BUTTERFLY: A Standalone Romantic Suspense

by Nelle L’Amour

  “Ha! The only thing he has that’s big is his cock.” She smirks. “And you of all people should know that.”

  Inwardly, I fume. I want to lash out at her, but why waste words on this insidious woman?

  Her gaze stays fixed on me. “Maybe it’s meant to be I ran into you here. I have something that belongs to you. I found it in Roman’s PO Box where he gets all his mail.” She reaches into her bag and whips out a manila envelope. “It was addressed to the House of Hurst, and with all the mail we get and my jet lag, I honestly didn’t see it was sent to your attention. It’s from Heritage.”

  She hands me the envelope. The seal is broken.

  “Thinking it was an inquiry from the world-renowned auction house, I read the letter inside.”

  I’m familiar with Heritage. The auction house was a major donor to Parsons where I studied. I’m unsure why they’re contacting me.

  “Take a look-see,” says Kendra, her orbs glinting with amusement. “It’s a good thing you’re sitting. I hope you don’t need reading glasses.”

  Ignoring her barb, I slip out the contents. Two stapled sheets of paper. My eyes travel down the top page.

  Dear Ms. Lockhart:

  Based on the detailed analysis of STR loci in the table attached, the alleged mother cannot be excluded as the biological mother of the tested child. The probability of maternity is 99.8888%.

  Sincerely,

  Albert Yang

  Laboratory Director

  What!!?? This must be a different Heritage. A mistake! My pulse quickening, I flip to the second page. A meaningless table of symbols and numbers stares at me, but what makes by eyes pop are the two names heading the columns: Child: Sophie Lockhart and next to that: Alleged Mother: Ava DuBois

  Despite my name being spelled wrong, the test results shake in my trembling hands. A whirlpool of confusion, disbelief, and shock spins in my head, making me dizzy. And daunted. I read the letter again.

  “I don’t understand,” I stammer, looking up at my nemesis.

  “It’s plain and simple,” says Kendra, with a snicker. “You’re the slut’s daughter.”

  “Ava’s daughter? How could that be?”

  “Why don’t you find out?” She snickers again. “Just call your mother.”

  In a frenzy, I reach for my phone. It’s dead!

  “You can use mine.” Kendra whips out her phone from her bag. “What’s the number?” My voice unsteady, I tell her the ten-digit number and she puts the call on speaker. After the third ring, someone picks up.

  “Hello?” My mother. Her voice falters as she surely doesn’t recognize the number I’m calling from.

  “Mom, it’s me. Sofi.”

  Recognizing my voice, her tone brightens. “Oh, hi, darling. Did you get a new phone number?”

  “No, Mom. My phone’s dead. I’m calling from another phone.” My voice quivers, causing her concern.

  “Honey, is everything okay?”

  “Y-yes,” I stutter. God, no!

  “Thank goodness.” Relief colors her voice. “Your father and I have been worried about you. We haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Mom . . . ” My heart in my throat, I pause as Kendra’s expectant gaze stays trained on me. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Of course.”

  “Mom . . . ” Another pregnant pause. My mouth dry as cotton, I inhale a steeling breath, and on my exhale, the words fly out, bleeding together. “Was I conceived with a donor egg?”

  Hushed silence on the other end.

  Dead silence on mine.

  Finally, “Yes, honey, you were.” Her voice wavers. “I planned on telling you one day.”

  The reality that Roman’s almost wife, the mother of his unborn child, could be—is?—my biological mother hits me like a sledgehammer. I grip my stomach, hoping I won’t vomit as my mother continues.

  “After your sister Flora died, your father and I desperately wanted another child. But since I carried the Gaucher gene, the risk of getting pregnant and losing another child to the horrible disease was too high. Neither of us could bear it. We considered adopting, but then I learned about IVF and egg donors . . . and sought out a fertility clinic that had a donor bank. The woman, whose eggs I chose, had all the qualities we were seeking in a child.”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  “She donated anonymously, but I saw a photo of her.”

  My heart gallops. “What did she look like?”

  She describes the donor in detail. Everything she says sounds just like the svelte beauty in those photographs hanging in Roman’s quarters. Ava! Roman’s first love!

  “Do you by chance have a photo of her?”

  “Darling, I don’t. We didn’t have iPhones back then and any form of photography was prohibited. Just know, honey, she was a great beauty. Like you. Once a high-fashion model with the most exquisite green eyes. And so smart and creative. And she spoke fluent French.”

  There’s no longer any doubt in my mind. From the corner of my eye, I see Kendra shoot me a ho-hum look.

  Silence again. My mother’s watery voice rises above it.

  “Sofi, darling, are you still there? Can you forgive me?”

  I say nothing. I feel her remorse. Her guilt.

  “Your father and I love you so, so much. You need to know that. To the moon and back.”

  I swallow hard, gulping back all my bumper car emotions. One colliding into another. Tears sting my eyes and clog my throat. I finally find my voice, woeful as it is.

  “Mom, there’s nothing to forgive. I love you both so much too.”

  I hear a sigh of relief. She changes the subject, her voice stronger. “How’s your job going?”

  For the first time, the significance of this shocking discovery hits me like a wrecking ball. It knocks all the air out of my lungs, all rationality out of my brain. I grow light-headed, almost faint. The walls of this room are closing in on me. Consuming me. I can never see Roman again!

  “Darling, are you there?”

  A strangled breath in my throat catches my voice. It takes all my wherewithal to respond.

  “M-Mom, actually things aren’t going well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “R-Roman and I had a falling out.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “Would it be okay if I came home?” In the corner of my watering eye, I see Kendra smirk.

  “Of course, my poor darling.” I hear the compassion in her voice. “Your favorite meal will be waiting for you.”

  “M-Mom, I’ll be there in a little bit. On the next train.”

  No appetite in me, I stumble to my feet and stagger to the entrance of the restaurant as fast as my leaden legs will carry me. Leaving the letter and my phone behind on the table.

  “Have a good trip,” I hear Kendra snip.

  Wrought with shock and sorrow, I’m out the door. Leaving my heart and the man I love behind.

  Forever.

  CHAPTER 47

  Roman

  My session with Dr. Goodman, my shrink, went exceedingly well. I’ve been seeing him since I lost Ava and the baby. A renowned Upper West Side therapist specializing in grief, he used to come to my atelier on the day he teaches at nearby NYU, but now I don’t mind traveling to his office. He was instrumental in getting me through my darkest time and the horrible guilt and sorrow I suffered after the accident. He’s always felt that I needed to let go and move on. Find someone new to love. That I was capable and deserving. But my remorse persevered.

  Over the past few months, he’s noticed a marked change in my behavior. A glint in my eye that’s not been there before. A newfound joie de vivre and passion for my work. Today, I finally opened up to him about my relationship with Sofi, and he actually clapped his hands. His advice was to follow my heart and let things progress naturally. Look ahead, not look back. There’s a reason rearview mirrors are so small and windshields so big. Big enough to crash through, but I shoved that thought to the back
of my mind.

  Returning to my atelier at a little after two, I can’t wait to take the new love of my life, this exquisite butterfly, who has given me light and inspiration, into my arms and smother her with kisses. Then carry her upstairs to my bedroom and fly her high into the sky. Stepping inside, I search for her. She’s usually in her corner painting, but she’s not there. I know it’s ridiculous—for all I know she could be in the bathroom—but a panic button goes off inside me.

  The studio is abuzz with my seamstresses stitching gowns and accessorizing them with final details like feathers and crystals, Madame DuBois among them. My heart galloping, I dash up to her.

  “Where’s Sofi?” I ask, trying to stay as calm as possible.

  “Monsieur, I haven’t seen her for quite some time. Maybe she slipped away upstairs.”

  Taking the stairs two steps at a time, I bound up to my living quarters and search the place like a madman. She’s nowhere to be found. I clamber back downstairs. Still no sign of Sofi.

  I hastily pull out my phone and check the tracker app. Fuck. Her phone must be off or in a dead zone. I can’t get a signal. I try calling her, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  My mind races. Maybe she went to that little coffee shop around the corner that she loves. Shit. What’s it called? La Bree-something. La Briquage? La Brisé? La Brioche? Yes, that’s it! Wasting no time, I call it. No, Sofi’s not there nor has she been all day.

  I’m getting all worked up. Every muscle in my body is knotting, the vein in my temple vibrating with fury. Where the fuck could she have gone? I swear to God I’m going to spank the sass out of her gorgeous ass when she comes back. Then buy her a collar and leash if I have to. Or microchip her! Think, asshole, think! Think, think, think! I know! I bet she went to the Museum of Natural History . . . to see the butterflies. I quickly call the museum and ask the operator if someone can check for her in the conservatory. I tell her she’s easy to spot—she’s wearing my butterfly scarf in her hair and a bright floral skirt.

  “Sorry, sir,” replies the voice on the other end. “It’s highly improbable she’s there as the conservatory is closed today for a private event.”

  Shit. Without thanking her or saying goodbye, I end the call. And make another. Vincent. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  “Is Sofi with you?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her since I came by your studio.”

  “I don’t know where she is.” I can no longer hide the panic in my voice. “And can’t reach her on her cell.”

  “Chill, dude. Maybe she went to see her friend Harper. She’s been talking about doing that for a while.”

  My body tenses. Fucking Harper. That girl is going to be the death of me. Thank fucking God I have her contact info and can text her. After ending my call with Garcia, I fire her off two short lines.

  Call me. It’s important!

  To my relief, my phone rings a few seconds later. It’s her. I have no clue if she knows about my relationship with Sofi, but right now I don’t give a damn.

  “Hey, Harper. Is Sofi with you?”

  “She should be with me!” Fury laces her voice. “I can’t believe she stood me up! I mean, seriously, I was only thirty minutes late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was supposed to meet me for lunch at the Sutton Inn. I had a million swatches of fabric to show her! And I wanted to tell her about the spat I had with Derek!”

  Pacing, I cut her off. I don’t have time for her fabric or marital problems. “Do you know where she went?”

  “No clue. And I haven’t been able to reach her. The hostess said she left the restaurant before I got there and didn’t seem too happy.”

  Worry floods every cell in my body. “Let me know if you hear from her.” I hit the red end call button.

  About to call the restaurant next to see if they have more information, I’m assaulted by a familiar cloying scent. I spin around.

  Kendra! The last person I want to see.

  “Hello, darling!” Her voice is as cloying as her scent. Her scrutinizing eyes circle the atelier, bouncing from one draped dress form to the next. “So, it looks like your new collection is coming along. It’ll be a wonder if we can afford a venue.”

  I don’t have time for her snake-tongued barbs. “Kendra, why are you here?”

  “Hmm, you seem to have forgotten that I own forty-nine percent of this company. Anyway, I have all your mail—I took care of most of your ridiculous bills. Seriously, fifteen thousand dollars for some stupid crystals that’ll fall off the minute you breathe on them? You need your head examined!” Contempt etched on her face, she reaches into her enormous bag and pulls out a stuffed yellow envelope. Invoices. She hands it to me. Then, reaches back into her bag. “Oh, and there’s something that came for that little slut of yours that you may want to take a look at.” She shoves another envelope at me. “Tah-tah. I have a doctor’s appointment I can’t be late for.”

  With a fling of her head and a smirk, she pivots. Then, saunters to the front door and lets herself out. Fuck her.

  I toss the thick, bill-filled yellow envelope onto a drafting table and stare at the thin manila envelope in my hand addressed to Sofi though her name is misspelled. Why is it torn open? Curiosity gets the better of me. I reach inside and slip out the contents. I read the two-page letter.

  And almost have a coronary.

  CHAPTER 48

  Sofi

  I hardly leave my room.

  I spend most of my days crying and staring at the colorful butterflies I painted on the walls. The butterflies I wish could erase or paint over because they make me think of him. Oh God! How I miss him! Some days the heartache is so great, I want to tear my beating organ out of my chest.

  Both my parents are very concerned about me. I’m hardly eating or getting enough sleep. And when I do doze off, I no longer dream of beautiful butterflies soaring or dancing. Instead, I’m plagued by terrible nightmares. In one, I’m a Luna moth, and someone is chasing me. Brandishing their net in the air. Whoosh. Whoosh. I flutter my wings madly trying to escape, but my predator picks up their pace and I’m caught! Held captive. A doomed prisoner in the mesh net.

  In another, I’m a glorious Monarch, just like my old pet Buddy, and when I land on a sunflower, someone who sounds like Kendra cries, “Ha! Got you!” and clasps my folded wings between their hands, completely tattering them and squishing my tiny body. I wake up screaming as my sadistic captor tosses me to the ground and leaves me to die.

  My compassionate mother encourages me to talk about what happened with Roman, but I tell her I can’t. It’s all so raw, complicated, and unfathomable. Thank goodness she lets it go though she checks in on me frequently, to stroke my hair or bring me homemade soup I barely touch. My dad stays away. I think he’s afraid he’ll lash out at me and tell me how inappropriate Roman was for me. He’s so right. And so wrong.

  The only time I leave my room is to use the bathroom where I also take long hot baths. Buried neck-high in the sudsy water, dreaming of Roman, his strapping arms around me, his lush mouth on mine, kissing me everywhere as he pumps me with love. Reliving all the incredible memories I shared with him. The good and the bad. The tears and the laughter. All those unforgettable moments that randomly play in my head like a montage. Sadly, I don’t have one picture of him. Or of us together. Maybe it’s better that way. It’ll be easier to forget. Move on. Who am I kidding? The ache between my legs is as great as the ache in my chest and sometimes the only way I can deal with it is by relieving myself. Masturbation is merely a Band-Aid. The ache always comes back. It never goes away.

  Perhaps what I need is closure. And for sure, I owe it to him. Two weeks after fleeing the city, I sit down at my childhood desk and find an old piece of butterfly-decorated stationary. Fighting back tears, I compose a letter. The words come from a place deep inside my heart.

  Dearest Roman~

  I am writing you because I
need closure and believe I owe you the same.

  Without getting into details, an unexpected twist of fate gave me no choice but to say goodbye. It’s impossible for me to ever see you again. Even as friends. Our love is in one word: Forbidden. Not meant to be.

  I have a confession. I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. Yes, that bogus interview. And with each passing moment I spent with you, my love grew greater. Exponentially. We became like the wings of a butterfly—two hearts united by body and mind.

  Soul mates.

  Thank you for giving me the chance to work on your collection and for allowing me to do what I love to do most. Paint. The collection is extraordinary, beyond my wildest imagination, and I wish you the utmost success. And thank you for giving Vincent his first big break. Be good to him. He is a good person and deserves success too. I only regret he’s going to lose the bet we made. You and I will never be.

  Every time I see a butterfly, I will think of you. Think of us. My heart will break and tears will fall. I will stay true to our original NDA. I will never tell anyone anything personal about you. Nor about us. I’m staying at my parents’ house until I recover and figure out what’s next.

  Roman, just know you will always be my first love, my great love. My one and only Blue Morpho.

  Forever~

  Your Butterfly

  Without rereading the letter, I fold it in half before tears fall and put it in an envelope with his name on it. I’m going to have my mom mail it to Vincent and ask him to hand-deliver it. I know he will.

  Placing it safely out of the path of my floodgates, I bury my head in my arms and let the waterworks come.

  CHAPTER 49

  Roman

  The next three weeks of my life are the worst I’ve experienced since Ava’s tragic death. My nightmares have come back. These different . . . white butterflies swarming my eyes, attacking me, holding me captive in a dark vortex. Their white powder blinding me as their wings transform into sharp shards of glass. Slashing my skin. Slicing my hands as I frantically swat at them. The pain so great I scream and bolt awake in a cold, sickening sweat.