by Kathryn Shay
Until they heard the outside bell ring. They chose to ignore it, but they heard the front door open and close. Swearing vilely, Jordan flung back the covers, threw on sweat pants and stomped downstairs without saying a word to her. Donning his shirt again, Mari trailed behind him. They reached the bottom step, and, over his naked shoulder, Mariella saw a woman in the foyer.
As if in slow motion, she noted the thousand-dollar brown boots, the Armani coat and the Coach handbag, which the woman dropped, then threw her arms around Jordan’s neck and kissed him hard. “Surprise, chéri. I’ve come to visit after all.”
Jordan pushed her away and the woman looked up at Mari.
“Oh, dear, I interrupted a tête-à-tête, didn’t I, tu as été vilain?”
Jordan stood there, still and open-mouthed.
“Who are you?” Mari asked, but she knew in her heart the woman’s identity. And that heart broke a little.
“Elise Dubois, Yvette’s mother and Jordan’s wife.”
Mari grabbed the banister. “You mean ex-wife.”
“No, I’m his wife. I have been for ten years now.”
* * *
Jordan recovered from the shock first. He blocked the stairway with his body, and said, “Get out of my house, Elise.”
Her expression was haughty. “Ah, you forget, darling. This is my property too.”
“Get the fuck out of my house, or I swear I’ll sue you for sole custody of my daughter and cut off the exorbitant amount of money I give you.”
The threat didn’t faze Elise. Instead, she laughed, a triumphant but ugly sound. “Then I’ll reveal that you had an affair with one of your grad students while teaching at the Sorbonne. The Ethics Professor/Pulitzer Prize winner will be shamed publicly and lose everything. Including his daughter. I’m sure I would get full custody of her.”
He heard a horrible gasp behind him. But he couldn’t do anything about that now. Instead, he advanced on Elise. “Get out!” he roared.
When she didn’t move, he grabbed her arm, opened the door and shoved her through. He snicked the lock then turned to Mariella. But she was gone.
Upstairs, he found her on the phone. “Yes, I need an Uber at 59 New York Avenue in Georgetown. Fifteen minutes? Can’t you come soon—”
Panicking, he took the phone from her and clicked off.
She shook back her hair, raised her chin, and folded her arms across her chest. He noticed she’d put on pants and shoes. But it was the agony in her eyes, the stiffness of her body that told him the most. “I’m leaving.”
“Not yet, not until I explain.”
“There is nothing you could say to make me stay.”
“There’s one thing.” He crossed to her. Cradled her cheek. “I love you, Mariella. More than I’ve ever loved any woman in my life.”
She started to cry. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks. He pulled her to him. He didn’t miss the irony of how she sobbed, deeply, profoundly in the arms of the man who had destroyed her.
* * *
Thankfully, the crying jag ended. Mariella drew back and folded her arms over her chest, poor armor against the pain which assaulted her. “I need to leave, Jordan.”
“I’ll take you home after I explain.”
“Nothing you can say will make this better,” she repeated.
“Sit by the fire while I talk.”
Despondent, she obeyed. He took the chair opposite her, came to the edge and linked his hands between his knees. “Elise and I got married when we were twenty-eight. She was a socialite, I guess you’d call her, from an upper-class family who eventually lost their fortune. She liked to party. I was enchanted by her, so I went along. Traveling to places like Monaco, which she adored, staying out all night. Screwing all the time. Then she got pregnant. A child was unplanned.”
Mari’s brows rose.
“She wanted to have an abortion, but I convinced her not only to have the baby, but to stop boozing and partying for nine months. I had to use money as a threat. It about killed her, but she did it because I promised Yvette would be my sole responsibility and I also promised her a great deal of money after she gave birth.”
He told Mariella about the complaining, the hormone fits, the nasty fights during those nine months. He’d worried about the health of the child, and she was concerned about growing fat.
“When Yvette was born, I couldn’t talk Elise into breast feeding. She recovered quickly from childbirth, and resumed her former life. She left for Monaco four weeks after Yvette was born.
“That’s when I fell out of love with her and in love with my child. Eventually, her traveling there became a pattern, and finally, she moved permanently to the French Riviera.”
“H—” She cleared her throat. “How could she leave Yvette?”
Jordan had known child abandonment would hit Mariella hard.
“I’ve come to believe that Elise is amoral. In any case, I started teaching at the Sorbonne. I hired a nanny, but had plenty of time with my daughter. The only thing Elise wanted was money to support the way she lived.”
“You could have divorced her for abandonment.”
He just stared at her.
“Instead, you had an affair with a grad student.” Her beautiful features twisted with agony. “Like you did with me.”
“No, love, not like you. I was lonely as hell. A woman in my French Literature class was older, lonely too, and was attracted to me. I succumbed.”
“How long?”
“Six months. Then Elise found out and I ended it. Later, I realized the hold I’d given her over me when I sold my Ethics book. The hold she so crudely explained in the foyer.”
“You still could have charged abandonment.”
“She used terrible threats. One was to go to my grand-mère, who I adored, and tell her what I did. It would have hurt Adèle beyond repair and she was already frail. So, we stayed married, I supported her lifestyle, and she left us alone. She has sporadic contact with Yvette, but not much. Which hurt my child when she was old enough to become aware of the situation.”
“Didn’t you see the irony of the situation? You wrote and taught about ethics, yet you committed adultery.”
“I saw the irony. I also realized how a breach of ethics could change your life. Right now, I’m working on—”
She held up her hand, palm out. “Are you done explaining why you stayed married?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this? Given me a chance to decide if I’d see, wait for you...”—here her voice cracked—“knowing the whole truth.”
“I was afraid I’d lose you.”
“Well, Jor-dán, you were right.” She picked up the phone again. Finished the Uber call this time.
And in fifteen minutes, where she waited downstairs while she insisted he stay up here, she left him, for good.
* * *
Slowly, Mari walked into her house. It was dark and still as death inside. And cold. She held herself as stiffly as possible because she knew the pain would intensify if she lost her concentration on simply getting inside. She sat to remove her boots and coat, leaving them on the floor of the mudroom. She didn’t turn on any lights, but went directly to her room, stripped, and yanked on fleece p.j.s. She looked around the space, switched on a small lamp, and caught sight of something up on a shelf in her bedroom. She took it down. Then she grabbed the Georgetown catalogue from a drawer and climbed in bed. She stared down at the photos.
Running her hands around the glass of the first, she touched the young and handsome face of the man under it and shook her head. She’d loved Arturo so much, had thought their future would be sunny and kind, and then fate had taken him away from her. Opening the catalogue, she paged to a feature on Jordan Dubois, the famous writer and Pulitzer Prize winner. The university used his visiting professorship to lure students to Georgetown. She’d fallen for him, loved him now, too, and once again, that had been snatched away, this time by the runaway train wreck who was his
wife. She moved her finger over his classic jaw, traced his thick eyebrows and finally brushed his talented mouth.
It was only then that a drop hit the page.
Soon, it was joined by others as Princess Mariella Marcello Gentileschi Moretti wept.
* * *
At least she’d texted when the Uber reached her house, even though it said in capital letters, DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN. The finality of those hurtful words made his stomach cramp. After he heard the door open and close quietly—no drama for his princess-he got off the bed, slid on a shirt and walked downstairs. First, he poured a double bourbon, no ice, then he crossed into the den and closed the door. Opening the drawer with the false bottom, he drew out a pack of Gauloises. He hadn’t smoked in a long time, but he shook out one, lit it and opened the window a crack. Freezing cold wind slapped him in the face, as did the realization of what he would be punished for—his weakness, his inability to find a way around Elise’s threats, his complacency. As he took a drag, tasted the bitter tobacco and watched the smoke curl out into the cold night, images of Mariella laughing, playing with the girls, under him in bed, and her sweet words of love, haunted him. A slice of pain so great streaked through him he thought it might be fatal. But no, he lived through it.
Unfortunately.
Chapter 8
Raven pulled back the door to her house on a lake in Baltimore and smiled at Mari. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Are you? I invited myself. I’m barging in.”
“The Gentileschi sisters never feel that way about each other. Come inside and give me a hug.”
Mari entered the new house. Raven brought her to her chest and her arms banded around her. After a big, comforting hug, her sister took Mari’s coat and while she hung it up, Mari went to look out the windows at the lake. It wasn’t frozen, and waves crashed angrily against the shore. “I haven’t seen this place before.”
“Because I just bought it. I’m planning to have a housewarming for us all at some point. I’m very happy here, especially with the studio I built. I’ve been finishing pieces for the show.”
Raven had told her that she’d knocked down a wall between the two bedrooms and turned the space into an artist’s dream. She’d installed a wall of windows facing the water and put in skylights.
“The living room has a great view.” She turned. “I like the décor, too.” Soft gray leather couches and white leather accent chairs had been placed in front of the fireplace made of gray stone. “It’s light and airy, which isn’t usually your style.” She crossed to a sofa over the whitewashed distressed wood floor and sat.
“Yeah, I know. Time for something different, I guess.” Raven joined her on the couch. “You look like hell.”
Mari touched her face self-consciously. “I know I do. I’ve gone between numbness and crying jags for two days and nights, so I finally sought you out.”
“I’m glad you called.”
Mari caught sight of the colorful drawings Raven had put up on the walls, whimsical things like fairies, and normal things like dolphins with diamond eyes. “I’m interrupting your work.”
“I’m done for the day.” At Mari’s skeptical expression, Raven said, “See—I have on real clothes, not painting attire. And my hair is damp. I already took a shower.” She zeroed in on Mari. “And as I said, even if you were interrupting, I’d want you here.”
“It’s why I felt I could call.” Raven and Mari were only two years apart, with Evvie between them. And Mari adored this sister. A rebel at heart, Raven always watched out for Mari at home until she left when she was eighteen.
“So, the law professor broke your heart. Fuck him.”
“How did you know?”
“Sister intuition. Besides, I’m an observer. All artists are. Your eyes are puffy. You didn’t comb your hair this morning, and your clothing looks like you’ve been living in it.”
“I’m a mess. But I meant how did you know it was because of Jordan?”
“Because I was skeptical that the friends till school’s over deal would work out.”
“It didn’t. We made love over the weekend. It was beautiful, Raven. The memory brings tears to my eyes.”
“So what’s the problem? The student/teacher thing making your relationship unethical?”
“Now that, I could deal with.” She sighed and felt her eyes moisten. “I found out he’s still married to Yvette’s mother.” She explained the details.
“Do you think he’s being unfaithful to Elise by sleeping with you?”
“It’s not that, though technically I guess he is. But she’s got a long string of men in her wake. I probably could have found a way to deal with that. He has reasons for his legal situation.”
“Are they reuniting?”
“No. He kicked her out. He was so angry and mean. I’ve never seen him like that.”
“I’m out of guesses, honey. What’s the problem?”
“He had an affair with a grad student when he was teaching at the Sorbonne. I’m not...special.” She told her sister what she knew about his past.
“Do you think he’ll leave you like he left that woman?”
“I didn’t think so.” She drew in a heavy breath. “The fact that he’s married is heavy and distasteful, but somewhere in my mind, I keep going back to the cheating he did.”
“You’ve always had a bugaboo about infidelity.”
“Because there’s something you don’t know about my past.”
“So you said, mysteriously, that day at your house.”
She bit her lip. “Arturo cheated on me when I was pregnant with Lilly.”
“Ah. So that’s why you went to live at the palace after Lilliana was born.”
“Yes. I lied to you girls. Said I needed more help, that Arturo was with me, but he wasn’t. I left him home.”
“Everybody thinks you two were romantic love personified.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Then his cheating must have been hard.”
“At first it was. But Mamá and I talked a lot. She got me to see we were kids when we got married. I had Lilly at eighteen. She believed Arturo when he said he wanted a fling before our baby was born.”
“Much as I hate that he hurt you like this, Mamá was right.”
“I finally understood. And Arturo groveled really well.”
A quirk in Raven’s mouth. “I love seeing men on their knees.”
The girls laughed at the innuendo, then Mari sobered. “When he died, I kept thinking I could have had those six months with him if I hadn’t run back home.”
“Again, you’re not going to like this, but maybe you should learn from that.”
“You mean you think I should accept what I found out about Jordan’s real background?”
“No. You should deal with it with him. And if you want to know what I’d do, I’d dump him for lying to me about both things. But you’re not me.”
Mari sighed. “Can I stay for a few days? Lilly’s coming home Sunday morning. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
“Of course you can stay. Would you like me to call the others?”
“No. I’m not up for negotiating their opinions.”
“Won’t Brie worry where you are?”
“She’s still in the Caribbean with Dante.”
“Did I know she was going?”
“No, it was spur of the moment.”
“Then it’s just you and me, kid. What do you want for dinner?”
* * *
Mari went to bed early and Raven sat in front of the fire like she did every cold night and took out her sketch book. She opened it to her portraits and leafed through them. Many of her sisters, some of a girl she worked with in her art therapy volunteering. A few of Mamá. She came upon the last—of the man who owned the gallery where she would exhibit her work in a few months. Blake Parker. She’d done this one in color, to capture his unusual green eyes, which she still hadn
’t gotten right. She fiddled with them, choosing different colored pencils, but, finally giving up, she leafed to a blank page.
Jordan Dubois’s hair was a remarkable feature. She sketched out the shape of it on his head, then added golden and dark tones, with a bit of curl in the front. And when she’d seen him, it was longish. Next, she added his lagoon-blue eyes. And when he’d looked at Mari the night Raven had met him, there was a sparkle in them. She sketched that in, too.
Setting aside the pad, she sipped some dry red wine and her gaze fell onto the fire. Men! There had been a lot of them in her life, mostly her teen years. By the time she turned twenty, she’d become choosy. She also hadn’t found one who interested her. Mari had, the other girls had, but Raven, as usual, would be different and probably remain single all her life. She’d yet to encounter a man who could handle all that she was.
* * *
“Hi, Papa.” Yvette was animated over the video call. “I’m having so much fun with the king and queen.”
He forced a smile. “I’ll bet you are.”
She told him about the festival with its unusual food, fun games and rides she and Lilly went on. He was glad she was there, having fun, since he went through the three-day retreat like an automaton.
“Papa, the king and queen let us eat with them every night. And we’re sleeping in Mrs. Moretti’s room. You should see this whole place. It’s got forty rooms.”
“I hope to see it someday.”
He told his daughter a bold-faced lie. He knew very well that wouldn’t happen now.
Lilliana eventually joined Yvette on the call. “Mama went to Aunt Raven’s for the rest of the week. She must be lonely for me.”
