“Edouard isn’t here?” he heard Sophie ask.
“It’s his night off, mademoiselle,” Jean replied. “But I’ll tell him you inquired. Now, where would you prefer to sit? I recommend the banquette there, mademoiselle, as it is close to the stage, yet private.”
“Marc? What do you think?”
“It sounds perfect.” The gloom of the club and the coziness of the banquette would aid his cause. Jean led them down the stairs, waiting until they had seated themselves before he asked what he could bring them.
“A bottle of the Veuve Cliquot, Brut,” Marc replied.
“An excellent choice, monsieur.” Marc smiled and the maître’d departed with a quick step.
“More champagne?”
Marc shifted closer to Sophie on the banquette. “Unless you would prefer something else, ma chérie. There’s still time for me to catch Jean.”
“I’m not complaining, but I don’t want you to spend too much. You know I’d be just as happy with a carafe of the house wine.”
“I’d only drink the house wine under duress,” he said in a hushed tone.
“It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“Worse,” he said solemnly. Sophie made a face that made them both chuckle. “Don’t worry, ma chérie, I can afford it.”
“Good.” Sophie turned her attention towards the stage. “Oh, there’s Sera! I was wondering where she was.” She waved gaily at Sera, who smiled and waved back as she ascended the stage. Marc blew her a kiss, but that earned him only a raised brow. He observed her as she turned to speak to Benoît, her dark dress fluttering around her ankles. It dipped in the back, showing an expanse of pale skin that glowed in the single spotlight. With a nod of agreement, she stepped gracefully to the microphone.
Sophie rested her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. Her gaze was fixed with rapt attention to the stage. What had Sera done to inspire such devotion? Marc lit a cigarette and sat back to wait.
They hardly spoke during Sera’s first set; Sophie was content to listen, nearly tucked in against him, and he was content in knowing that Sophie would only be a few hours away from lounging naked in his bed, sated after a thorough introduction to lovemaking.
During a break between songs, Sophie rested her head on the back of the banquette, her auburn hair spilling over his jacket. He stroked her arm.
“Ready to go?”
“Not yet. I don’t think I could ever hear enough music.”
“It will end eventually.”
“And then we’ll go.”
The next song started and she didn’t say another word until the band broke for a break between sets. Sera headed straight for their table after getting a glass of water at the bar.
“Bonsoir, Sophie. I hadn’t expected to see anyone tonight. What a lovely surprise!” She sat across from Sophie. “Marc.” She gave him only a slight smile.
“It was tonight or nothing,” Sophie explained. “My advisor thinks I haven’t been working hard enough, so I’ll have to play catch-up tomorrow.”
“It was kind of Marc to bring you.” Sera spared him a glance and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to allude to his upcoming success.
“My firm is hiring an intern shortly, and I have it direct from the boss that she’s the one.” He winked at Sophie and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Tonight is a bit of a celebration.” Sophie very helpfully blushed.
“What unexpected news!” Sera smiled at Sophie, though he could tell from her posture that her enthusiasm was forced. “It would be a shame if you put your schooling on hold though.”
“Oh, Marc and I have addressed that,” Sophie assured her. “I’ll finish my thesis and submit it before I start. I’m hoping I can do the oral examination online instead of having to fly back.”
Sera rose. “That’s quite fortunate.”
“Back to work already?” Marc asked.
“We’re doing a shorter set this time, so the break is shorter also,” she replied.
“Come have a glass of champagne with us afterward,” Sophie invited.
“Thank you, Sophie. I may do just that.”
Marc watched as Sera walked away, taking Benoît’s hand to assist in ascending the stage. Sophie relaxed next to him and he rested his arm over her shoulders without breaking his gaze away from Sera.
“What will she sing?” Sophie asked softly.
“The short sets are usually Piaf,” he replied. He’d seen so many performances the answer came easily. “Popular favourites, unless someone makes a request.”
The opening bars of 'Je ne regrette rien' echoed in the small club and Sera began to sing, a relaxed and almost blissful expression on her face as she let the music overtake everything. He’d seen it in his mother when she played and known it himself. He frowned. He’d been thinking of his mother far too often today for his liking. It was Sera’s fault, or Colette’s; they’d had the bad taste to tell Sophie of his past. His memories of her were precious, and painful still.
Sera drew out the last phrase of the song and he saw her emerge into full awareness once again as her gaze swept the club, acknowledging the patrons. She was at ease until her gaze skimmed over the bar and her fingers tightened on the microphone. As Benoît began the next song, her smile became strained.
Marc glanced over. Jeremy Gordon stood at the bar, leaning his elbow casually on the wood as he lifted a tumbler of bourbon to his lips. He stared fixedly at Sera. When Marc looked back, Sera had looked away from Jeremy, but her movements were stiff and self-conscious, not at all like her usual self. He shot another glance at Jeremy and found that the man had moved closer, leaning on the rail that separated the two levels, his drink cupped in his hands. He looked like a predatory cat about to pounce on a sparrow perched warily on a branch.
And Sera was wary. Marc knew her poise was a careful act. Had they slept together, as Jeremy had insinuated? Marc hoped Jeremy hadn’t told her anything about his job. There had been no update from him regarding the thieves, and Marc was impatient. He wanted it to be over. The piece had been delivered and now there were only the loose ends to tidy away. But the man was single-minded in his attention; he hadn’t looked away from Sera for a moment, and Marc wondered if she distracted Jeremy from his tasks.
The band finished their set, but Jeremy hadn’t moved. Sera looked relieved to be off the stage and Marc rose from his seat as she approached their table.
“Thank you, Marc, but I need to get some water first.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. Marc took her hand and drew her to the banquette.
“Just relax. I’ll get it. We need a new bottle of champagne and a glass for you.” Sera sank into the dark velvet seat with a sigh.
Marc gave Jeremy only the barest of nods as he passed the man on his way to the bar, but Jeremy seemed to bristle. On his return with a carafe of water and a pair of glasses, Jeremy stopped him.
“Don’t monopolize her all night,” he remarked.
“Are you waiting for something?”
“She’s expecting me.”
“Is she? It didn’t look like it to me.”
“She is.”
“I’ll mention your interest, for all the good it’ll do you. Don’t you have other things to be doing?” Marc descended the steps, not bothering to wait for a reply. He deposited the carafe and glasses on the table.
“What did you say to him?” Sera asked in a low voice as he took a seat. Marc glanced back at Jeremy, who glared darkly at them before moving abruptly to the bar for another drink.
“I told him you were busy.”
Sera relaxed. “Thank you.” She poured herself a glass of water. Jean brought over the new bottle of champagne and a glass for Sera. With an unctuous manner, he showed Marc the label.
“Is this suitable, monsieur?”
“Yes, fine.”
Jean popped the cork with a flourish.
“I don’t know how much more champagne I can manage,” Sophie told Marc. Her cheeks were flushed.
“How much have you had?” Sera asked.
“We had a bottle at the Flore with dinner, and the bottle here,” Sophie replied. “I don’t think I’ll be very productive tomorrow.”
Marc grinned. “Worry about that tomorrow.” He filled their glasses with champagne. Sera’s glass bubbled over and she snagged it, drinking up the excess as it dribbled over the side. She set the glass down on a dry spot. “Je suis désolé, ma chère. I won’t waste champagne like that again.”
“I should hope not, but then, it’s your money.” Sera gave him a smile for the first time that night.
“Could you walk me to the taxi stand?” Sera asked some time later, long after they’d finished the champagne.
“Of course. We should be leaving also.” Marc glanced at Sophie, who nodded sleepily. They had stayed later than he planned, but he knew that it would be easier to convince Sophie to stay over. He rose, offering his hand to Sera and then to Sophie.
“Just let me get my things.” Sera disappeared towards the dressing room. He scanned the club idly when Sera didn’t immediately reappear.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Sophie before he strode over to the dressing room. The door was open, but the light from within was blocked by a large form. As he reached the dressing room he slowed to a casual pace, a hand in one pocket. “Are you ready, Sera?” he called.
Jeremy Gordon turned to face him. “She’s busy.”
“She didn’t say anything to me about it,” Marc replied. He shouldered Jeremy aside and found Sera in the dressing room, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She gave him a relieved look.
“It doesn’t matter; we have plans.”
“No, we don’t,” Sera said. Marc took her hand and then pushed by Jeremy. “Let’s go, Marc.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Jeremy said. Sera didn’t look back, but Marc felt her shiver. He put his arm around her as he led her back to where Sophie stood waiting. Jean had come down to say good night and collect the tab Marc had left on the table, tucked under a water glass.
“Merci beaucoup, monsieur.” Jean pocketed the money with a smile. “Bonne nuit, mademoiselles.”
“Good night, Jean,” Sophie replied.
“I hope we’ll see you again, mademoiselle.”
“When I can.”
“Goodnight, Jean.” Marc led Sophie and Sera to the door, glancing into the shadowy street. Jeremy was nowhere to be seen. The night air was crisp and Marc drew in a deep breath. Next to him, Sophie shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her. Even Sera adjusted her shawl to cover her exposed neck. He’d expected Jeremy to be waiting for them. Protectively, Marc laid an arm over Sophie’s shoulders and she tucked herself in close.
“It won’t take long to get a cab, will it?” Sophie asked.
“Hopefully not,” Sera replied. The streets were quiet at this late hour and Marc knew that a cab might be harder to come by, but once they reached the boulevard it shouldn’t be very long at all. They turned a corner and Sera nearly stumbled into a tall figure reclining against the wall.
“You really ought to share, Perron,” Jeremy said, grasping Sera by the arm. “I’ll take her home for you.”
Sera wrenched her arm free. “I told you before; I don’t want to see you.” She backed away.
“You heard the lady.” Marc shifted to put Sophie partly behind him as Jeremy advanced. Sera reached Marc’s side and he gave her a quick glance. She was pale but calm, her gaze fixed on Jeremy.
“I told you it wasn’t over.” Jeremy reached for Sera again, but Marc caught his wrist. They stared each other down, neither willing to give way.
“The lady said no.”
“Who said she was a lady?”
Marc felt the shift of Jeremy’s stance and tightened his grip. He yanked Jeremy’s arm just as the man threw a vicious punch. It upset his balance just enough to avoid a hit to the face. Instead Jeremy’s fist grazed Marc’s chin. It was enough to jar him, and he let go.
Marc took a step back, only vaguely hearing Sophie’s panicked voice. He raised his hands instinctively to block, so Jeremy’s next punch was unsuccessful. Not so for the next few. Marc's breath was sucked from him as Jeremy landed punches to his ribs. He threw a punch of his own, but Jeremy stepped out of reach. As Marc recovered his breath, he made his injuries seem worse than they were, hoping Jeremy would underestimate him. Jeremy drew a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open with a laugh.
“You’re a dead man,” he said. “Sera, if you come with me now I won’t have to kill him.”
“Don’t.” Marc kept his gaze on Jeremy even as he issued the terse command. He didn’t hear her reply. Jeremy lunged forward.
Marc dodged to the side, but not far enough to avoid the blade that slashed across his arm, cutting through the fabric of his jacket and shirt. He felt the sting, but ignored it. Jeremy came at him again, but Marc saw his chance. Using Jeremy’s momentum against him, he managed to grab the man’s arm and twist. With a sickening pop, the shoulder dislocated and the knife clattered to the pavement.
As Jeremy stumbled back, Marc let fly two swift punches that were feebly blocked, and a third went through Jeremy’s defenses to graze his cheek. His fury drove him forward, masking the pain in his arm. He heard the other man’s groan of frustration and easily blocked the punch Jeremy threw with his off hand.
A sharp jab broke Jeremy’s nose and Marc followed him as he stumbled back, kicking his knee out from under him. The adrenaline rushed through him as Jeremy fell back, landing hard on his knees. Marc didn’t bother to wait until he had time to regain his footing—he stood over Jeremy, grasping his short hair and pulling his head back.
“Don’t even think about it, Perron,” Jeremy spat, spraying blood over Marc’s suit. “You’ll regret it.”
“Will I? I’m not the one on the ground. You’re the one that came at me with a knife.” Marc struck him once, and then again. The blood streamed down Jeremy’s face, but Marc brought his knee up, connecting solidly with Jeremy’s skull. He watched with satisfaction as Jeremy’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. He let go and the man collapsed onto the pavement.
Marc stepped back, his breath coming in short pants. Jeremy had been strong, but not strong enough.
“Are you all right?” Sera was at his side, pulling him away from the scene. He looked at her, then over at Sophie, who looked about to faint.
“Fine,” he said, even as the burning pain in his arm began to make itself known. There was a rent in the sleeve of his jacket, but the dark made it difficult to see how much blood he’d lost.
“We need to call the police,” he heard Sophie say.
“And what would we say?” Sera asked. “Best to just leave him.” She put her arm around Sophie. “Come on, we’ll go find a taxi.”
“But... we should tell them.” Sophie sounded unsure, being the only voice of reason.
“No, it’s not worth it,” Sera told her. “And you’re shivering. We should get you somewhere warm.”
Marc put a hand over his wound and followed a pace behind as they walked out to the boulevard. A taxi pulled up almost as soon as they reached the stand and he tried to make himself presentable as Sera opened the door. The three of them crowded into the back; Sera put him between herself and Sophie as if she were afraid he was worse off than he had let on. He could have kissed her for that, but for Sophie. He gave the driver his address and then leaned back against the leather seat. He could feel the blood dampening his sleeve and he pressed down harder on the wound, gritting his teeth. Sophie trembled next to him and he would have put his arm around her if he could.
“Everything’s okay now,” he told her in a low voice, trying to be as soothing as he could without alarming the driver.
Sera paid the fare when the taxi drew up in front of his building. She took his keys from his pocket once the taxi had departed, leading Sophie inside. They climbed the few flights in silence. His ribs ached and by the time they reached his apartment, he had g
ritted his teeth against the pain. Once inside, Sera led Sophie away into his bedroom while he went straight to the kitchen, stripping off his jacket and leaving it on the floor in the hall. He heard Sophie begin to sob and he sighed. All his plans for the evening had been wasted. And Jeremy Gordon. He cursed. He should have handled those two thieves himself. This was going to cost him.
He peeled off his ruined shirt with a grunt of pain and got his first glance at the wound. The breeze from the open window touched his bare back and he shivered.
It wasn’t too deep—his jacket had protected him to some degree—but it ran almost the length of his forearm. He knew it probably needed stitches at its deepest point, but there would be no way to explain it to the attending physician. He turned on the tap and let the warm water run down his arm, letting out a low hiss as it washed the blood away. Sophie’s crying had subsided by the time he turned off the water. He pulled a clean dish towel from the drawer and patted his arm dry before he pressed it gingerly to the wound.
“Will you be okay?” Sera stood in the doorway, holding his jacket between two fingers. She dropped it on top of his shirt.
“I’d be better if I hadn’t had to fight some crazy bastard,” he growled. Sophie would be in no shape for seduction now. All his careful planning had gone awry. “What the hell is going on, Sera?”
“I put Sophie to bed.” Sera replied as if she hadn’t heard him. “It was hard to calm her down, but I gave her a pill to help her sleep.”
“Good,” he said tersely. The last thing he needed was for Sophie to see his wounds and faint. He lifted the towel to inspect the slash, replacing it as blood oozed slowly from the deepest part of the cut. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” Sera began. He gave a derisive laugh.
“Obviously he doesn’t listen to you, Seraphina. What is he to you?”
Sera didn’t reply.
“He seemed to think you were a whore,” Marc continued, “but I can’t imagine why he would think that. Care to enlighten me?”
The Paris Game Page 19
