“Come to think of it, the night he was at my restaurant, he said he didn’t have any money. He kept asking for liquor, and I wouldn’t have given it to him anyway, but he distinctly said he didn’t have money for the drinks,” Pierre recalled, staring off into the distance as the details resurfaced.
“And you know what? When he pulled out his wallet to pay for the truffles, I noticed it was really worn and shabby looking. I think this guy must be broke,” Belinda surmised.
“I think you’re right. Now we have to find out about the finances of François Debauche and see if Philippe was named in the will to receive a fortune.”
She nodded eagerly. “Oh, Pierre, I hope we’re on the right track to solving this! I don’t like being on the run like this.”
“I know you don’t. But let’s make the best of our time in Italy. I suggest we go out and clear our heads a little…that is, after I wipe this shaving cream off my face.” Pierre grinned boyishly at her.
She took a playful swipe at his cheek. “It looks like whipped cream. Too bad it’s not edible,” she teased.
“Now don’t get me in that mood!” Pierre warned lightly.
“I thought you were always in that mood!” Belinda replied honestly.
“This is true. But I want to take you out to lunch and to explore. We’ve barely left this hotel room since we arrived, although I can’t say I’ve minded being trapped in here with you,” Pierre teased. “But we really should go out and explore. We are on the Italian Riviera, you know.”
First the French Riviera and now the Italian Riviera. Belinda was quickly crossing off items on even the loftiest bucket list. And now she wasn’t even trying. She had made the conscious decision to go to Monaco and France, but it was a quirk of fate that had brought her to Italy with Pierre.
“I didn’t even think about that! From what I could see during the drive, it looks even more beautiful here than the French Riviera, if that’s possible,” Belinda marveled.
“I think it is more beautiful,” he mused. “There’s a quaint quality to this part of Italy. There’s too much---what’s that phrase? Bustle and hustle? Yes, there’s too much bustle and hustle on the Côte d’Azur.”
Belinda smiled, amazed how the man never ceased to charm her. She didn’t bother to correct him and say the proper phrase: hustle and bustle. Pierre’s English was virtually flawless, but from time to time he did have an endearing slip-up.
As Pierre returned to the bathroom to wash up, Belinda shut down her computer and tried to forget about the sad obituary she had just read. This time, it wasn’t the case that was nagging at her. It was what she had learned about the victims. Apparently, François had been a hospital volunteer for more than 20 years, and Collette had baked bread every Sunday for her church and neighbors. Belinda could not think of two people less deserving of this fate. And on their 50 wedding anniversary...
Belinda fought back a shiver as she bolted from the bed, eager to leave the hotel room and step out into the warm Mediterranean sunshine, even though she would be incognito. Meticulously, she slipped on her dark wig and painted her lips a blood red shade that she would never wear under normal circumstances. With a pair of nerdy, thick-rimmed glasses to complete the disguise, Belinda barely recognized herself in the mirror.
In dark sunglasses and a hat, Pierre met her at the door. Belinda wasn’t sure if they made a discreet couple so much as an odd looking one. “Andiamo.” Let’s go. Pierre opened the door for Belinda as they cautiously set out to explore, looking behind them suspiciously as they walked down the corridor.
Outside, in the radiant Italian sunshine, their suspicions and fears naturally faded. When Belinda spotted a gelato shop, she poked Pierre in the shoulder and demanded playfully, “Let’s get a gelato! We can have lunch later!”
Obligingly, Pierre bought a large cup of gelato for them to share with two spoons. As they dug into the treat, Belinda had a flashback of the first day she had met little Marc, how she and Pierre had taken him to an ice cream parlor. One glance at Pierre told her that he was thinking the same thing.
“You miss Marc, don’t you?” She asked sympathetically. When Pierre remained stubbornly silent, she said, “You must miss him! Because I do!”
Reluctantly, Pierre admitted, “Yes, I do miss him. But once I get back to France, I’m going to spend more time with him. I’m planning to cut back my hours at the restaurant. I mean, I didn’t hire a manager for nothing, right? Let him do his job.” Pierre licked the spoon suggestively before adding, “That way, I can spend more time with you too.”
Belinda’s face lit up with pleasure. “Oh, I hope so. This has been so stressful. I wish we were at your cozy country house right now.” Belinda shut her eyes, envisioning the pastoral home and all the nooks and crannies she still wanted to explore there.
“Shhh,” Pierre hushed. “Let’s enjoy the moment. I say we take a drive to the beach. We can’t be on the Italian Riviera without going to the beach, right?”
“But I’m not wearing a swimsuit underneath my clothes,” Belinda protested.
Pierre, however, had already deposited their empty gelato cup in a garbage can and was opening the passenger side door of his car. Patiently, he waited for Belinda to slide into the seat before he chivalrously closed the door and started the ignition.
“You need to be more spontaneous, Belinda,” Pierre observed.
“Really? You’re saying this to the woman who quit her full-time job and moved halfway across the world to open a candy store?” Belinda laughed, relishing the salty ocean breeze that bathed them through the sunroof.
“True, you did that, and I’m very grateful that you did. But other than that, what risks have you taken?” Pierre challenged.
I’ve fallen in love with you, Belinda wanted to whisper, but she stayed mum. “Well, I guess I’ll be taking a risk today by going swimming in my clothing!”
“That’s the spirit!” Pierre chuckled.
The beach Pierre selected was secluded from the tourist areas and allowed for a luxury of privacy. Belinda slung her sandals around her wrists and walked barefoot onto the powdery sand. Gazing at the shocking blue of the Mediterranean Sea, she recalled how she had spent her 39 birthday alone on a beach in Monaco. With nothing but a bottle of champagne and a blanket, that birthday had evaporated into the sands of time. Now, she was at an Italian beach with a man whose very presence set her heart wildly aflutter. And it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As Pierre laced their fingers together, she made a silent wish that they would be together on her next birthday. And many, many birthdays after that.
Dragging her out of her thoughts, Pierre sprinted across the sand, forcing Belinda to adapt to his speed. Breathlessly, she ran with him until they were standing at the shoreline, their toes tickled by the warm sea water.
“You said you would swim with your clothes on. And I’m going to hold you to that!” Pierre insisted.
“Is that a dare, Mr. Say Dare?” Belinda teased.
“Yes, it is!” He confirmed laughingly.
With an irreverent smirk in his direction, Belinda strode through the water, not even trying to dodge the waves, but letting them crash over and drench her. Forgetting about the wig, she dunked her head under water, then quickly surfaced, hurriedly readjusting the hairpiece. Like a baby dolphin, she splashed around in the water, not caring that her cotton tee-shirt clung to her breasts, outlining them explicitly to any passerby. As she frolicked in the sea, she also didn’t notice the hard, aroused expression Pierre’s features had taken on.
Without warning, he came up behind her, grabbing her waist and play-wrestling with her in the water. Thrashing around in the waves, the lovers shared a salty kiss before swimming deeper into the current.
“Okay! I get it! You do take risks. But we’re going out too far now, Belinda. Let’s go back to shore. This isn’t safe. There’s not even a lifeguard here,” Pierre shouted urgently against the rushing sound of the surf.
Ignoring
him, Belinda swam until the water was neck-deep and her head was barely above the surface. Pierre tailed her protectively, but she gently pushed him away.
“Belinda, this isn’t cute! I think you’ve gone a little crazy!” He shouted more angrily this time.
“You dared me! Just making sure I could fulfill the dare,” Belinda hollered, finally relenting and pushing back towards the shore.
Relieved, Pierre swam alongside her, their bodies moving in tandem with the water and the wind---and each other.
Chapter Fourteen
Back at the hotel, Belinda was towel drying her hair and shaking water out of her ears. Her clothes were matted with salt and coarse with scattered sand. Pierre emerged from a hot shower with a pensive expression on his face. “Today was fun, Belinda. Except for the part where you were a rascal and went too deep into the ocean!”
“Now you know better not to dare me,” Belinda shot him the sassy retort.
Unsmiling, Pierre continued, “It was fun, but I think sometimes our conversations should be as deep as the ocean. Fun is wonderful, but shallow. I want to talk to you about deep topics.”
Belinda was floored. With every man in her dating history, she had always been the one to initiate a meaningful conversation. Generally, the man’s reaction had been to squirm like a cornered animal or crack jokes as a defense mechanism. Daniel’s avoidance tactic had usually been to scramble for the remote and drown her out with the cranked up volume of a football game. But now, a man was imploring her to dive into a real discussion and reveal private details about herself. It almost seemed against the natural order of things. Belinda struggled to formulate a reply. “Yes, uh, I agree. We should have deeper conversations. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, to start with…you know, it’s okay if we talk about our marriages a little. I think it’s important for us to be able to discuss that,” Pierre mulled his words over as he said them, as though he wasn’t sure if he really did want to broach the topic after all.
“Okay, we can do that,” Belinda said slowly, even though revisiting the hideous topic of Daniel was the last thing she felt like doing.
“Well, I already told you why my marriage ended. Juliette was too self-absorbed and obsessed with her career. She was even upset when she found out she was pregnant.” Pierre’s features hardened in disgust.
Belinda flinched and said sharply, “I can’t imagine a woman being upset over such a miracle. My ex and I weren’t even able to have children.”
Pierre extended a hand to caress Belinda’s cheek, knowing she had just revealed a very painful and personal detail to him. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.
“It’s for the best, though. I would hate to be tied to Daniel for life, and that’s how it would have been if we had children,” Belinda sighed wistfully.
“Unless he was like Juliette,” Pierre sneered. “I would hardly call myself tied to her. She only speaks to Marc twice a year: on Christmas and his birthday.” Belinda shook her head disdainfully but made no comment. “You know, it’s funny because everything started out perfectly with Juliette and me. We spent our honeymoon in Malibu and went out almost every night in New York City.”
Belinda felt a pang of jealousy hearing about these memories and was forced to be reminded of her roughin’ it Wyoming ‘honeymoon’ with Daniel.
Pierre continued, “But it all ended up as an ugly mess. She and I can’t even be friends. And with you and me, here we are on the run and things have had a difficult start, but I believe we will have a happy ending. I really do, Belinda.”
Belinda was speechless; his sentiments felt like a fairy tale, yet this man was really in front of her. A happy ending was a quaint idea she had given up on before coming to Monaco and meeting Pierre, but now, it actually felt possible. She basked in the warmth of his palm on her cheek, leaning into his touch more and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
“We’re just getting started. I want to know more about you. I want to know everything about you, Belinda. Even the little details. Like, who is your favorite singer?” Pierre inquired curiously.
Without hesitation, Belinda replied, “Anita Baker. She’s by far my favorite singer!”
Pierre chuckled as Belinda shot him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. That was a joke, right? It sounded like you said ‘I need a baker.’ You’re always thinking about dessert, aren’t you, sweet stuff?”
Belinda regarded Pierre with amused disbelief. “I need a baker! Are you kidding me? Oh my goodness, Pierre. You’ve never heard of Anita Baker, the queen of the quiet storm?”
“What is a quiet storm?” Pierre asked blankly.
Belinda burst into peals of laughter as she wondered how to explain the American R&B style of quiet storm to this uninitiated Frenchman. “It’s a soft style of music. Very romantic and relaxing, usually sung by African American artists. It’s really divine. You should listen to it.”
Pierre looked sheepish. “I think I will. It sounds very appealing. Maybe we could dance to it some time?”
“Well,” Belinda cooed, “There is a special kind of dance that goes very well with it…”
“Okay, it’s settled!” Pierre said eagerly, understanding her implication. “I’m going to get us an Anita Baker record tonight! Well, not that we need it…”
She smirked and reciprocated the question. “What about you? Who’s your favorite singer?”
“If we’re talking about French singers, I would definitely say Alain Souchon.” Now it was Belinda’s turn to be confused. She had never heard the singer’s name before. Perceiving this, Pierre demystified for her. “Alain Souchon is very popular in France. He sings rock and pop. He’s been around since the 1970’s. I have some of his music in the car. Next time we drive, we’ll listen to Souchon.”
Belinda smiled amiably, but inside she was contemplating for the first time how different her culture was from Pierre’s. Neither of them had ever heard of the other’s favorite singer. What else did they not share in common? When it came to cultural references, the answer was that they probably shared nothing in common.
“Maybe we can meet on neutral ground. Italy. The whole world has heard of Andrea Bocelli, right?” Pierre asked brightly.
“Yes, I love his voice! Are you a fan?” Belinda wondered hopefully.
“I am a fan, yes. See, we have things in common. You were getting worried that we didn’t, right?” Pierre challenged.
“Maybe a little,” Belinda fibbed.
“I think we have too much in common!”
“How is that possible?”
“We both have a passion for good food and fine wine. Food is how we make our living. We’ve both lived in cultures that are foreign to us. We’re practically the same age. You’re just a year older than me, right?” He teased.
“No! You’re a year older than me! Don’t you dare rush my thirties away.”
Pierre tilted his head to one side in open admiration. “You’ll be even more beautiful in your forties,” he assured sincerely.
Belinda silently scolded herself for even considering that they had nothing in common. As Pierre had illustrated, they shared an abundance of similar traits and life experiences. Their differences, like language and culture, were merely opportunities for them to teach one another. After all, Pierre Cédaire was every woman’s fantasy French professor.
Entwining her hands in Pierre’s waves, she took him by surprise and crushed her lips against his in a flaming kiss. His response was instantaneous and instinctive as he sheltered her body with his, gripping her hips intimately.
“Should we put on an Anita Baker song?” He questioned in a low, seductive whisper.
“Quiet storm later. Loud storm now,” Belinda replied wickedly, climbing onto the dresser and inviting Pierre to join her.
Dark Chocolate Murder Page 15