When I graduate, we’re clear to date.” She gave him the most lascivious smile she could manage. “I look forward to...us, together.”
“All right, Jezebel. I’ll consider the idea.”
Chapter 4
The next night, Jordan arrived late for class. He’d had a disappointing call with his lawyers. They went over the same old stuff about Elise and came to the same conclusion: that he could initiate a divorce from her, but she might indeed get Yvette, if she ruined him first. Unless he stayed married to her, she’d take his child away from him.
The students had set up the desks in a horseshoe and he pulled one up front and sat down in one. “Good afternoon. I apologize for being late. You all get a pass on one late entry into class.” The kids chuckled. He stole a glance at Mariella. He noticed she was dressed in a velour black pantsuit with a red and black scarf around her neck.
“Have you read the articles I assigned last week?”
Assent around the room.
“Are you ready for a test?”
Again, agreement. So they must have read the works. “All right, no test. But take out your written summaries and opinions and, in groups of threes, share that information.”
They moved quickly and began to choose partners. He noticed four men headed for Mariella. No surprise there. The two who got to her first sat down. The other men searched for a group with obvious disappointment.
She smiled generously at Ahmad and Josh...what was that other guy’s name? They began to discuss the readings. He purposely pulled up a chair to another group. Walker took charge in that one. “I think the most interesting article was the one on lawyers’ honesty with their clients. That’s not always wise.”
Anna Carrington recoiled in her seat. “You’re kidding, right? Why not?”
Jordan had read Walker right—he took sides to shock.
“For one thing, what happens when you know your client is guilty of a heinous act? Do you tell him that you’ll help him in any way you can, when you think he’s an asshole? Will you work hard enough without bias on your part?”
A woman, Mary Pat, who’d been pretty quiet that last few classes, shook her head. “Your thinking is faulty. It’s none of our business what the crime is. If you took the client on—you didn’t have to, you know—you owe him objectivity and a hardy defense.”
Jordan waited to hear their reactions, then went on to another group without commenting. Their conversation centered on a different topic: workplace harassment. Their papers contained some solid points, backed up by evidence. Finally, he got to Mariella’s group. Ahmad was responding to the third article on judicial bias. At one point, someone asked Jordan his opinion on what to do with a clearly biased judge. “My opinion doesn’t matter just yet. But I will give some pointers in the large group discussion.”
He didn’t acknowledge Mariella. Her head cocked with question when he stood and announced, “All right back into the horseshoe. Again dropping down at the front desk, he asked, “Who would like to begin to address us all?” He scanned the ten students. “Ms. Moretti, how about you? I didn’t hear any of your opinions. Which article do you think is most important and why?”
Raising her cute little chin, she gave him an innocent look. God, she was pretty tonight, with her hair out of a braid and flowing down her torso. “Workplace harassment. The statistics on...”
When she finished, Walker started to argue with her. Jordan held up his hand. “We’re just giving our opinions right now. No challenging allowed.”
Class finally ended. He’d made it through his first encounter with her since their quasi-decision yesterday. But as they filed out, he noticed she waited until the others were gone and came to the front. “We said we’d be friends. You froze me out.”
His brows rose. “I called on you first.”
“You know what I mean.”
He leaned back on the edge of the front table and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m testing the waters for a week. If all goes well, I’ll agree to your terms.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But you can’t ignore me.” She lowered her voice to match his. “People will notice.”
“I’ll do better. This is new to me.”
“What?”
His blue eyes narrowed on her. Then he said, “Wanting a woman and not being able to have her.”
* * *
Mariella was actually nervous when she showed up for her independent study in French Law on Thursday. She wore jeans and a heavy fleece dark blue shirt, with boots and a pea coat. It was cold outside.
“Bonsoir,” he said from behind his massive oak desk. He focused on her face.
“Bonsoir.”
He didn’t move to the table where they sat last week. Instead, he gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the desk. She sat down with a smirk.
“What’s that for, Ms. Moretti?”
“For the obvious.”
He gestured to the barrier between them. “I need all the armor I can get.”
She melted inside at the innuendo. “Jordan.”
“Mon Dieu, don’t go all soft on me. I can’t bear it.”
“All right.” She took out her laptop. “So, I picked a topic to start with. French law and divorce.”
He tried not to gasp. Somehow, he managed to say, “What made you choose this topic?”
“I mentioned my sister had an abusive husband. He had all the power over her legally. And they could only get an annulment because we
’re a Catholic Country.”
“That’s pretty backward, like arranged marriages.”
“Papá gave up the arrangement notion, but we’ll pursue the country’s attitude toward divorce in Casarina when I get back. In Italy, it takes three whole years if the divorce is uncontested, five if it’s fought. But we’re a sovereign state and can make any laws we want. I think we need to be more progressive.”
“I see. Will you be studying other countries besides France?”
“Spain on my own.”
“Or we could make Spain a part of our independent study.”
“Really? That would be great.”
He yawned.
A quirk of her lips. “Am I boring you, Dr. Dubois?”
“You could never bore me, Principessa. I haven’t slept well all week. I need coffee.”
She stood. “Let me get you some. I imagine I played a part in the insomnia.”
Her confidence brought a smile to his lips. “As a matter of fact, you did.”
Mari brought him coffee. “How did you know I like a bit of cream in it?”
“I noticed a lot of things about you, Dr. Dubois.” For a moment, their gazes locked. She wanted to sit on his lap, hook her arms around his neck and kiss the dickens out of him.
“S’il vous plait. Stop looking at me like that.”
“I apologize.” She went back around to her chair and sat. “Maybe you can recommend readings for divorce customs in France.”
“I think I’ve got some resources on my computer for that. I’ll check now.” Thankfully, she didn’t ask why he’d researched the topic.
They came up with a reading list, then read the first article together. After a spirited discussion, the time was up, and she stood to leave.
Only then did he get up and walk her to the door. Many of the faculty offices in the graduate building were dark even this early in the evening.
Quietly, she said, “I expect an answer tomorrow.”
“I have it tonight. Friends until April 15.”
A smile that gave the sun competition came to her face. “When classes end.”
