Jezebel

by K Larsen

  Angry, he shook his head and kicked the chair to his left.

  Chapter 45

  Annabelle

  “When everyone has their disguise. I’ll show you my heart is real.”

  ~ After You, Meg Myers

  “I am freaking out. Freaking. Out. I can’t go home now!” Annabelle cried out. She wanted—no, needed—more.

  “I told you there was more to tell but you’ll have to wait,” Jezebel said and popped another cookie into her mouth. “These are seriously amazing. Bring more.”

  Annabelle laughed, “You can keep those. I’ll bring something else next time. Dad’s trying to teach me how to bake this week.”

  “Good man! I am benefitting greatly from this lesson,” Jezebel said setting the Tupperware container in her lap.

  “Next week Jez . . . can’t wait,” Annabelle said as she exited the room. A warm feeling blossomed in her gut and a smile broke out on her face. Jezebel was a tough cookie to crack so it pleased her tremendously to know she had impressed the woman.

  ~***~

  “No woman in the history of the world has ever looked so beautiful standing in my doorway in nothing but my shirt.” Mark’s voice startled Annabelle. She spun around to face him with a hand over her jumping heart. He crossed the short distance between them, stroked her hair and caressed her arms. She kissed his neck and muscular shoulders.

  Their trip to the bed was inevitable. Her back pressed his chest while he moved slowly and gently in her. As he thrust into her, he whispered how deeply he loved her, how much he would miss her and what he would do to her when she came home to visit. Annabelle realized she didn’t have a care in the world-she was happy.

  ~***~

  Annabelle smiled the entire ride to Glenview. Her father belted out the lyrics to some tune from his youth as they drove. The windows were down and the wind whipped around them. She felt free and content.

  “Tell Mark I’ll pick you up today too,” her father called out the window as she shut the car door.

  “Dad.”

  “Belle, humor me,” he said.

  “Fine, but I’m spending tomorrow night at his house,” she answered.

  Her father groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I do not want to hear about you spending the night at anyone’s house besides Madison’s.”

  Annabelle laughed. “Fine Dad, tomorrow I’m spending the night at Madison’s—happy now?” He shot her a look that could kill, as she smirked back at him, before he pulled away from the curb. Annabelle turned on her heel and headed into Glenview.

  “What’s shakin’?” Jezebel said as she rounded the corner.

  “Hey! No time for small talk—I need more Celeste,” Annabelle said dropping her things. She slid out of her shoes and curled up in the chair.

  “What about my snacks?” jezebel asked.

  “Oh right.” Annabelle chuckled and leaned down. She rummaged through the large bag and pulled out a container then handed it to Jezebel. “Peanut butter chocolate balls.”

  “Tiger, you shouldn’t have,” Jezebel grinned and popped the lid off. She took one of the treats balls and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed and she looked like she’d gone to heaven. “These. Are. Amazing.”

  “Why thank you,” Annabelle returned.

  “You are most welcome, kid, you may have found your talent in life.”

  Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really want to cook for a living.”

  “Bake. Not cook. But I hear you—long hours, hot environment . . . could trigger your inner attitude to reappear,” Jezebel said with snark.

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Annabelle said dryly.

  Jezebel shook her head furiously before laughing. “Alright, You’re in such a damned rush-Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” she said.

  Chapter 46

  Celeste

  Paris 1994

  June, Saturday

  One day she was on the right track; the next she was a train wreck. Each day a new drop or lift on a roller coaster. As she pulled into her driveway she breathed deep trying to calm her nerves. As ridiculous as it was, she still loved her husband. It seemed nearly impossible to erase the good memories of a decade. She’d never for a moment thought their marriage was a ruse and that truth hurt deeply.

  She needed to pick up some things. Matteo had encouraged, and finally convinced, her to do it. Here she was. At her house. Feeling like a stranger.

  “Celeste.”

  Gabriel drew her name out in that seductive way only he could as she stood in the foyer.

  She took him in. “Gabriel.”

  “Mon amour, where have you been? I’ve been mad with worry,” he said approaching her.

  “I can’t do this,” she answered putting her hands up in front of her to stop him from coming closer. Gabriel grabbed her hands and tugged her to his chest. “Please . . .” she tried.

  “Non. Non, you are mine, mon amour, we will work this out. All of it. I’ve fired Monique. Celeste, you are my heart. Please, please just talk to me,” he begged in between placing kisses on the crown of her head.

  Celeste tilted her head up to look at him. His face, that handsome face, nearly shattered her heart. She wanted his words. She wanted to believe him. She wanted him, just a piece to keep with her always. Backing up a step she pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time to their bedroom. She tugged her suitcase from the closet and began throwing things haphazardly into it. She shoved her tears away and repeated her actions: grab then toss into the suitcase. Do not cave, do not cave, her mantra.

  Gabriel yanked her from the closet, lifting her off her feet and setting her on the bed with him.

  “Stop it,” she cried. She didn’t want to be reminded of the connection she felt to him. She didn’t want the memory of the way his arms felt around her.

  “Non. You just need a reminder. We’re good together. I love you. I love you more than there are stars in the night sky. I love your smart mouth and your perfect curves. I love you,” he pleaded. His hands lifted her knit dress and something snapped inside of her. A switch was flicked. She raised her arms and allowed him to pull her dress off and toss it to the floor. Frantic passion consumed her. Her brain was useless, her body consumed with need.

  She pushed Gabriel onto his back and straddled him. He tugged her neck, bringing their lips together. Anger poured out of her and into him as she kissed him back roughly. His hands found her panties and ripped them from her before he flipped her onto her back. She fumbled with his pants until they finally slid down his thighs and she laughed, crazed, when he kicked them to the floor. Thrusting into her she let out a scream. They moved together. They loved together. They hurt together. But, no, that wasn’t right. It was all her love, her hurt. Celeste’s eyes snapped open as he moved over her, in her. His thumb pressed against her most sensitive spot and circled. Her pleasure built until it erupted in a magnificent burst. So caught up in her own mind and desire she barely noticed when Gabriel finished.

  She placed a hand on his cheek. She kissed his lips then rolled him off her and stood. “I’m going, Gabriel.” She wriggled into her dress and tucked her curves out of view before turning to survey herself in the mirror. “Please know that I wouldn’t have stooped to deception if I didn’t hold you in such high regard, but I’ve known about you since after Dr. B’s funeral. I was angry at first, you know-soangry,” she said.

  Eight years. In eight years Dr. B had never breathed a word of his inclination that Celeste was his granddaughter. Now she understood why. She was not merely his granddaughter, she was a commodity. An exception people wanted to use to discover a rule. The truth had exploded inside her like a bomb and she’d splintered under the force of it. She was the key-not to Gabriel’s heart, but to his work. Celeste steeled herself.

  “You know, after being betrayed, initially, I wanted two things. I wanted to wound you—as deeply and as excruciatingly as I was wounded, and strangely enough, I wanted to be able to rise above the situati
on and forgive you,” she chuckled. “But neither of those tactics work. Every hurt has its own journey, and so does every healing. Love fuses you with another person, makes you capable of feeling their emotions as acutely as you feel your own. For us there is no cure for that Gabriel. I’m leaving you,” she said boldly. Celeste felt powerful suddenly.

  Gabriel snarled at her, raw and savage, and in the depths of his rage, she saw his true colors. “Celeste.” he thundered, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, “You. Cannot. Leave. I need you.”

  Celeste backed toward the door. “Of course I can,” she stated firmly. “You’ve given me no room to stay.”

  She watched as he tried to calm himself, to appear rational. It was laughable really. “Celeste, mon amour. We’re so close. We can work this out. I need you, you’re the key,” he pleaded.

  Celeste knew information was power and she now had all the information she needed. “I am, aren’t I?” She cocked her head and looked at him. “I was so foolish all those years ago to think the key you were referring to was the key to your heart.” She laughed bitterly. Heartbreak, abhorrent and vicious betrayal and a desperate need to understand the motive behind it slammed into her. It ran rampant through her body; her heart had been broken not just by her husband, who she was still in love with, but by someone she thought was a true friend.

  “If I can’t have you, no one will. Don’t you understand?” he thundered. “Celeste, you can’t walk away from me or the CIA, not after they’ve invested years of operatives’ lives in you.” She froze in her spot. She was being watched. Fear rippled through her.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Oh, I’m not walking, Gabriel—I’m running.” Celeste turned on her heel and strode resolutely downstairs and away from her house, from their house, from his house.

  As she put the car in reverse Gabriel tumbled out the front door in only his boxers after her. A tremble ran through her at the pure rage that exuded from him. She had no doubt that he spoke the truth. Someone would come for her, be it a government agent or Gabriel himself-she was a walking dead woman. One who at least now was able to prepare.

  Later that evening as Celeste told Matteo how the day’s events had unfolded an unsettling moment embraced her, fraught with tangled layers of love, hate and power. Matteo and Celeste sat side by side and came up with a plan of action that might possibly remove her from this situation permanently. She would need to play the part. She and Matteo had money. Enough to disappear. Money that Gabriel didn’t know about. They talked about Matteo sticking close. About moving money around in the next few days and setting up a safe place where they could go.

  Celeste wanted to shatter Gabriel’s entire perception of reality and force him into the despair he forced on her. If only wishes were truths.

  Chapter 47

  Annabelle

  “I’m writing letters in my head. I sign my name but never send.”

  ~ After You, Meg Myers

  “What?” Annabelle squawked throwing her arms in the air.

  “What?” Jezebel answered settling back into her chair. She popped another chocolate peanut butter ball into her mouth.

  “What!”

  “I feel like we’re not communicating,” Jezebel said dryly.

  “I’m . . . shocked. Stunned. Holy hell, Jez, did Gabriel really do that to her? Was it all a game? He just used her for his work? Oh. My. God. I can’t . . . I can’t even,” Annabelle spluttered. She readjusted her position in her seat and ran her fingers through her hair repeatedly.

  “You’re awfully worked up,” Jezebel commented, then took a sip of water.

  “Well yeah! I mean, how can this possibly end well? We only have two more visits, Jez, I just . . . ugh,” she sighed. “I hate him.” Annabelle took a sip of water to cool down.

  “You don’t know the whole story yet—you might not hate him at the end,” Jezebel clucked as Annabelle slipped her shoes on.

  “Yeah right. He’s an asshole! He totally used her . . . and for what!? For her DNA? To solve some stupid issue with a drug that armies want to use? It’s not like he was curing AIDS or something.” She felt hot with anger. Annabelle couldn’t even begin to imagine what Celeste had felt.

  “True, dear, but who knows how the story really ends.”

  “Jez, you’re killing me here,” she grumbled.

  “The next two visits will blow your mind, Now get going,” Jezebel said.

  “My mind has already been blown,” Annabelle muttered before taking the empty Tupperware container and shoving it in her bag.

  “Bring me another treat?” Jezebel asked and batted her lashes.

  “I don’t know if I like you enough to bake anymore—you’re totally holding out on me,” Annabelle scowled.

  “Oh please, you’ll be back; it would drive you mad to not know the ending.”

  “It’s really irritating when I’m irritated and you’re right,” she said as she paused in the doorframe.

  “It is maddening isn’t it?” Jezebel laughed.

  Annabelle gave her a small wave and stomped all the way to her father’s car. Slamming the door shut she heaved out a breath.

  “What’s your issue? Is it really that bad being seen with me?” her father asked. She turned to him. He looked worried. Annabelle rested her head against the headrest and smiled.

  “No Dad, it’s not you. I’m not really in a bad mood—it was just . . . theatrics.”

  “Maybe you should be going to a performing arts college then because that performance was definitely convincing,” her father said. Annabelle laughed loud and hard until her father joined in as well.

  ~***~

  Picking out a gift for Jezebel was harder than she thought it would be. She wanted to give her something that was meaningful. Something that would reflect their time together accurately. Thinking back on their time together Annabelle was embarrassed at the way she had behaved six months ago. She’d been so angry and withdrawn. It was hard for her to really believe she had changed, but things had changed-so much in half a year.

  “Dad, I want to get Jez a gift, but I’m having a hard time. She’s your age, kinda . . . what do you like?” she asked as she pushed her food around on her plate.

  “Like my age? That’s really useful information,” he said sarcastically.

  “Okay, she likes music, she likes plants and my baking, but none of those are permanent. I want to give her something she can keep forever,” she explained and leaned back in her seat.

  Her father stared at her blinking. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Annabelle shrugged. “What about a book? Or a framed photo or something like that?”

  Annabelle brightened at the ideas. “That’s perfect Dad,” she said and jumped from her seat. “I need to borrow fifty bucks, is that okay? I know the perfect place to make a really nice photo book.”

  Her father smiled at her and pointed to her chair. “Yes, you can—after we finish eating. Your pictures aren’t going anywhere.”

  Annabelle chuckled and sank back into her chair. “Yes sir.”

  ~***~

  Annabelle was excited as she bounced down the hall to Jezebel’s suite. She had put all the ridiculous photos she’d taken into a hardcover photo book she’d created. Each page held a picture of the two of them with a caption, and the last page was the picture she snapped of just Jezebel when she looked so utterly happy. She scoured stock photo sites to find the perfect picture of Paris for the cover. Never having been, she ended up purchasing one of the Eiffel Tower. It felt right to her. She skipped through the doorway and found Jezebel’s room empty.

  “Jez?” she called out.

  “A moment!” Jezebel answered.

  Annabelle kicked off her sneakers and sank into the wingback chair she always sat in and waited. She fidgeted with the wrapped photo book, tightening the bow, smoothing the paper.

  Jezebel glided from the bathroom with two glasses of water. She set them down, one for herself and one for Annabelle, then sat.

&nbs
p; “That looks awfully flat for treats,” Jezebel said with sarcasm.

  “Truth,” Annabelle chuckled. “But it is for you!” Annabelle handed the gift wrapped book to Jezebel and held her breath as she opened it. She tossed the paper to the floor and smiled as she looked at the cover. Flipping through the pages, she laughed and smiled brightly. Finally Jezebel caught her eyes.

  “This is beautiful. You have no idea how perfect this is,” she said. Jezebel stood and Annabelle followed suit. She took comfort in Jezebel’s arms as she wrapped her own arms around Jezebel’s slender waist. Jezebel placed a kiss on top of her head and sighed as she stroked Annabelle’s hair. “Are you sure you’re ready for today?”

  Annabelle pulled back and looked at Jezebel’s face. “That is the most ridiculous question ever . . . I have to know what happens.”

  “Alright, alright, sweet beet, I get it,” she said, then sat.

  “Aww, you’ll miss me,” Annabelle teased.

  “I will.”

  “If you’re good, maybe I’ll come back and visit,” she said and winked at Jezebel.

  “Good lord, don’t ever wink at anything—you looked like you were having a seizure.” Annabelle laughed at her deflection. She would miss Jezebel, too. So much.

  “Alright, let’s dig in,” Annabelle said.

  Jezebel nodded. “Paris, nineteen ninety-four,”

  Chapter 48

  Celeste

  Paris 1994

  June, Thursday

  The morning of Celeste’s death was spectacular. Oranges, pinks and blues set the sky ablaze in splendid glory. She gazed out the window from where she laid in bed, stunned by the raw beauty. Breathing in the spectacular show before her, her mind wandered to uglier things.

  She popped out of bed late in the morning before wandering, one last time, to the City of Lights, which lived up to its name. For all its fanfare, the Eiffel Tower rarely disappointed; at night, its thousands of twinkling lights turned on to dazzle onlookers. It would make the perfect backdrop. A dazzling finale for a naive life, she thought bitterly. No more. Her life as she knew it was nothing more than a masterful illusion. She knew she couldn’t keep holding out for a miracle. She and Matteo knew too much.