Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  Giorgio disrupted my reminiscing. “So, where are we going?”

  “To Shalimar’s.”

  He groaned.

  “Come on.” I nudged his shoulder. “I’ll finally meet the chef and have her make you some croissants the correct way.”

  “I would also like her to do a nice steak frites. Something simple. A fresh green salad with classic vinaigrette dressing, sliced steak with a Bearnaise sauce, and a set of crispy fries, but with pink Himalayan salt, if possible.”

  “Yeah. Nice and simple. We’ll see if she’s fine with making it.”

  “She usually does when I ask her too.”

  “So, you go in the back of the restaurant and have my chef make special dishes for you?”

  “I give her a special tip.”

  “It better not be your cock!”

  “I’m not going to fuck your chef. Would you relax? Since you’ve known Shalimar has been in Paris, you’ve been uptight and edgy.”

  Edgy?

  Giorgio and Jean-Pierre wanted me to relax and be patient as we figured this out. Meanwhile, neither man lived by their rules.

  We were Laurent men. My grandfather, father, and uncles had been known for fighting in the streets to the death over their women. They loved close to the brinks of obsession. They protected them until their dying days. Many giving up their lives for the sake of love.

  Being a Laurent had given me a sense of pride, but now I saw it as a curse. There was something about our genes that made us love too strong, made us need too much, and hunger for too long.

  My cousins and I had all dealt with it in different ways. Jean-Pierre jumped over the cliff for love. He fully accepted the pain. The obsession. He took it on with no fear. When I looked at him, it made me yearn for that type of crazed love too.

  Louis abstained from love altogether, barely having sex. It had been rumored that he hadn’t fucked in three years. I didn’t believe it. He flirted with anything in a skirt. Surely, he was banging some of them.

  Giorgio shunned love completely. He fucked and frolicked wherever he went, but there was never a woman around for more than a few hours. None that had even lasted a day. And of course, there was his weird thing about maids.

  Jean-Pierre guessed that Giorgio had lost his virginity to a maid and had been trying to relive the fantasy over and over. Giorgio’s father may have been pious in some ways, but he lived like a king. His family mansion could’ve fit all of our dad’s homes in it, and still had more space to build another place.

  Religion made more dirty money than pussy and drugs. All three were a way for people to escape. And there was no stronger escape than the path of God and the confirmation of immortality. People paid dearly to hear another man tell them that they would live long after they died.

  However, his father had a lot of gorgeous maids with black lace thigh highs, tiptoeing around the property in six-inch heels. They’d made us all crazy when we were teens.

  Yeah. Giorgio definitely lost his virginity to one of those maids.

  But, where did I stand as a Laurent man? Perhaps, I stood somewhere in the middle of them. I fucked and frolicked. I loved and obsessed. I abstained, when the darkness came.

  And now what am I doing? Obsessing, perhaps. Damn it. Where are you, Shalimar?

  We made it to Shalimar’s in no time.

  And tonight was like no other. The place was packed for the first time since it opened. People actually lined the block outside.

  I beamed. “There you go. Not everyone is such a snob like you.”

  Giorgio waved my comment away. “I’m sure Gwen changed the menu.”

  “She better not have. The menu must remain the same. Now more than ever.”

  Shalimar is in Paris. She might finally come to the restaurant.

  I’d told her about it many times. I’d even sent pictures and footage of the grand opening. Shalimar had never replied.

  We passed the crowd and entered the place.

  On the walls, Pink dragons wound around bright blue Eiffel towers, merging my Chinese-French theme.

  Giorgio frowned at the dragons. As he always did, he walked as far away from the walls as possible, as if for him to touch them would injure his very being.

  “Must you be so dramatic?”

  He patted down the front of his jacket as if dust or paint had gotten on it. “The decor is ungodly.”

  Before we made it to my main table, I paused for a moment. My nostrils flared as I smelled the atmosphere. The scents were different than usual. More French than Chinese. More familiar. Fragrances from my childhood. The smell alone probably lured people in here.

  And the crowd was eclectic. They heightened the senses around the scene. Made it more young, vibrant, and electric.

  I growled on the inside.

  While the chef had gone to great lengths to fill the place up, I hadn’t asked her to make any changes.

  I sat down. “She definitely changed the menu.”

  “Thank God. Someone had to save this restaurant for you.”

  “I’m going to fire her.”

  “You better not.” He frowned. “I kind of told her to change the menu anyway. I was close to not coming in here again.”

  I groaned.

  Everyone picked at Giorgio for his weird habit of cleaning everything. Many called him the Butler behind his back. I did it to his face the few times he annoyed me, but even I didn’t joke too hard.

  Giorgio was a beast with a knife.

  That being said, when people wanted an opinion on food and fashion they went to Giorgio. If he stopped eating at Shalimar’s, the rest of the guys wouldn’t even make the effort to come.

  Not that it mattered. I only want Shalimar to be here.

  My phone vibrated in my pants. I pulled it out and opened. “Yes?”

  Louis’s voice hit the line. “We found Shalimar.”

  I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “Where?”

  “Outside of your restaurant.”

  “What?” My body tensed. “I’m here.”

  “I know. She watched you walk in.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Where is she now?”

  “Walking inside to you.”

  “Hells yes.” I hung up, checked over my shoulder again, and froze.

  There Shalimar stood.

  She had an athletic look. Slim build, but curvy with muscular thighs. A firm, compact figure with exotic eyes that had fire blazing inside of them. And her face held an exotic air. It was nothing commonplace, boasting a passionate mouth that hid a tongue that loved challenging men.

  Tonight, she wore the feminine version of a black suit with a gray striped tie. Very expensive and perfectly tailored. But the suit didn’t hide the curves of her breasts or the wideness of her hips.

  She walked over to our table.

  Shocked, Giorgio rose and gave her the seat. “It’s nice to see you again, Shalimar.”

  “You too.” She smiled and sat down. “Always a gentleman, Giorgio.”

  “I try.” He gestured at the back. “I’ll give Gwen my special order.”

  I called after him. “Give the chef your special order and nothing more than that.”

  Giorgio rolled his eyes at me and headed to the kitchen, maneuvering around people standing and probably waiting for a table.

  I directed my view back to Shalimar. “Hello.”

  “Why did you put your men by my Airbnb? They’re all over the place, not even trying to hide it.”

  If only we knew which house that was, I could simplify the response.

  I leaned my head to the side. “Do you like the restaurant?”

  “Keep your men away from me.”

  Damn the chef for changing it up tonight. I wanted Shalimar to see it in its entirety.

  I continued, “The food is not the usual, but—”

  “Did Eden tell Jean-Pierre that I contacted her?”

  “I had her phone monitored.”

  “Jean-Pierre woul
dn’t monitor her phone anymore.”

  “How do you know?”

  She glared at me. “Will he even let her meet me tomorrow or were you supposed to come?”

  “She’ll be there.”

  “But with an army of Corsican.”

  “We’re a lovable bunch. Why wouldn’t you want an army of us?”

  “The meeting is off.” She dug into her pocketbook and took out a box. “I only was supposed to give Eden this anyway. It’s from Celina.”

  “What is it?” I grabbed the box and opened it.

  A silver necklace lay inside. A violin dangled from the center, extending around three inches long. It was carved in silver, but the strings were gold and the pegs were diamonds.

  I closed the box and put it in my pocket. “Why is Celina giving Eden this?”

  “Because we assume that Jean-Pierre has told her everything.”

  “He has.”

  “Celina wants Eden to remember who she is, and where she came from.”

  “And why is Celina hiding?”

  “That’s her business. It has nothing to do with Eden and she wants it to stay far away from her.”

  “But is it going to stay far away?” I leaned back in my chair. “Eden’s roommate is dead and the cat.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  Her bottom lip quivered, but she shook it off and straightened her face. “It’s sad, but I think that’s a case of the wrong place wrong time.”

  “Leo was in his own apartment.”

  “Apparently, that wasn’t a good place to be at the time.”

  “And then there were two women found dead in your apartment.”

  She blinked and gripped the edge of the table.

  “Who was that?”

  She swallowed. “That was my mother and sister.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She rose from the table. “That was all I had to do in Paris. I’m leaving.”

  “You’re not.” I jumped up.

  People from other tables looked our way.

  She stormed off.

  I followed.

  Chattering people moved out of her way. One waitress had to twist around Shalimar as she balanced several bottles on her tray.

  I caught up to Shalimar. “Who killed them?”

  She quickened her steps to the door. “I don’t know.”

  “You know something.” I grabbed her arm and stopped her. “I can deal with anyone that’s coming after you.”

  “We already have help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “None of your business. This doesn’t deal with the Corsican. Stay out of it.”

  “You don’t know what this deals with.”

  She wrenched her arm away from me. “I know more than you. Now leave me alone.”

  “You know that I’ll never leave you alone.”

  She glared at me. “If you don’t, you’ll die.”

  “Are you threatening me, vixen?”

  “I’m warning you, Rafael.”

  “I don’t like warnings.”

  “Leave me alone and don’t follow me.”

  I raised my arms. “Fine. I won’t follow you.”

  Louis is already doing it for me.

  “Bye, Rafael.” She opened the door and walked away.

  I called back at her. “You never said, if you liked the restaurant.”

  The door slammed close.

  That went well.

  I didn’t move.

  Her words rang over and over inside my head.

  “Leave me alone and don’t follow me.”

  In my head, I screamed. In my head, I slammed my fist against the wall over and over, cracking the pretty pink dragons and Eiffel towers. In my mind, the pieces cut through my skin, and still I felt nothing.

  Shalimar. Shalimar. How do I erase the past? How do I make things better?

  I craved her. I wanted to lose myself in her. Consume her. And be consumed. All I cared about was having her.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Louis. “You still have eyes on her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s spotting our men. Have some women come on and watch her.”

  “Got it.” Louis hung up.

  I stepped outside, no longer hungry for food.

  That damn chef fucked up the moment. If Shalimar had seen the place in its entirety. . .

  Who was I kidding anymore? Definitely not myself. The restaurant was literally a symbol for my lack of success with the real Shalimar. I sucked with the restaurant and I sucked with the woman.

  Both no one understood.

  Both everyone balked at.

  Both I’d turned ugly and cold.

  My head fogged with failure.

  This evening Shalimar had held no warmth in those beautiful eyes. They were cold, freezing my soul.

  And she hadn’t brought my heart with her. Did she throw it away? Did she sling it at the end of the earth after shitting and stepping all over it?

  So much aggression filled my head. I wanted to yell at somebody. First, the chef for having the audacity to make executive decisions in my own restaurant.

  Had Shalimar only taken the time to see some of the dishes. . .

  I wanted to scream at Shalimar too. She didn’t even glance at the menu or me. She’d been disinterested in both. All she cared about was giving me the damn box and then rushing away.

  I dove my hands into my pocket and grabbed the box. “You think you can come to my city, say your little threats, and then walk away?”

  My sweet vixen. You’ve forgotten who I am. I’ll have to remind you.

  Chapter 7

  The Smell of Love

  Eden

  I lay in bed with Jean-Pierre.

  We’d woken up and saw the sun rise. Then, we returned to his room, ate breakfast in bed, and fucked until we both cried together in pleasure.

  It was hard not to stay naked and horny around him.

  Rafael interrupted us an hour after we were done. Since that moment, Jean-Pierre had not returned.

  Why do I always miss him so much? Especially his smell?

  He’d been gone for a while, but that sweet fragrance of him lingered on. So addicted to him, I lay on his pillow and breathed in his scent. Each inhale of him whispered a little song about what we’d just done.

  Damn.

  I gripped the sheets and squeezed my thighs, breathing him in some more.

  Jean-Pierre was intoxicating. Sometimes I yearned to eat him. Dip his cock in honey and lick. Consume his whole body. He smelled so good. His scent whipped me into a frenzy. So delicious and arousing.

  Even when his skin was drenched in sweat, I craved to lick him. Even after he ran, I considered yanking those shorts down and tasting. Even after he fucked me to oblivion, all I could do was nuzzle the curve of his neck. Smell him. Taste him. Listen to his voice. Study the sweet curve of his nose and the sternness in his jaw.

  What made me hunger for him so? Was it magic? Science? A primal urge? Pheromones naturally releasing chemicals, that made my body obey. Sex-hormones? Could I blame my addiction on my subconscious? Was it fate or even God?

  Was there a smell to love?

  After smelling Jean-Pierre’s pillow for a good half hour, I dragged myself out of bed and showered. I had to get myself together. Before Jean-Pierre’s confession of the past years, I’d had plans. That admission came, and I dropped it all.

  It’s time to get back to practicing. Where am I auditioning? Where do I want to play? And…how does Jean-Pierre fit in all of this?

  I had a lot on my mind and plenty to get done.

  In the shower, I focused more. Perhaps because his scent was washing off my skin.

  When I left the bathroom, several cardboard boxes sat in the room.

  What’s this?

  They were nothing like the usual gift boxes that Jean-Pierre would send me. My name was scribbled on all of the box’s tops.

  Excited to see what was i
nside, I dried off and dressed in Jean-Pierre’s shirt, wanting to put his scent back on my skin. The soft fabric smoothed against my skin. I sniffed the collar and groaned.

  How could I ever consider walking away from him? I’m too far gone.

  Wearing his big shirt, I walked over to the boxes and lifted the first one. My belongings filled the box—scrapbooks, family album, old year books. They were all old memories that sat in the top shelf of my closet.

  He shipped all of my things over. What did Leo think? I have to talk to him, so he won’t think I just dropped him and I’m never coming back.

  I spent the rest of the day, pulling things out. I hadn’t looked at a lot of these things in years. By the afternoon, I sat on the floor. Old pictures and books surrounded me. I stroked the tattered spines of old romance novels. There were tons of my old journals—me scribbling down my dreams and thoughts. I scanned a few pages and laughed.

  Wow. I can be a bit dramatic sometimes.

  I pulled out my family photo albums, eager to look in my past. My history had no longer been what I thought it was. And there were so many memories I’d locked away in the back of my mind. Most dealt with my mom. Since her passing, it was so hard to think of her without crying. So, I focused on other things just to make it through the day.

  Sighing, I whispered, “I miss you, Mom.”

  Would she think I was making a huge mistake with Jean-Pierre, or would she think it was a good idea? What would she have said about Aunt Celina? Did she know how powerful Aunt Celina was?

  Aunt Celina wasn’t just a brothel owner with some skill in seduction. That was something she could never hide. I’d always known she was a boss of some sorts. Authority reeked from her. But I had no idea that she’d moved on such a high level. That made me proud of her and scared at the same time.

  Did you know, Mom?

  Dad didn’t like to talk about his sister much, and Mom respected that, although she constantly showed me pictures of Aunt Celina on my aunt’s birthday and told me stories about her.

  Sudden longing for my mother made me pull open one of the scrapbooks I’d helped her. When she’d been given a year to live, I’d moved back home and stayed with her. Cancer was a terrifying beast. That was the thing I feared more than anything. My family being ill.