Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  “No?”

  “There are things more important than the Devil.”

  “Oh.”

  “Eden is pregnant.”

  “Holy fuck. I think that’s good. Right?”

  I grinned. “I think it’s good too.”

  “So no lion or devil?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m going back to sleep.”

  “Goodnight, Louis.”

  “Tell Eden congratulations.”

  “I will.”

  I didn’t know if Kazimir would be back in Paris, or if he had men going to Forum des Halles, to deliver the Devil. It didn’t matter anymore. My child grew in Eden’s womb. I had her, and that was most important.

  We’re going back to Nice. In fact, if we had just stayed there. . .none of this would’ve happened.

  I placed the phone on the nightstand.

  I don’t care about the Devil right now. Go fuck yourself, Kazimir.

  I looked down at my queen—the one who’d healed me without knowing. The one who’d gave me purpose in life. She’d changed me.

  I touched her stomach, making sure I didn’t wake her.

  I can’t wait to meet you, little one.

  How beautiful would the child be? How amazing? How lucky had I become, after so much war and tragedy.

  I fell asleep with Eden against me. That was the only way I could sleep from now on. The moon rose. My cousins slept on the outskirts of Paris too, keeping safe and out of harm.

  We all rested, as peace settled down on the city.

  The next day, that peace was disrupted.

  I hadn’t gone down to Forum des Halles, but we had men watching. The meeting time was in the evening. When it came, nothing happened.

  Louis was going to tell the men at the property to go inside the mall and check the store, but then the entire place exploded. All of Forum des Halles.

  For the rest of the night, the news reported the massive explosion of one of Paris’s, beloved sites. Forum des Halles, was now a massive crater in the belly of the city. Thankfully, a bomb threat had cleared most of the workers that were arriving.

  Authorities spent the rest of the day, digging through the mountainous rocks.

  Kazimir put a hole in Paris.

  And for now, I wouldn’t move against him, unless completely necessary. The bombing had rattled us all, but we stayed quiet.

  That night, I didn’t lose any sleep. I’d even smiled, before passing out. Eden lay by my side. My cousins were safe.

  For now, that was all that was important.

  Chapter 29

  Death Masks and Castles

  Eden

  The next day we all went to meet Giorgio in Nice—Louis, Rafael, Shalimar’s body, and me.

  After the bombing to Forum des Halles, we went back to his hometown and decided to bury Shalimar there. No other attack or explosion came from the Lion. He’d delivered his message, by putting a hole in Paris. Perhaps, he was waiting for the Corsican’s response. Or maybe, he thought Jean-Pierre had fallen for his plan and was dead.

  Either way, I didn’t know the answer and wanted to help.

  Jean-Pierre would have none of it.

  Days later, Jean-Pierre and I walked hand-in-hand, into a small costume boutique in Nice. We left the limo. His hand anchored me into reality. His touch was magic. He’d mastered the art of hand-holding. But what else would I expect, with such skilled fingers in seduction.

  This is an interesting shop.

  Rafael had demanded that we follow the Laurent’s way of traditions. Apparently, their family wore black masks to the funeral. Our clothes would be the same color.

  “My grandfather started it, when his wife passed. My grandmother.” Jean-Pierre took us toward the wall of black masks at the back. The store owner told us that she’d made all of them. Each had a unique design of the venetian style.

  “Why did your grandfather want everyone to wear masks.”

  “Because he would be wearing one. That day, he didn’t want to see anybody’s face—just hers. And he didn’t want anyone seeing his.”

  “Why not?”

  “He didn’t like anyone to see him cry.”

  “I can understand that.”

  He slipped his thumb along my palm. “Which mask do you want to wear?”

  I pointed to the one in the center. Solid black. No flair or feathers. This wasn’t a party. It was a sad event.

  I’m so sorry, Shalimar.

  “That’s a good pick. Simple, but stylish.” Jean-Pierre nodded. “I’ll wear the same one.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Our guard grabbed two and went to the owner.

  “Tomorrow, you should wear comfortable shoes,” Jean-Pierre continued. “We’re using our grandfather’s old church. When the funeral happens in the afternoon, Rafael will have a small ceremony inside. Once that part of the service ends, we’ll leave the church. That’s when we’ll put on the masks.”

  I nodded, fascinated by the way they chose to deal with death.

  “We’ll walk behind the hearse. Rafael ordered a horse drawn carriage to carry Shalimar’s body. I’m sure it’ll be the best Nice can provide.”

  Sadness hit me.

  He squeezed my hand. “The graveyard isn’t too far from the church, so the walk won’t be long.”

  “Is that a Laurent tradition too? Following the hearse on foot?”

  “No. That’s not solely us. Many do that in France, especially the smaller towns. I know it’s different from the States, where it’s usually a procession of cars.” He let out a long breath and studied the other masks on the wall. “My mother told me that people walk behind a hearse to remember that they’re alive.”

  I touched one of the masks near my hand. “I think that’s a good way to look at it.”

  “It is, and maybe. . .the walking together, gives us the feeling of not being alone.”

  I let go of the mask. “That’s the best time to feel that way.”

  “They call the street, that goes up to the church yard, Chemin de l’Égalité. It means Path of Equality. We’re all equal, when it comes to death.”

  He sighed. “But that’s enough of that.”

  Jean-Pierre took my hand and turned it over, exposing my palm. “We haven’t discussed the good news. You’re pregnancy.”

  “We haven’t had the time with the bombing and the funeral planning.” I swallowed. “I’m still processing it.”

  “You’re nervous?”

  “I am.”

  “So am I.” He held my hand. “I don’t know what’s in our future, but I know you’ll be by my side.”

  “I will.”

  “What do you want our child to be?”

  “A healthy baby.”

  “Lies.”

  “In the end, I do.”

  “But you’re thinking about a boy or girl.”

  “Maybe. Well. . .I have been. I think a boy would be cool, but then sometimes I… daydream about you holding our little girl. Both make my heart swoon.”

  “I think a daughter would be easier.”

  “Only because you’ve never been a woman.”

  “All you need to do is spoil girls. They’re princesses.”

  I laughed. “Spoiled princesses. No. I don’t want to have that.”

  “If she’s my daughter, that’s what she’ll be.” Jean-Pierre shrugged. “So what if she’d be spoiled rotten? No one would question her.”

  “Oh no. We’re not raising a spoiled rich girl.”

  “She’s not spoiled,” he said already defending our unborn daughter.

  I shook my head.

  He hit me with an intense gaze. “I love to hear you laugh again.”

  “I love laughing again.”

  “You’ll laugh more.”

  “And what about the Lion?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “I want to help, if I can.”

  “You are.” He touched my stomach and let out a long breath. “I nev
er thought. . .”

  I placed my hand over his. “You never thought what?”

  “I never thought I would be a father.” He raised my hand to his mouth, turned it over, and kissed my palm. “Thank you, reine.”

  He left another kiss. His breath brushed against my wrist. My body tingled with heated energy. That was the magic of Jean-Pierre. Something so small, made my body crazy.

  He pulled away. “Let’s go. I want to show you something.”

  “What?” I held his hand and followed him out of the boutique. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  We climbed into his limo.

  The driver took us on a journey. I gazed out the window, trying to figure out where we could be going. I was slowly learning my way around Nice. Fields of flowers ran by. A few times the odor of cattle and manure came into the limo.

  Minutes later, a small village appeared.

  I spotted a few restaurants and stores, but I could tell not many people lived in the area.

  And still, we continued further.

  Twenty minutes later, we arrived down a long road. One large structure stood on top of a hill. It was as big as a castle. A small one, but still impressive. No other homes were near it.

  The limo parked.

  He opened the door and helped me out.

  Okay. What are we doing?

  More vans arrived. Some were our security. Others, I recognized as part of the staff from the Paris penthouse.

  He cleared his throat. For some reason, I swore he was nervous. “I bought this for us.”

  I opened my mouth, and then I turned back to the castle. “For us?”

  “Yes. Well. . .for you. I have enough properties. Only your name is on this one.” He directed his attention to the big structure. “I want you to always have a place in France where you feel safe. One that you consider home. You’re not going to find that in my old houses with all those old memories. . .and Rafael’s interior decorating.”

  I wore a silly grin, unable to comprehend how amazing this man continued to be. Just when I thought there could be no limit to Jean-Pierre’s display of love, he showed me he could surprise me again.

  “Thank you.” I embraced him, holding that hard body to me. “I love you so much. Why am I so lucky?”

  “No, reine. I’m the one that’s lucky.” He ran his fingers through my curls. “We should check out the bedroom. That’s the only place I decorated.”

  Heat bloomed through me.

  “Interesting.” I gave him a wicked smile.

  He lifted his wild gaze to me. Those lovely eyes trapped me like they did the first time. When would I stop craving him so much? When would I stop needing him next to me to breathe? I hoped that moment wouldn’t come soon.

  He showed me around the massive property. Tons and tons of empty rooms to fill with stuff. Decorating the place would definitely keep me busy.

  Good. Busy keeps me out of my head.

  The whole time he showed me around, he caressed my skin, and stole a touch here and there.

  We ended in the bedroom.

  As he’d said, a massive bed lay in the center, covered in white silk.

  “I figured you were tired of all the red and black.”

  “I love it.” I smiled. “But, I would let you fuck me in any bed with any color.”

  Groaning, he drew me to him, consuming my mouth and taking over my senses as he always did. When he pulled away, I caught my breath.

  Seducing me with that gorgeous face, he brought his mouth near mine, but didn’t kiss me. “Do you like our new home?”

  “Yes.”

  An electric heat rose between our lips. He began to speak. I stopped him, ready to lose myself in that mouth. I closed the space and kissed him.

  Grunting, he lifted me. I straddled his waist. My dress rose up to my hips. Surprisingly, he didn’t take me over to our new bed. Instead he carried me to the wall. My back pressed against the cool surface.

  He slipped his hand between my thighs and grinned. “Naughty reine. No panties?”

  “Not with you.”

  He groaned, “Not with me.”

  Jean-Pierre toyed with my soaked pussy, casting a spell. Brushing his fingers against my clit. Working his dark magic on my body. Stroking those fingers. Setting my skin on fire. Hitting hot spots, that I didn’t know I had.

  He pushed his fingers deep. “Forever.”

  “Forever.” I let out a cry that he swallowed in seconds.

  Jean-Pierre.

  And then those skilled fingers left.

  “No,” I whimpered. “Come back.”

  “Soon, reine.” He tore the top part of the dress for no reason, pulling one of the bra’s cups to the side and freeing my breasts.

  “You like tearing my clothes.”

  “I do.” He tore it some more and freed the other breasts. My nipples bobbled in front of him. And he took each one.

  So greedy for him, I pushed my hands down between us, wrestling with his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

  “Yes, reine, take this cock out.” He lapped at my nipples, delivering hot pulses through me.

  I moaned, as I freed his fat cock, slipping my fingers up to the tip and down to his heavy balls. It was so long. Thick, veiny and all mine. Wildly beautiful.

  I looked into his eyes as he filled me. And then he was fully inside of me. Reshaping my pussy. Stroking and thrusting. Shoving and pumping. I closed my eyes, drowning in a heightened level of pleasureful sensations.

  In between his groans and mine, he whispered, “Look at me.”

  The heat of his gaze was too much. That expression alone made me close to coming.

  He whispered in French, “I’m going to make you my wife.”

  And then I came.

  Was it his words? Was it his cock? Was it the passion, hot and rising between us? Was it all that had happened? Or all that could happen in the future?

  I came hard. My cries shattered the air. Rising throughout the castle. Did these walls understand what they would witness for the next decades?

  We were love. We were forever. Nothing could stop that. Not a lion. Not a devil. Not even a crazy aunt.

  My body spasmed in pleasure.

  Watching me come, he grunted and moved in and out of me. Harder. Faster.

  “Oh!”

  “Damn you, Eden.” And then he came, bouncing me hard against him. I held on to his shoulders, relishing in the view before me. Jean Pierre’s hard body. Hot and gorgeous. Sweaty and covered in sex.

  “Mine,” I whispered. “All mine.”

  Chapter 30

  Unchained Melody

  Rafael

  Whenever we came to Nice, I stayed in a small cottage near the beach. It was a two-bedroom spot, with a pain room in the back of the house. The pain room could only be entered by a code pressed on the pad next to the door.

  On this visit to Nice, Shalimar and I stayed at my cottage.

  I wish I’d gotten to show you this place when you were alive.

  The Nice cottage was a necessity. Jean-Pierre’s aunts were from his mother’s side. They didn’t get Laurent men, although they loved us. They were too strict and were always nagging. It didn’t matter that we were grown men that caused fear in others, his aunts always had us on a goddamn curfew, and were always popping in our rooms throughout the day.

  And none of his aunts were ever scared by my gun.

  In order to get some sleep, fuck a female or two, without a bunch of bitching about marriage and kids, I spent my time in the cottage.

  There were also times, when Jean-Pierre, needed me to handle rough situations in Nice.

  That was what the cottage’s pain room was for. All steel soundproof walls. The floor was steel too. An easy cleanup for any blood. I had a heavy case of metal drawers on the left side similar to any small town’s morgue. There I kept bodies, if I needed to.

  Shalimar had been in the drawer this week, zipped up in a bag.

 
I’d pulled her out some nights, drinking whiskey, gin, and whatever else I could find. I’d stared at her graying, rotting flesh and cried. I took another swig, told her sorry, zipped her up, put her back in the case, to only do it all over again another night.

  I sat between mourning Shalimar and finding relief that her death had saved me from my obsession. I wouldn’t have gotten over her.

  I may never get over you.

  The morning of the funeral, I woke up hung over. Today I would bury her, and the cracked, black pieces of my heart, would sit in Shalimar’s casket. It would be buried with her. It would forever stay there.

  You might as well keep it now. I didn’t really want you to give it back anyway.

  I showered and prepared the proper ceremony of saying goodbye.

  That morning of Shalimar’s funeral, I did what my grandmother had done the day my father died. She would leave an open jar of honey by his body, as it lay on a wooden table surrounded my herbs and flowers. She’d wanted the honey to attract flies, which she believed held the souls of the deceased. Somehow honey connected the soul with other souls.

  You’re still beautiful to me.

  I’d pulled her out and placed her on the table.

  Shalimar’s dead body lay on the metal table in my pain room. Death draped her cold, stiff body like a restricting gown. Tightly bound. Laced up. Red as the dirtiest blood. Pale as a howling wolf’s full moon. Death froze her beauty into a statue that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  The next hours I did my duties. I surrounded her with roses and jars of honey. I opened the doors and windows in the apartment to let the flies come. And I played that song that she always used to hum.

  I thought back to one moment in Belladonna, when I held her in my arms, after just making love.

  She’d been humming.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Shalimar rested her head against my chest. “What’s what?”

  “The song you keep humming.”

  “Unchained Melody.” She hummed it again.

  “I remember that song. I’ve heard it, before in a…” I tried to rack my brain. “A movie or—”

  “Everywhere.” She rose from the bed.

  “Come back over here.”

  “No.” She pulled her phone out. “I want to play it for you.”

  I grinned. “Okay. I’ll allow it.”