“Please, Seraphina.”
She drew back, the air a chill caress on his thighs. He put all his pent-up longing, and all his desire, into his next words.
“I need you.”
She took him in hand and slid forward. He was enveloped in her slick heat, the sensation so intense that he muffled his groan in the crook of her neck. She rocked her hips against him and then placed her hands on his chest and pushed.
He fell back and she rode him to the edge before easing away, her nails digging into his chest. She did it again, and a third time, until the perspiration prickled on his brow. Her smile told him she knew exactly what she was doing. She loosed his hand from her hip, letting it drag up over her body as she brought it to her lips. She kissed his palm and directed his hand downward once more, between her legs. His fingers found her bud and as he caressed her, she shuddered against him with a cry, tightening around his cock. She sunk onto his chest, her breathing heavy.
Marc rolled onto his side, bringing her leg up onto his shoulder. Her fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck as he thrust into her, the orgasm overtaking him.
“I love you,” he murmured against her neck. He didn’t know if she heard him, but her pulse beat against his cheek, momentarily irregular before it began to calm.
Sera relaxed against him, but her skin felt cool to the touch, and he moved them under the covers. She tucked in beside him, her leg over his, dozing in the cocoon of warmth. She didn’t acknowledge his words, but when he stroked her hair, she murmured something unintelligible, her eyes closed. He heard her breathing slow and wished that he could sleep as easily. The post-sex euphoria dwindled and his mind returned to earlier events. Even if the police were unable to find evidence, and he hoped that would be the case, he knew that Royale’s reach was vast. He needed to call the club.
Marc got out of bed, tucking the covers back in around Sera. The dark circles under her eyes were stark in her pale face and he hoped she wouldn’t wake for hours. He pulled on a clean pair of trousers and a t-shirt, snagging his phone from the table before he walked from the room on silent feet.
He tossed the towels into the hamper and went to the kitchen. The espresso brewed quickly and he downed his first cup in two swallows. The second cup he sipped at a more leisurely pace. He lit a cigarette, cracking open the window.
Marc’s phone buzzed on the counter, rattling the small porcelain cup in its saucer. He glanced at the number, but it was unfamiliar.
“Oui?”
Françoise’s prim voice came over the line. “Monsieur Royale wishes to speak with you.”
Royale was calling him. How did he find out so quickly? He took a deep drag on his cigarette to calm his nerves.
“Perron.” Royale greeted him with grim amusement. “Did you really think that you could keep this a secret?”
Chapter 18
Sera woke in a daze, enveloped by warmth. It took her several moments to remember where she was. The strains of Marc’s cello came through the closed door and she sat up in bed. How long had she slept? The drapes had been shut and she reached to turn on the bedside lamp. She didn’t see a clock but clothes lay folded at the end of the bed. She slid out from under the covers.
The black trousers were her size, still crisp from pressing. They looked new, though there were no tags. The shirt felt like cashmere, a long-sleeved top in deep violet. There was clean underwear too, but no bra. The shirt clung to her when she put it on. She glanced around for her bag, but couldn’t see it. She smoothed her hair down with her fingers, but she needed her brush.
She hesitated at the door, her hand hovering over the knob. The cello went quiet and she wondered if he’d heard her moving about, but then the first notes of the Tchaikovsky nocturne came through the door, one of her favourite pieces. How could she face him now? Last night had been an impulse, an urgent need. Today, she wanted to creep out in silence, to hide away and pretend that nothing had ever happened. He knew all her secrets, and she felt ashamed.
Sera stood at the door until Marc had finished playing. She quietly turned the knob, easing out into the living room. He didn’t notice her at first, but then he lifted his head. He smiled—one of his genuine smiles that crinkled the skin around his eyes—rising from his chair to lay the cello back in its case. She hung by the doorway until he came to her.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, bending to kiss her. She allowed it, but stepped back when he tried to deepen the kiss. The more aloof she was, the easier this would be.
“You bought me clothes?” She’d meant to start with something more gracious, but the words just slipped out.
He chuckled. “Don’t you like them?”
“You didn’t need to.” He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Already her resolve had weakened.
“But what would you have worn?” he asked, before becoming solemn. “I had to throw out your dress. There was too much blood.”
“I expected as much.” She frowned. “I loved that dress, though. And I guess you had to throw out my bra too?”
“I’d have bought you a new one but the Monoprix nearby didn’t have your size. It was the only place open this morning.”
“Thank you.” She spotted her bag by the sofa and picked it up, sitting down to dig through it for her hairbrush.
“Coffee?” Marc asked. She looked up.
“Please.”
He left the room. She found her brush and began working on her hair. She should never have slept on it while it was wet. She had only half-finished the task of detangling it when Marc returned with two cups. She set down the brush and took a sip of the café crème. Marc settled next to her on the sofa. He was too close to her and she wanted to move away, but she couldn’t. She felt as if she were sitting on eggshells. He seemed to be waiting for something. After she’d set down her cup and returned to brushing her hair, he leaned forward.
“Sera,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I need to know—how much do you owe Royale?”
The worry that had been nagging her curled itself into a ball in her stomach. She hadn’t expected him to ask that, not yet. She wished Jeremy hadn’t said anything. That was a worse shame than turning tricks, that she’d put herself in the position in the first place. “Too much,” she said shortly, focusing on brushing her hair. He sighed.
“How much?” he pushed.
“Almost ten thousand euros.” She forced her hands to stop trembling. “At first he was fine with my repaying him 300 euros a week, but he kept wanting more.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
She’d known he would ask that question sooner or later. “You weren’t here.” She blinked back unexpected tears. “I was desperate and no one I knew had any money.”
He winced. “But what did you need so much for?”
She turned away so he couldn’t see her swiping at her tears. “My mother called, in dire straits. She’d promised me before that she’d stop gambling, but she’d lied. She was going to be evicted from her apartment because she couldn’t pay the rent, hadn’t paid the rent in months. I couldn’t let her be homeless.”
“Is she going to pay you back?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ve a greater chance of winning the lottery.”
“But you never said anything when I came back. You didn’t ask for help then. Instead, we have our wager.”
“You brought that up,” she reminded him. “It wasn’t my idea in the first place. And when you did, it seemed easier—it would solve my problems in one fell swoop.”
“Would you have asked even if we hadn’t made the wager?”
She looked right at him. “No. I didn’t want to be beholden.”
He rested his forehead on his hand. “You would rather turn tricks than ask me for money.”
“I hadn’t planned to, but when Royale started demanding more money, it was the only way I could come up with the cash.” She saw him shake his head. “I couldn’t get another job and a paycheque
before it was due,” she snapped, hating him then, hating the shame he made her feel for doing what she’d had to do.
“What if you can’t manage?”
“I’ll pay it off, you don’t have to worry about that.” She didn’t want his help.
“Can you? Do you think Royale will be patient? He didn’t sound so patient yesterday.”
Sera nearly dropped the brush. “You talked to him?”
“He called. I didn’t call him.”
“What did he say?” She tried not to shiver.
“He knew about the fire. And he knew that we’d been there.” He paused. “He doesn’t know who killed Jeremy, though.”
“How’d he find out so fast? If he finds out it was me...”
“I think Claude and Michel may have gone to see him; he wouldn’t tell me how he knew. But he won’t find out.” His arm came around her shoulders and she allowed herself to lean into his embrace.
“But he will. He always knows.”
“I have to see him tomorrow,” Marc told her. “I’m going to tell him I did it.”
Sera clenched her hands around the handle of her brush. “You would lie for me?” He looked at her solemnly.
“I would.”
“He’ll kill you.” She couldn’t imagine Royale doing anything less. And she would be the cause.
“He won’t.” Marc’s confidence surprised her.
“Why?” Royale had no reason to let Marc live once he knew. She looked at him, puzzled, and saw that he’d become pensive. How did he know Royale would spare him? And then it came to her. “You know Royale. Well.”
He drew back. “I’ve met him.” His evasiveness told her more than he’d planned.
“It must be more than that. Jeremy worked for Royale, by the sounds of it, but yet, he knew you. What did he mean when he said that your priorities had changed?”
“You heard that?”
“Did you want Claude and Michel dead? That’s what it sounded like to me.”
Marc didn’t answer. He rose abruptly and picked up his cigarette case from the table.
“What were they to you? And why did you have a gun hidden away?” She wanted him to answer, but instead he lit a cigarette and turned away. “From what I can tell, you’ve become as much of a gangster as he is.”
“I’m the one who came after you,” he reminded her.
“You did,” she acknowledged. “And I’m grateful. But that’s all.” She rose, her heart aching.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I have to work tonight—I have debts to pay.” She walked towards the hallway, clutching her bag.
“And last night meant nothing?”
She turned back. “It meant I was alive.” She hated the look on his face, the flash of pain in his eyes before he hid it behind a stony mask. “But how can I trust you when you’re doing business with Royale?”
“I’d never hurt you.”
“You did once,” she reminded him. “You’re trustworthy in business, but not in life. I expect you’ll still honor our wager.”
“And if you lose?” he asked her.
“Will I?” She backed away as he stepped towards her. “You have five days left, Marc.” She bent to slip on her shoes, and when she straightened, he was next to her. She flinched.
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“It is.”
“I’ll speak to you in five days then.” He lifted his hand to touch her, but she stepped back, opening the door. He dropped his hand. She slipped out the door and he didn’t come after her.
Sera glanced at the news kiosk as she crossed the boulevard St. Germain, slowing as she spotted that evening’s edition of Le Monde. She picked up the paper and fumbled for coins in her bag to hand to the proprietor.
“Those gangs are going to be the death of us all,” the woman remarked. Sera looked up. “That story you were looking at—the fire in that old building—the cops say it was probably gangs.” She sniffed, turning the page of her magazine.
“Oh.” Sera looked more closely at the photo. The building where she’d been held was now a smoking ruin. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Cops aren’t saying. Usually that means they found something.”
Sera let her expression settle into blankness, even as her heart pounded. She gave a nod to the woman and continued on her way to the club, the newspaper tucked under her arm. She turned into the side street and saw Jean standing at the door. His tie was loose around his neck and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the gutter.
“So, you decided to show up,” he remarked as she drew level. “How nice of you.”
“I was ill,” she retorted.
“Sure you were,” Jean replied. “You’re not getting anything for last night, so don’t even ask.”
“Fine. I wasn’t expecting it,” she replied. “May I pass?”
Jean didn’t move. “Next time, call in yourself. I know you thought getting Perron to call would be in your favour, but if you do it again, I’ll have you sacked.” Having said his piece, he stepped aside. She pushed open the door and entered the dim club.
Her heels clicked on the old parquet, echoing in the empty room. The old cleaning lady looked up from her mop and gave Sera a smile before going back to her work. Sera paused at the bar. Alain came out from the back carrying a case of imported beer. She frowned.
“I thought Edouard was working tonight,” she said.
“We swapped,” Alain replied, kneeling to stock up the cooler. “That’s why Jean’s in such a miserable mood. We didn’t clear it with his majesty.”
“Typical. Is Edouard back tomorrow?”
“Not until Tuesday I think.” Alain shrugged. “He was telling me about this girl he met. I guess he’s forgotten all about Paula. He sounds head over heels.”
“How sweet.” She itched to call him and find out what he and Sophie were up to. Maybe something in her life would go right.
“Isn’t it?” Alain laughed. “That’s probably why Jean’s mad—he’s jealous that Edouard gets all the ladies.”
“Very likely. See you later.” As soon as she entered her dressing room, she spread the newspaper out over the vanity.
The woman at the kiosk had been right. The police were being close-mouthed about their investigation. How much evidence had been destroyed? She didn’t have to close her eyes to remember Marc dumping gasoline over Jeremy’s body. Would he have burned away? She hoped so. She set the paper aside and leaned forward, reaching for her powder.
She examined her face closely in the mirror. The marks from Jeremy’s fingers were light shadows, hardly noticeable, and she knew she could easily cover them. The bruises on her body would be covered by her dress, long sleeved and ankle length. If it didn’t glimmer under the stage lights, it would be considered quite conservative. She pulled it on, and just in time as she heard a knock on the door. She rose, the dress swirling around her ankles. Benoît stood waiting, immaculate in his usual suit and tie.
“I’m glad you’re here. It was tough doing two sets last night.” He smiled to take the sting from his words. “Are you feeling better?”
“Mostly. I’m sorry I left you scrambling last night.” She pulled the door shut behind her and they walked to the stage.
“It could have been worse,” Benoît replied. “We took requests from the crowd—they seemed to like that. I’m sick of playing ‘As Time Goes By’, so we’re not doing that one for weeks.”
She cracked a smile. “Fine with me. What’s our setlist for tonight?”
Benoît pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “There’s a couple of Billie Holiday tunes to start, then some Dietrich, and finishing with Piaf, of course.”
“How about 'Je ne regrette rien' instead of 'La Vie en Rose'? I know that’s a favourite, but I’m really not in the mood.”
“Done.” Benoît took the list, placing it on his piano. “Want to warm up a bit? We can entertain the early arrivals until
Serge and Patrice get here.” He gestured to the foursome that stood near the bar, debating where to sit.
“All right.” She took the few stairs to the stage. Benoît sat at his piano and began to play. A series of chords segued into the opening bars of 'Stardust'. She let him play through the first verse, and when he began again, she was ready.
Sera smiled widely to the small audience as they applauded after the last song. She didn’t need to worry about Jeremy haunting the shadows of the club—he was gone forever. She wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder in worry. She felt nearly liberated, and she would be once she paid the rest of her debt.
She retreated to the dressing room to change out of her stage attire and back into her street clothes. She’d kept on the trousers Marc had bought her, but had swapped the sweater for a white t-shirt and a grey cardigan. She pulled her hair back in a simple braid, then dug into her bag for money to pay Benoît. She hadn’t forgotten that she still owed him for the cab.
Her phone buzzed twice. She had missed messages. She took it out and looked at the screen. Marc hadn’t called, but Edouard had, probably to tell her that he wasn’t going to be at work. She put the phone to her ear, but Sophie’s voice came over the line.
“I’m sorry we weren’t there tonight to see you perform,” Sophie said. She lowered her voice. “I wanted to call you while Edouard’s getting dinner, because I just had to tell you—” She giggled, and Sera couldn’t help but smile. “—we were together last night and it was so incredible. I didn’t think my first time would be like that.” She paused. “Oh, I hear him coming in—I should go. Call me when you have a moment!”
Sera saved the message. A grin spread across her face. Sophie had given her the best present ever. With shaking hands, she dialed Marc’s number. Even with the lateness of the hour, he answered.
“Sera?”
“You’ve lost.” She heard nothing but silence for several moments.
“Prove it,” he said tersely. Her grin widened.
“I shall. Tomorrow?”
“Why not tonight, ma chère?”
The Paris Game Page 25
