Alexandre. Charming. Handsome. Psychotic. Chase would have a field day with this one.
I licked my lips, and propped a hand on my hip. “So you know each other?” I combed through my mind if Levi had ever mentioned his name before.
Alexandre made me wait for his answer, taking one last drag from his cancer stick. “You can say that.”
“Good. How--”
“Veronica!” Levi sounded panicked.
I glanced at the door from where I came through. “I better go back in. Aren’t you coming in too? I don’t think it would matter if you weren’t invited if you used to live here.” I wasn’t really sure, but neither was I too serious.
“Veronica?” Levi called again.
“Shit. I better go.” I tried to slip my shoes back on, lifting the hem of my dress just as Levi walked out the door.
“Veronica.” He sounded very worried.
“Yes, hi. Hold on. I’m putting on my shoes.” Alexandre bent down and lifted one naked foot and slipped my skyscraper heel back on. Levi stalked toward me, his breathing ragged. Why was he so worked up?
“I’ve been looking for--” Levi paused mid-step when he saw that I wasn’t alone. My eyes had adjusted enough in the dark to see him squint his eyes. “Alexandre.” Levi’s voice was like a warning.
I steadied myself as my new acquaintance straightened on the bench. I looked between Levi and Alexandre. A smirk widened on Alexandre’s face, as he tilted his head up and said, “Hello, little brother.”
La Goutte d’eau qui Fait Déborder le Vase
LEVI
How did one define a relationship? Was it by genetics shared by two individuals? Was it by experience that people had gone through? Was it by love of one and sacrifice of the other? Did relationships grow? Did they bloom, if nurtured and cared for? Did they die?
Alexandre leaned against the back of a bench. In the sparse light, I could see his grin. And in that shadow, I could feel his hatred rolling off his skin and threatening to strike me. He reached for Veronica’s hand.
“I’ve been chatting with your girlfriend, the lovely Veronica.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
I knew the game he wanted to play. But not here, not now, and never with Veronica.
She pulled her hand away, but Alexandre didn’t bat an eye. He sat languorously and chuckled. “Feisty. You know how to pick them, mon frère,” he mocked me. Every single cell in my body wanted me to wrap my hands around his neck, but I kept them fisted at my sides. It wouldn’t bode well for me to go mental on him in front of her.
Veronica stood before me. “You have a brother?” The night had just gotten longer.
My eyes flitted to her. I splayed out a hand and offered it to her. “Let’s go inside. We’ll talk in there.”
Veronica squared her shoulders, ignored my hand, and stomped past me. “You bet your ass we’re going to talk.” She was angry, but from the tremor in her voice I knew she was also hurt.
I sent Alexandre as much anger as I could without saying a word before chasing after Veronica.
“How could you not have told me about him?” Veronica whipped around as soon as we stepped inside. Her voice was gritty and raw. Her shoulders shook.
“Veronica, darling, I was going to...” I reached for her, but she stepped back, face determined, demanding an explanation.
“We have a sister too.” It was futile to hope that Alexandre would have stayed put. Veronica shot him a surprised look, and seethed at me. “Half-sister, but a sister nonetheless.”
“Ta gueule!” I spat at Alex, who had chosen to lean against the threshold, lighting a cigarette as he threatened, without a word, to spill everything. “Be quiet.”
“Levi?” Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “A brother and a sister? Is your dad really dead?” She pressed her lips together. But I could see she regretted asking the question.
She was teetering on the edge—either jump in with both feet with me or run and be rid of me forever.
I stepped forward again, and this time, she didn’t back away. I steadied my breathing. “Sweetheart, I will explain everything later. Let’s go back to the party. Have some dinner, and we’ll talk. I promise.” She hesitated, and I couldn’t blame her.
I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her temple. I would be lost without this woman. Without her, I’d still be just like my brother, living on hate, regret, and loneliness.
Alex had decided to follow us in. I could ignore him. There were enough people around. And he had more questions to answer than I did.
* * *
My brother chose a chair as we seated ourselves around the dining table, far enough away that I wouldn’t be tempted to stab him with a shrimp fork. The surprise of his sudden presence had quieted down, and those who were comfortable speaking with Alex did so. Veronica remained a silent observer beside me.
“You could have told me,” I heard Veronica say to Sandrine. “What’s the big deal anyway?”
Sandrine sent her a look of apology, and begged with her eyes for me to help her out. “E’s not a secret.”
“Seems like he is. Levi never told me.”
Jake joined in, “He has his reasons, Nica.” Jake was one of the few who didn’t pay my brother any attention. Jake also knew the score.
“And a sister?” This question was directed to me.
I leaned over to reply to Veronica’s question. I had promised to tell her everything. “I’ve never met her. Last I heard she was living in New York City.”
“How could you not...”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything. Please, trust me.” I lowered my voice as I continued, “Now isn’t the time, not with all these people.”
Her lips pulled into a grim line. “I do trust you. It seems you don’t trust me.”
I sucked in a breath. How could she think that? Was this how trust was measured? By how many secrets were told? By how many painful memories were spilled?
“It’s much more complicated than that.”
“Than trust?”
We were interrupted by servers placing a gold-trimmed bowl of soupe de poisson à la rouille in front of us. Veronica straightened on her seat, slightly angling her body away from me. I paid attention to the food in front of me, but never bothered to lift the spoon to my mouth.
A shout pierced the hushed silence of the somber dinner. I glared at my brother.
Ladies and gentlemen: my mother. Let the trumpets sound. Let the rabid dogs free.
Lucinde Marrione Laurent entered the dining room. With an air of arrogance and displeasure, she pointed at each and every one of our guests, and spewed vitriol at Martina.
“You should leave,” I said to her in my adopted language. It angered her even more.
She narrowed her blue eyes at me, clearing the distance between us with long, sure strides. Lucinde pulled her finger back before she opened her mouth. I stepped in front of Veronica to protect her.
“Leave, Mother.”
My mother broke her gaze from Veronica, but my relief was short-lived, because she chose to open her mouth instead. “And miss my son’s birthday? What kind of mother would I be?” Her eyes shone with malice. She waved a gloved hand to her chest, where surely her heart had withered and died. She had an audience, and she glorified in it.
“One who has never remembered her son’s birthday,” I replied. I felt Veronica’s agitation behind me. But she reached for my hand as she stood.
My mother laughed. Loud, arid, and pernicious. She placed her hand over her empty chest again. “My darling, Olivier, you intend to hurt my feelings? In front of your guests? And...this curious creature?”
I heard Veronica scoff, ready to advance. I leaned my head to the side, trying to catch her attention, to warn her to keep steady. This wasn’t her battle to fight. Veronica paused but she stayed rigid.
Ever the epitome of poise and grace, Martina offered, “Perhaps we can talk in the library, Lucinde.”
“Why shouldn’t I stay her
e? We are talking now!” Someone else caught her attention. “Why is he allowed to stay?”
“Maman!” I warned.
“Lucinde, s’il vous plâit,” Martina tried again, her voice rising.
“Shouldn’t he leave? Aren’t you afraid that Alexandre will steal her, like you stole his fiancée?”
In that moment, everything happened. Martina reached my mother, but she was still weak from the stroke and it showed. Jake and François moved forward to help Martina, and had her sit on a chair. My mother laughed her way out of the dining room, leaving the guests uncomfortable and concerned.
Sandrine called out a name, “Veronique!”
Veronica ran the other way. Her hand had slipped from my grasp as soon as Lucinde said those last words.
Alexandre caught my eyes. And I froze, my head hanging low, my hand reaching out for the space that Veronica had stood in.
How did one define relationships? A relationship between a mother and her sons? A relationship between two brothers? A relationship between a man and the only woman he loved?
I didn’t know the answer.
Coupe de Foudre
She didn’t leave me. I’d deserted her.
By omitting some of the most important factors of my life, I had lied to her. Even though I knew she only deserved the truth. I had been half-honest, and a full liar. It was no wonder she wanted to get away from me.
However, I wasn’t one to quit; I loved her.
She couldn’t have gone far, especially not in the pouring rain. Unless she had been lucky enough to have a cab pass by as soon as she went through the gates, traveling on foot would have been her only choice. But Veronica was always innovative. She could be halfway to the airport now.
My chest tightened at that possibility. I needed to find her sooner. She had only managed to bring a small clutch to dinner, but Veronica was an expert in being prepared. She might carry her passport around at all times. If that were the case, and she’d left for San Francisco, my chances of reconciliation would dwindle.
I took the Aston Martin and drove around the block a few times. Then I went into the heart of the city. As ridiculous as it sounded, I felt that my heart had a compass in it, and it would lead me back to her. Nevertheless, every ten minutes, I called Jake and asked if she’d turned up, and each time he told me that she hadn’t.
If I were Veronica, where would I go? The Louvre? It would be closed, and the rain would deter her from walking the grounds. God, I hoped she wasn’t stuck somewhere, drenched in the rain.
At hour two, I turned down a narrow, slanted road, which felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. I parked along the side, ready to give Jake another ring when I saw the sign. A bar: En Vérité. What an odd name for such an establishment.
I stepped out of the car while connecting with Jake, and stood in front of the bar under the eaves.
“Anything?”
“No, man. Why don’t you head back? She’ll come here eventually. Where else would she go?” Exhaustion was present in Jake’s voice.
“She has her purse with her. I don’t think she’ll go back there. Listen, why don’t you and Sandrine go and rest? Martina will let me know if Veronica returns.”
Jake sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think she’ll want to go until she knows Nica is safe. Martina is worried, too. Just keep us posted.”
I pocketed my phone. The door to the bar opened and a few lads scuffled out. The rain would not let up. I needed a think, and a drink, and a splash of reality. I’d made yet another fumble. A fumble? More like a catastrophe.
I stepped inside. The bar was somewhere Chase would feel welcome: dark, dingy, and inherently male. I nodded at the bartender, taking over a free stool in front of him.
“Scotch. Neat.”
He nodded, and I watched him pour a small amount of golden brown liquid into a glass. He placed it in front of me and I drank it all in one gulp. The liquid burned down my throat and the warmth settled in my chest.
I signaled for another.
“Americain?” The bartender’s voice was hoarse, probably from years of smoking.
I stared at him. I seemed to have forgotten where I was. Had I been too exhausted to act or talk like a Frenchman? What the hell? Might as well go along with it, though he would most likely charge me double for being a tourist. I nodded.
“What bring you to Paris?” he asked in a thick French accent.
I smiled over the tip of the glass, replying with, “Love,” before taking another swig of the scotch.
The bartender grinned at me. “It is your lucky night, heh.” He leaned forward and talked in a low, hushed voice. “An Americaine girl just walk in. She looks for love too. Very pretty.” He smacked his fingers on his lips, and then nodded his head to the other side of the bar, past the patrons.
I lifted my head. At the corner, hunched over a similar drink to mine, was none other than the love of my life.
Perhaps my heart compass wasn’t broken after all.
My pulse hitched at the sight of her, and in that moment, the world had gotten smaller, seemingly existing for only the two of us.
I returned my gaze to the bartender. I could kiss the man. I took out some notes out of my jacket pocket, and slapped it on the counter.
“Keep the change, Cupid.”
He tipped his imaginary hat to me. “Merci. Tremper le biscuit.” He made a lewd gesture with his hands. I could have done without that last bit. I sauntered over to where Veronica sat.
I trained my eyes at her, willing for hers to meet mine as soon as I turned that corner, but her focus was only on her drink. Her mouth parted, and from where I stood, I could almost hear her sigh. I could almost feel the warmth of her breath. I wanted to rush over to her, wrap her in my arms and never let go.
“Veronica…” I wanted her to hear sincerity, feel my honesty, and believe in my undying love.
All she did was look past me. Would she ever forgive me?
She stood slowly, brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead, and walked away, abandoning her drink and me. I reached for her, but she quickened her steps, and my fingers only grasped the empty air.
Bar patrons huddled between us, greeting each other and blocking me from running after her. I pushed through and took one last glance at the bartender. He nodded at me, as though telling me to go after the girl. I intended to.
The rain pelted the uneven streets when I stepped out, harder than it had earlier. I could see Veronica make her way toward the corner of the street.
I was too stubborn to let that happen. I went after her, slipping as I turned the corner. The street was busy with people-- friends, lovers, workers, tourists. Some huddled underneath their coats, and others held umbrellas. I held onto hope.
From where I stood, I saw a vision. A woman with long dark hair, glistening like the rain illuminated by the night lights. I took a couple of long strides to get nearer her, dodging everyone else. When she was within reach. I called her name.
She stopped and turned.
I loved this woman. But would she accept me as the broken man that I was?
“Please...”
Veronica took a step back. “Your brother’s fiancée, Levi?”
“Let me explain.” My heart thudded.
The rain pelted us, people passed us by, murmuring and gawking.
“My mother, she...she wanted to hurt us. She would do anything to hurt me.”
“I don’t care about your mother! I cared that you’ve kept me in the dark this whole time. A brother?” She stared up at the dark skies. “Not once did you mention a brother, and now I know why!”
“It wasn’t like that. Just come with me, let’s go back to Martina’s and I’ll explain everything.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her own hands, wrinkled from the rain. One hand clutched her small handbag. Veronica trembled. Her hair was soaked, her dress was ruined, and the rain washed the luminescence off her skin and replaced it with cold, glistening defianc
e.
I took off my coat and wrapped it around her.
She didn’t push me away.
“My car is right around the corner. Let me take you back, get you all dried up, and we can talk properly.”
“No.... There.” She pointed at a lit sign beside us. Her teeth chattered. With my arm around her, I could feel her body shivering. It could be from anger or the cold.
I guided her toward the entrance, let her lean against me. We walked to the man standing at the desk, watching us drip rainwater on his shiny floor. I reached for my cards, inside my jacket draped over Veronica. I sighed as my hand felt the strong thud of her heartbeat and the heat of her skin.
“Avez-vous une chambre disponsible?” I asked, pushing a black card toward the man as I inquired for an available room.
He picked up the credit card. “Oui, Monsieur.” He typed on a keyboard.
“I want the same room. Seventh floor. 712,” Veronica told him, her voice steady. The man paused and looked my way. I nodded.
“Oui, mademoiselle. It is available for the night. Just for one night?” The man asked.
“S’il vous plait. Please,” I replied.
He returned to his monitor. I kept a hold on Veronica as I answered each one of his questions. My own teeth had started to chatter as well. The adrenaline rush was running off. I had to fight it from wearing me down. I needed the energy to face the dark past that I was about to reveal.
* * *
We stood an arm’s length apart inside the elevator. Veronica stepped out first, turned the corner, and stood waiting for me to slide the key in and unlock the door.
The light from the city danced with the shadows of the room. I wasn’t quite sure, but Veronica would know if it was the same as the last time we’d been here. This was the very room where I had poured my heart out.
Veronica kept walking to the middle of the room, pausing beside the bed. She took off the coat and hung it over the footboard and placed her purse on the mattress. I turned the other way, toward the bathroom, and brought back two towels. I returned and stood before her to wrap a dry towel over her soaked skin and hair. My hands shook and I breathed out jagged air as I patted her skin dry.
The Bachelor's Perfect Proposal (Bliss Series Book 2) Page 10
