“Why didn’t you tell me you had paid off Royale?” she asked. He shifted on the pew. “Do I owe you now instead of him? I don’t understand.”
His phone rang and he pulled it out and glanced at it before turning it off. When he looked at her again, he was solemn. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“But why?” She looked up at him then. Even though he wore a dark and elegant suit, the shadows under his eyes made him look worn, almost haggard.
“He shouldn’t have had any power over you. He’s too dangerous.”
Sera couldn’t help the abrupt laugh that slipped from her mouth. “He doesn’t have anything over me now—I’ve quit. But you’ve taken that power of his—I’m obligated.” She put her hand on her bag. She wanted the money, but it wasn’t hers. “I shouldn’t have that money.” She went to open her bag, but his hand came down on hers, stilling her movement.
“It’s yours. I knew what I was doing, that you’ll use it for something important.” His fingers curled around hers and she squeezed his hand.
“I’m going to Marseille,” she told him. “I’m not sure if I’ll be back.” She heard his indrawn breath.
“What could I do to convince you to stay?” he asked. She shook her head.
“There’s nothing.”
“Truly, Seraphina?”
Sera stifled the tremor that went through her. She remembered his first use of her full name, in that tiny and crowded bar a stone’s throw from the Seine. It had been years ago, but the memory was clear as if it had happened only yesterday. He’d put his arm around her and leaned forward, his breath brushing her ear, and whispered her name. He’d been the answer, the end to her lonely first weeks in Paris, telling her that they’d become inseparable. She rested against him as she’d done that night.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “But I’ll always miss the man you were, the one I could trust. The one who always told me the truth.” He didn’t say a word, but he lifted her hand. She felt the press of his lips.
“Sometimes I see hints of that man—” She thought of his smile yesterday as he’d glanced up from his cello, of when he’d brushed away her tears, and when he’d curled his body around hers. “—but it’s not enough.”
Marc leaned forward, bending his head so his lips almost brushed her ear, as he’d done that first night. “Je suis désolé, Seraphina,” he began. “I can only attempt to tell you the truth now.” He told her of hiring the thieves, and the arrangement with the English art dealer. He told her of the mishaps and his decisions, everything that had led up to the bloody conclusion with Jeremy Gordon. “None of it should have happened. If I could, I would change everything I’ve done to keep it from coming to pass.” He laid his soul before her for judgment, and she found her rigid stance softening.
“I wish that too.” Sera’s next words caught in her throat, but she forced them out. “Will you promise to tell me the truth?”
“Will you?”
“You know my secrets now,” she replied. “But there’s something I don’t understand. How long have you been dealing with gangsters?” She felt him sigh.
“Since my uncle was alive.”
“He didn’t care?”
“It was good money. He liked the excitement. I didn’t know any better then.”
“You do now. You could stop.”
“I don’t know. Once you’re in, you can’t escape.” He sounded defeated. She cupped his cheek with her free hand and their eyes met.
“Give it up.” He looked startled. “Sell it all to Fournier. You don’t need to be an art dealer all your life.”
“That wouldn’t be safe. I doubt Royale will care that I’ve sold up.”
“He couldn’t pursue you. What have you done?”
“I know things. Not a lot, but enough that it leaves him vulnerable.”
“What if you came with me?” Her fingers tightened on his. Could she do it, let him come with her to Marseille? It’d be just the two of them again, something she’d only dreamed of alone at night, in that secret spot in her heart.
“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. You said as much yesterday.”
“You didn’t seem willing to leave it all behind. I’ve had enough of gangsters.”
“If I’m not an art dealer, what would I do?” His eyes held a spark of hope.
Sera smiled. “Do you remember when we first met?”
“Of course.”
“When you found out I could sing, you said we’d become the next Gainsbourg and Birkin. We still could be.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? I should have thought of something better. They didn’t end well.” Marc stroked her hand with his thumb. His touch soothed her. It had to turn out right.
“The idea’s a good one.” She paused, thinking of how to convince him. “Marc, would you really miss the work? You told me once you’d give almost anything to leave it behind.”
He looked pensive. She waited, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wanted to be a cellist in an orchestra, a celebrated soloist. But I’m too old for that now; it’s been too long.”
“You don’t need an orchestra. What about a pas de deux?”
“In Marseille?”
“Anywhere.” She wanted him to see the possibility, to say yes. “Remember, Marc? We were going to conquer the world. It’s still there.” She saw the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Is that your master plan?” That was the Marc she knew, gently teasing her for her grandiose dreams. She grinned.
“Yes, it is. You’d be happy.”
“I would be content. You, and music.” He tilted her chin upward and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. It was like their first kiss, passionate but hesitant, feeling their way to each other, testing the waters. She clung to him and she never wanted this moment to end.
“We should go,” she said when they broke apart.
“We will.” Marc took both her hands in his. “Will you be happy?”
She thought of her need for him, a love that had persisted through the worst of everything. Just the two of them, together, away from Royale, from the club, from their old lives... “Yes, I would.” He moved to kiss her again, but she forestalled him, resting her fingers on his lips. “Not in church.”
He laughed, and that genuine smile appeared. “Let’s go, ma chère.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “We have no time to waste.”
“We have all the time in the world.”
THE END
FORTHCOMING
Next in the Le Chat Rouge series, coming Fall 2013:
Moonlight & Love Songs
Benoît has given up on love, content to play the piano at Le Chat Rouge, but when a new singer stumbles into the club, he feels an attraction. Daniel is everything he once dreamed of.
Daniel has come from Marseille, looking to escape bad decisions and worse memories. He never expected to fall in love, and when his past catches up with him it could ruin the only thing he's ever found worth living for.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to my parents for taking me to Paris in 2003, sparking a love affair with the City of Light. Thank you to Tiffany Reisz, who was my first reader and always has been a support and inspiration. Thank you to the members of Calgary RWA. Without their support, this book might never have been published.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alyssa Linn Palmer is a Canadian writer and freelance editor. She splits her time between a full-time day job, and her part-time loves, writing and editing. Her novella PROHIBITED PASSION and short story BETTING THE FARM are available as ebooks. Her short story VEE is a part of the charity anthology FELT TIPS, and its sequel is in the anthology ANYTHING SHE WANTS. She’s currently working on several new projects. She loves to hear from readers, and you can find her online at www.alyssalinnpalmer.com, or on Twitter @alyslinn.
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