by Deana Birch
They each took a long draw from their glasses, silence descending upon them as Claire formulated a speech in her head, one that would not end with her declaration of love because he would be uninterested as soon as she confessed.
The sharp ringing of her phone pierced the air and she groaned. Julien’s eyes darted between her and the device before rolling toward the ceiling. “How many times?”
“That’s the third this morning…plus two text messages.”
Julien shook his head. “All the best private schools, Oxford University, advanced degrees in business and your secretary holds all the knowledge.”
She grabbed his hand as the phone quieted. “Not just my assistant…my very best friend.”
* * * *
One word. When she’d finally been brave enough to send Luca a text requesting he meet her in his suite at the club, his response had only been one word, although it had come in record time, within seconds of her hitting Send.
Yes.
So, as the clock hand crept closer and closer to the six, indicating it was nearly half past their scheduled meeting time, her stomach seized. He wasn’t coming. A stream of worries raced through her head, but she dismissed them with a shake. There was no accident. There was no emergency. Luca was fine. Gianna was fine. The precious little angel who FaceTimed her Cuca in tears was fine.
Likely the only thing that had happened was he’d had enough time to replay her words from that night and realize he’d dodged a bitch-shaped bullet. She tried to summon some irritation at the prompt Mr. Bernardi leaving her high and dry, but she couldn’t. It had really only been a matter of time, hadn’t it?
She sat on the sofa and ran her fingers over the soft material. For the three days since the gala, she had agonized over her emotions. She’d wanted simple, hot, uncomplicated sex. Adding in her newly recognized affinity for a kinkier lifestyle had been merely a bonus. Falling in love was a snag she had never prepared for.
Swallowing back the knot in her throat, she was grateful he hadn’t shown. If she could finally trust him enough to reveal the secret she’d held closer than her Friday night ritual as well as her true feelings for him and he rejected her, that would hurt far worse than him simply abandoning her now.
Rejection. Distance. The familiar ache renewed in her chest. Empty seats at her recitals and special dinners to honor her various achievements flashed in front of her eyes. She drank in her solitary surroundings. Just another form of forgotten…
When they’d first begun this journey, seemingly eons ago, he had shown her that housed within the small dresser there were a notepad and pens. She pulled them out and began writing. Yes, she nodded to herself through her tears, this would be far better than telling him directly. She wouldn’t have to look into those dark eyes that promised so many things or listen to the deep, rumbly voice that soothed her in so many ways or smell the bergamot and lime cologne that lingered for far too short a time after their contact ended.
Luca,
My deepest apologies that our relationship must end this way. Thank you for all the time and energy you have invested in teaching me all the things I needed to know. They have helped far beyond our encounters here and have made me more confident and effective in all areas of my life.
You will see I am leaving the key card with this note. In the morning, I will be instructing my partner, David Steinmetz, to take control of your account. Most things are in place and he will simply need to monitor them, but if you have any questions, he will be more than happy to be of assistance.
Once again, I cannot thank you enough. The past four months have meant more to me than you will ever know. I wish nothing but the best for you and all the happiness in life you deserve.
Best regards,
Claire
She laid the sheet of paper and the card on the pillow, certain he would see them there. She swiped the moisture from beneath her eyes. She sniffed and squared her shoulders. Yes, this was better.
With one hand on the knob, she paused, staring at the thin strip of leather that meant more than it should. She traced the letters that were burned into the smooth material. Sotto. Not allowing herself the time to truly consider what she was doing, she gripped it tightly and left Luca’s suite for the last time.
She descended the stairs quickly, still focused on the collar in her hand. No matter what happened from this point on, this would be something she would treasure as deeply as the memories of what she’d shared with Luca.
Her mind a fog of pain and confusion, she didn’t realize anyone was waiting at the base until she slammed into them from behind, both of them nearly toppling to the ground. “Oh, I am so sorry!” Claire quickly gathered her bearings and reached out an arm to help the younger woman regain her balance.
The petite brunette smiled softly. “It’s okay.” Her dark eyes landed on Claire’s hand, then back to her face. “I’m sorry to ask, but…are you Luca’s?”
Claire studied her for a moment. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, several inches shorter than herself with lush curves and a dimpled smile. Her words sank in. Was she Luca’s? “Yes, well, no, well, I mean…” Not even a week out of his presence and she was stumbling over her words. “No, I’m not Luca’s.” Saying that out loud cut through her with more precision than a freshly sharpened blade.
Confusion was written across the other woman’s face. “Really? But that’s his collar.” She pointed to the white band Claire still held tightly. “Although I’ve never seen white before.”
Fiery ice began at the crown of her head and covered her body. “His collar?”
She bobbed her brown head rapidly. “Yes, Luca always buys his submissives those collars. Each girl gets a color specific to them. I’ve seen lots of shades of pink and blue and purple, but never a white before.”
Each girl. Lots. The record in Claire’s head was broken on repeat. This was not special. She was not special. He bought every submissive that entrusted their training to him the exact same thing with only the tiniest variation.
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. She was Claire Favre. She was in public. She would not—could not—acknowledge the fact her heart was shredded and her soul void. The practiced smile slipped into place with slightly more effort than she’d ever needed before. “It was my favorite color. I’m sure that is the only reason. Have a good day.”
Claire forced her legs to carry her from the building with the poise she had learned while still in grade school. She slipped the valet a tip before taking her seat, fastening her belt and driving home. The entire time the damned words echoed in her mind. She was no more special to Luca than she had been to her parents or to any friend who had flitted in and out of her life.
The only people who ever had or ever would find her special were her beloved Nanny Helen, Liam and Julien. And two out of the three were gone.
She crossed the threshold of her home, shut and locked the door behind her before falling to her knees, emptiness consuming her. All of the trust and love she’d given to Luca—a deeper trust than she’d even shared with Liam—had been thrown back in her face.
She couldn’t even manage to cry anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luca
Luca pushed Adrian’s sobbing head deeper into his shoulder and clutched him harder. He could do this. He could honor Bruno’s last wish of being there for the man his friend had wanted to spend the rest of his gone-too-soon life with. He could be strong. He could be stable—or at least give a convincing performance of the two.
With the haze of the clouded hospital glass separating him from his deceased and improbable mentor, Luca choked back his own tears.
No.
Adrian. Luca owed it to the love of Bruno’s life to be less selfish.
Besides, the last time he’d put himself first, he’d almost lost Claire. Claire, who would understand why he was late and worry when he was more than a minute overdue. Before the disastrous calling of ‘red’, she�
��d said it herself. She knew him. She saw him. That statement had kept him at home on Saturday night and his blood pressure normal-ish on Sunday when she hadn’t answered his calls or texts.
And it would have to be enough to get him through the next day until Adrian’s brother would arrive to take care of him for the weekend.
Luca squeezed Adrian’s neck muscle a few times then said, “Come on. Let’s go home.” Adrian wailed again, and Luca couldn’t blame him. Home was the hardest place to be after a loss—too many reminders, too many moments of forgetting the person was gone.
Adrian shrunk under Luca’s strong arm and hunched in his sorrow all the way to the parking garage. As he waited in line to pay, finally with phone reception, he shot off a quick text to Claire asking to push their meeting to Saturday. She would certainly understand, he reassured himself again.
After getting Adrian settled on the couch, Luca sprawled out in the leather chair facing him and kicked off his dress shoes. He bent down, tidied them together and asked, “Do you think you could eat?”
Adrian flashed him eyes that would have brought a correction from Bruno.
“God no, but I could drink.”
Luca pushed into his knees and stood. “What’s your poison?”
“Grappa,” Adrian said with pursed lips.
For the first time in twelve hours, Luca laughed. “You must be kidding.”
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said as he tucked his feet deeper under the beige throw blanket. “I’ve been pulling off your private stock for years. It’s in the freezer.” Adrian waved in the direction of the open kitchen, where Luca found everything required for the prefect drink.
Back in the living room, Adrian said, “Thank you,” and took a sip with closed eyes. They drank to Bruno, and Luca let the iced, sweet fire burn down his throat. One drink turned to two and well, two would have to be three.
The unlikely duo clinked their shot glasses again.
“You know, I never thought he would do it.” Adrian said, as he studied the remaining clear liquid.
“Die?” Luca blinked. Everyone dies. Everyone.
“No. I mean, choose me. Of all the scenes I watched that man direct, after all the asses he paddled and fucked, I never thought mine was good enough for him.”
“He adored you, Adrian, even from the start.” Luca’s memory pulled up a slide of him teasing the balding Bruno about going too easy on the young and impressionable Adrian.
“I know. And I worshipped him. It took me a long time to understand we weren’t imbalanced. That as much as I wanted to impress him, he was trying a hundred times harder to keep his shit together for me.”
Luca sneered and poured himself another drink. He slammed it, hoping it would keep down his familiar ghost. But grief knew when to rise and the alcohol could only numb his body. The transparent phantom that kept him from relationships was ready to dance the night away at the loss of the one man Luca had let into his life.
“You’re not driving home after that. Bruno…” Adrian cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re staying here. But I get the couch. I can’t sleep in our bed.”
Luca checked his phone one last time, now sure it was too late to call Claire and more worried that she hadn’t replied.
But she would understand.
The words became a warped mantra as he fought to sleep in Bruno’s guest room. She would understand. She would understand. She would understand. He decided that the first way was the best. His cara. His Claire. They would move past the muddied line he’d crossed. He wouldn’t wait until he was old and ailing like Bruno. He would take a chance with Claire.
Because losing her would be too much. He would ask to be her boyfriend, to try dating. He could do that. He had to.
* * * *
As much as Luca wanted to stand by Adrian and honor his friend, he needed to get out of Bruno’s apartment. Indeed, being in his personal space without his boisterous laugh was proving to be more trying than Luca had bargained for.
There was the ridiculous cane in the umbrella stand that Bruno had stolen from a restaurant and threatened to use, but never had, on one of his more rebellious subs. The fragrance of the citrus hand soap in the bathroom that Bruno had sworn by for fighting germs. And the list continued. Every sighting brought a story and each story a slap in the face that there would be no more.
And, per strict orders, there would be no funeral—no long goodbye, no chance for a send-off. Bruno had been clear about that. ‘Burn me and urn me.’ His crude words left no room for error.
It wasn’t until late afternoon, after Adrian’s brother had showed up and Luca found himself in the quiet privacy of his car on the way back to Zurich that it fully hit him. His mentor, father figure, brother by oath and only genuine friend was gone. There would be no more laughs, no camaraderie and absolutely no more guidance.
His throat swelled and tears blurred the road. Claire, he thought. Claire would make this better…because she would understand.
He coughed a few times to rid his lungs of the emotions that seemed to want to linger there, sniffed and wiped away the tears with the palm of his hand.
Claire. He needed Claire. He tapped the voice control and dialed the bank.
From over the speaker phone a chipper voice rang out, “Thank you for calling Steinmetz and Favre. Claire Favre’s office, how may I help you?”
“It’s Luca for Claire.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, siiir…” Her assistant drew out the word ‘sir’ as if he were sucking lemons. “Ms. Favre is unavailable.”
She told him.
Merda.
There was no hiding ‘red’. Luca let out a long breath. Explorers climbed mountains. He could find a way to talk to his cara.
“Is she there?” Luca needed a shower and a change of clothes, but his window before her next red cut-off was closing in. He would drive straight to her if he had to.
“I’m sorry. That’s not information I can give you. Can I direct your call to Mr. Steinmetz’s office?”
What? Luca checked his mirrors and pressed his foot into the gas. What the hell had happened in Zurich in the forty-eight hours he’d been away?
“Is she there? In her office?”
“Mr. Bernardi, I do many things. Many. I can assure you, stuttering is not one of them. Ms. Favre is no longer available…to you. Would you care for a transfer?”
Luca ended the call without saying goodbye. Nothing made sense—except driving fast, getting his ass back to Zurich and seeing the one woman who would know how to put him back together.
Friday night traffic and an accident brought out Luca’s normally dormant temper. He swore at Porsches and Audis, all the while the clock ticked away his timeline.
Knowing she’d no longer be at the bank by the time he’d reached the city, he reluctantly drove home. The continued lack of messages and calls from Claire, combined with the horrid exchange with her assistant, gnawed deeper at Luca’s heart.
He showered, changed into a black turtleneck and black pants and made himself a coffee. Eating would have been better, he scolded himself as he rinsed the cup, but he had no appetite. He paced around the kitchen until deciding the distraction of the club would be his only chance of getting through the next few hours before he could contact her again.
He grabbed his jacket and headed down the elevator. When he reached for the button to the ground floor where he would find his security team and the bar, he switched to the level of private suites and jabbed the number three.
His shoes echoed in the barren halls and Luca reached for his keycard. The empty room in front of him was in perfect order…except the bed. His gaze jumped to the pillow. He gaped and his skin flushed from fire to ice.
The letter, whatever it said, was pointless. She’d left.
Thoughts reeled and twisted over his head but they all ended in the same conclusion. He’d failed her.
Luca dropped to the bed and slumped over as the letter sat taunting him to his right. Sl
owly, he reached for it and raced through her formal and maddening words. He read it again, searching for hidden meaning. After a final time, he still found none.
He folded the paper and laid it back on the pillow next to the keycard.
His bottom lip twitched. This wasn’t right. This was not how things were done. His cara would never have left him for not showing up. He hadn’t pressed on about the Friday night. There was something else. She claimed to tell him everything, but he was missing something. As things stood, they did not add up.
He rose and walked to exit. He passed the threshold and paused. After one step back, his gaze darted to the hook. Her collar is gone.
Against his better judgment, he found himself driving to her house—on a Friday night, when he should have been anywhere but there.
But Claire would understand. If she would see him, as she said she could. Whatever her issue was, they could work through it.
He killed the engine, ran up the steps and banged on her door. After five minutes and with only darkness behind her windows, he deduced that either she’d known he was coming or simply was not there.
Back in his car, and almost relieved he’d not been caught for officially crossing her line, he vowed to try again the next day. He backed out of her driveway and drove down her street.
Normally, the cemetery across the road never gave him pause. All the villages on the outskirts of Zurich had their own small plots. But with Bruno fresh on his mind and nowhere to mourn his friend, he pulled into the church parking lot next to it.
He looked up to the clock tower of the church when its ominous bell chimed to mark the half-hour.
Movement between the tombstones grabbed his attention. Blonde movement. Claire movement. Wrapped in a multi-colored blanket that hung over her shoulders, she sat on the ground next to a tombstone. Her shoulders shook and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Her husband. She spends every Friday night with him.
Luca sank deeper into his car seat but still watched Claire. He had no right to be a part of her Friday night. There was no place for him here, no place for him in her heart. And based on her sunken posture and shaking body, he’d done her more harm than good.
