She nodded. She remembered most of that conversation, all his warnings and truths. She should have listened. It was too late now.
“So, I was wrong,” he said, drawing his hand back. “I don’t think it was ever a game. Not for you, not for him. I think he’s in love with you. I think he has been from the start.”
Valentina stood, knocking the remote to the floor. The channel changed to a late night soap opera. “Why does everyone say that? Have his actions ever been the actions of someone in love?”
Jason stood too, switching off the TV. “We’re talking about Michel Lemaitre. He’s not normal. Neither are you. I’m trying to figure this out but it’s not very easy, seeing as how both of you are half-insane.”
His words hurt her. She didn’t know why, since she’d long ago understood she wasn’t a typical person. “I’m trying to be myself,” she yelled back. “I don’t know how else to be. I am very frustrated and very sad, and if he loves me, it doesn’t help me because he’s sent me away.”
“Don’t you get it? He sent you away because he loves you. That’s the reason for everything he’s done to you. He has this belief that love is a bad thing, which is, yes, very frustrating and sad.”
“Well, what do I do?”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish you could fix him, but if that means you keep getting hurt... I don’t know if it’s worth sacrificing the small amount of sanity you possess.”
It was a joke, a small glimmer of humor in the midst of this heavy exchange. Did Mr. Lemaitre love her? If he didn’t love her proudly and openly, giving her everything in his heart, then it wasn’t a love she wanted. She didn’t want love that diminished her.
And she couldn’t bear any more hurt.
“Has he said anything to you since last Friday?” Jason asked. “Anything at all?”
Valentina moved to a table near the window, to a pile of dried, denuded rose stems. She picked up a note card beside them. “He sent me flowers, and this.”
Jason tilted the card to the light and read the note. “Forgive me for any pain I’ve caused. M.L.” He looked up at her. “Really? Seriously? And this didn’t send you into a murderous rage?”
“I ripped up the flowers but it didn’t make me feel better, and afterward I wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t the flowers’ fault.”
Jason tapped the note card twice on the table and put it down. Valentina stared at the words scrawled on the card, at the sentence she’d read so many times, and at the bare stems that looked as dried up as her heart. “I thought we were meant to be together. From the moment I looked in his eyes I felt a connection to him. I thought finally, finally, I had met my soul mate. Now I’m just trying to move on in life. Bad things happen and good things happen. The important thing is to keep going.”
Jason let out a sigh. “Can I give you a hug? Friend to friend?”
Valentina moved into his arms. Jason was a great hugger, always warm and supportive. She let herself sag against him for a moment, and remember that she had at least one friend who’d be there for her no matter what.
“You’re so badass, you know that?” he said against her ear. “Nothing defeats you. Maybe you are meant to be his soul mate, because you survived him without losing yourself, or changing. But Valentina...” He pulled back from her with a frown. “To be with him would mean so much sacrifice. Perhaps too much.”
“Don’t all people make sacrifices for love? Husbands and wives, and parents for their children? The love is more important than the things you lose.” She shrugged. “But in this case, it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t want me to love him, and he refuses to love me.” She lined the stems up side by side, then swept them up and moved with them to the trash can. “As Mr. Lemaitre says, love is one of those things, like slavery, that requires consent.”
Chapter Nineteen: I Do
May arrived before Michel was prepared for it. He had far too much to keep him busy, but nothing to fill the nagging emptiness in his soul.
Now he stood at the town hall in Marseille watching his daughter and Jason get married in a half-French, half-American ceremony. Sara floated in a gauzy, sparkling white gown, her black hair sleek beneath her veil. Whenever Jason looked at her, her eyes shone with happiness. Michel tried to feel happy too, for her and for Jason, but he was losing his daughter to another man less than a year after finding her, and it felt...deserved.
Life had a way of giving people exactly what they deserved. He was truly coming to believe that. Jason and Sara, for instance, deserved each other, because they were two of the most well-adjusted, kind, and caring people he knew. Theo and Kelsey, their best friends and witnesses, deserved each other. He had watched Theo and Kelsey’s relationship go through terrible ups and downs a few years ago, culminating in a strong marriage. Looking around at the gathering of friends who’d come to support Sara and Jason, he saw other couples he knew to be in satisfying, enduring relationships.
He also saw people he knew to be single, and happy. Some of them chose to be single, some of them were between relationships. Some of them were in poly relationships, complex trios or even quads that they made work. Some of the people he saw were single and unhappy. They were selfish, or assholes like him. People got out of life what they put into it.
Like Valentina. She was here.
Her red hair distracted him so he could barely focus on his child’s wedding. But of course they would have invited her. Sara and Valentina had grown progressively closer, even after he cut all ties with his ex-slave. He’d expected Valentina to be invited, but he’d hoped she would be too cowardly to come.
And then he remembered that Valentina was never cowardly.
He’d hated having her in his bed, and now he couldn’t sleep without her. He’d become infuriated at her paint drips on his carpet and now he searched ten times a day for the faint stain left behind. He missed her excited voice and her brightly colored coffee cups. He couldn’t bear to open the storage box in the closet with her portrait any more than he could bear to see her here among the wedding guests.
Valentina stood just a few feet behind him and to the side, so close and yet entirely lost to him. He’d hurt her so badly that he still felt the wound in his own heart. Perhaps he always would—fitting punishment for his treatment of her. As Sara and Jason recited their personal, handwritten vows, the words seemed to become his own vows to a life’s love he had carelessly thrown away.
My heart is bound to yours, and yours to mine.
You are the magic of my days.
You are my breath, my endless heartbeat.
Why did it seem his heart had stopped beating the moment he excised her from his life?
“Do you take this woman to be your wife?” the officiant asked Jason in accented English, and Jason took Sara’s hand and said with great conviction, “I do.”
I do. I do, Michel thought. Je le veux.
I do want her.
Then why had he acted as he had? He had damaged their relationship beyond repair. Even now, weeks after, she still avoided his gaze. She turned her head when he looked in her direction, like some skittish, abused pet.
With this ring I promise to you perfect, abiding love.
Jason and Sara repeated the words to each other as they exchanged bands of gold. Perfect, Michel thought in grief. How can the two of you expect love to be perfect, or even abiding? How can you vow such an impossible thing?
Tears welled in his eyes at the hopelessness of it all, and at Jason and Sara’s bravado, their stubborn insistence on pledging perfect, abiding love when it was such a risk. The happy couple kissed, but Michel didn’t look at that. Instead he watched Jason’s fingers curl around her waist to pull her close. So protective, that touch. So gentle.
Jason adored Sara. He loved her. Perfect, abiding love. Why couldn’t Michel aspire to that? A cheer went up as the newly-married couple turned to their friends with brilliant smiles. Michel didn’t know if it was the sun from the open windows blurring his vi
sion, or the breeze blowing into the flower-decorated room.
*** *** ***
Valentina wasn’t hiding away. Not precisely. It was only that there was so much drunkenness and frivolity at the reception inside, and she wasn’t in a frivolous mood.
She had seen something so beautiful today, the loving commitment of two people. After the ceremony, there had been dancing and toasts, and a delicious, extravagant meal inside Mr. Lemaitre’s palatial Marseille residence. Jason and Sara had caught her into a hug and thanked her for their wedding portrait, which Mr. Lemaitre had given to them back in Paris. Sara had even cried. Valentina had pushed back Sara’s veil and kissed her on her flushed cheeks, and caught a little taste of her happy tears.
Maybe those happy tears would act as a potion for Valentina. Perhaps in time she would find new excitement and new interests. There would be a new show for certain—the premiere was just a few weeks away. She had worn a bright red dress to the wedding for luck and good fortune. Perhaps the new show’s premiere would bring a new love, if only she could move past old loves...
She blinked back tears of her own, but they were sad tears.
The party inside grew louder, and more revelers drifted out onto the terraces. A waiter offered her a drink but she declined. She never did well with alcohol, and now wasn’t the time to have a drunken breakdown, not on Sara and Jason’s special day.
She pushed away from the balustrade and walked toward the beach, away from the noisy reception hall. Nightfall brought cooler weather, and some guests had lit a bonfire down on the private beach, the flames licking up into the night sky. Valentina hid in the darkness just outside the fire’s illumination until she was sure Mr. Lemaitre wasn’t part of the surrounding group, then moved closer. The bonfire pulsed out heat but she still felt cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze fixed on the hypnotic dance of the flames. The distraction didn’t work.
Nothing worked.
Again her thoughts returned to how handsome Mr. Lemaitre had looked standing beside Sara during the ceremony. There had been such gravity in his expression as he placed her hand in Jason’s. For someone only recently come to fatherhood, he performed his duties with a natural, warm affection that made her want him even more. Horrible, that she still wanted him so badly. I miss you. Why can’t you love me as Jason loves Sara? Why did this have to happen to us?
The sea breeze drew sparks upward into the darkness. She craned her head back and watched them rise, then closed her eyes with a sigh. When she opened them, her senses sharpened, noting a shadow in her periphery. Without looking, she knew it was him. She recognized the stance, the stillness.
She moved to slip into the shadows on the other side of the fire, but as she crossed the sand, the wind changed direction and smoke enveloped her. She tried not to breathe, but heat and the ashen taste of soot filled her nose and throat. She let out a hacking sputter that turned into a coughing fit. Her eyes watered and burned.
“Here.” A deep, familiar voice accompanied firm hands on her shoulders. Mr. Lemaitre turned her to shield her from the smoke. “Walk this way.”
She coughed and tried to swallow as they moved several yards down the beach. He handed her a glass of water that was perhaps his own glass of water. She didn’t care. She swallowed a big gulp, letting the cold liquid soothe her stinging throat. “Take slow breaths,” he said. He smoothed a hand over her back, up and down, until her eyes stopped burning and her lungs filled with friendlier air.
“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Did I cough on you?”
“A little. It’s okay.”
She blinked through lingering tears at his concerned features, and felt a pang of longing for the days she’d spent under his control. Damn. I need that drink now. She gripped the tumbler of ice water in her hands. Should she give it back to him? They’d moved some distance from the fire but the air seemed smothering as ever.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Can I get you something?”
“I’m perfectly okay.”
“Some tea or honey for your throat?”
“No, I don’t need anything.”
“Drink some more of the water.”
“No, I…” At the look on his face, she bit her lip and took another drink, then handed the glass back. “I’m really fine, Mr. Lemaitre. Thank you.”
He tilted his head with a ghost of a smile. “You might call me Michel by now, don’t you think?”
She stared at him. Call the great Le Maître by his first name? “I’m not sure I can do that.”
He shrugged and turned toward the sea. “Call me Mr. Lemaitre if you like. You’ve earned the right to choose.”
“I’ll call you Michel if you really want me to,” she said, plucking at the folds of her dress.
“It’s your choice,” he replied tightly.
“Well, okay then. Michel.” It felt horrible to call him that, like they were friends now. Chums. She wanted to wash out her mouth. She wanted to scream and throw things. She turned away, setting her teeth. “You don’t have to stand here with me. I’ve tried my best to stay out of your way.”
“Stay out of my way? Why?”
Because you hurt me.
Because I’m still in love with you and I shouldn’t be.
“Because you’re busy. It’s your daughter’s wedding,” she said instead. “It’s been a lovely day.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the festivities. Is this your first time in Marseille?”
“Yes, it’s…yes. My first time.” Making small talk with him was almost as painful as watching him from afar. “You have a very nice vacation home,” she added in a fake, modulated voice that sounded nothing like her own.
“Thank you.”
“How often do you come here?”
“A few times a year, when I’m not so busy. It’s been hectic this spring, mounting a new show.”
And dealing with you. He didn’t say that part of it, but she heard it. He turned again to look out at the water. He’d taken off his suit jacket at some point, and loosened his collar like most of the guests. He still looked sharp and dangerous. Diamond hard, but then, she knew how hard he could be. She stood silent beside him, hot, cold, confused, ashamed, terrified he’d continue to make empty conversation with her, and just as terrified he’d walk away. The fresh, rich sea air couldn’t cover the intoxicating memory of his scent.
“What did you think of the ceremony?” he asked when the silence strung out.
“It was beautiful.” On this point, at least, she wasn’t conflicted. “You must be so proud of your daughter. She and Jason love each other so much. It makes me feel...” She clutched at her stomach, not sure how to express the mixture of awe and joy she felt. “I don’t know. Love is such a magnificent thing.”
“Yes,” he said, in a way that didn’t sound like a yes. He blinked, looking down at the sand, and jiggled the ice in his glass. Then he said, so softly she almost might not have heard, “Dieu, I miss you.”
She felt the four quiet words like a kick to the gut. She’d missed him too, so much that Jason and Sara’s beautiful wedding had been a nightmarish agony. She missed him so that his nearness hurt like smoke searing her lungs. Anger washed over her, an eruption of temper spewing up from the empty spaces he’d left inside.
“It’s your fault if you miss me, don’t you think?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “You said we’d come to the ‘natural end of things,’ remember? You told me you wanted to get a new slave.”
His lips pursed at the challenge in her tone. “I didn’t get a new slave. I don’t even go to the club anymore.”
“But it’s your club.”
“Perhaps I’ll go back someday. Perhaps Sara and I will work out a schedule so we won’t run into one another. Perhaps I’m tired of the noise and drama and I don’t want to return. Perhaps I don’t want to return without…without you.”
“Oh, of course.” A harsh laugh tore from her throat. “Because the last time we went together,
we had so much fun.”
“Don’t.” His gaze faltered, revealing hidden pain. “Never laugh like that again, in that brittle way. I can’t bear it.”
She couldn’t bear it either, the hurt in his voice, the tragic tone. How dare he act like the injured one? It was his choice to move her out of his life and keep her at a distance. “I don’t think you have the right to tell me what to do anymore,” she said, tipping up her chin.
“Even so.”
Him and his even so’s. This conversation wasn’t headed anywhere pleasant and she didn’t want to cause a scene at her friends’ wedding. “I think I’m going to head back to the house.”
He followed. “Be careful of the fire.”
“I’ll be fine.” She shied away when he took her arm and tried to guide her. She heard the clink of his glass as he shoved it into someone’s hands.
“Wait. Please.” He reached for her again, keeping pace. “Valentina, don’t run away from me. Not today.”
She didn’t stop. If anything, she walked faster. They were on the other side of the fire now, on the sheltered side of the beach. “Not today?” she echoed. “What day would please you better, Master? What do I owe you?” She turned on him, her temper flaring hot as the fire. “What gives you the right to ask anything at all?”
“Nothing. I have no right,” he said quickly. He held up his hands. “Ma mignonne—”
“No. I am not your little darling. I never was.”
“Valentina, then. Ma vampa. Please let me…let me talk to you. There are things I need to say.”
“There were things I needed to say too, and you wouldn’t let me say them, remember? You beat me for saying them. You made me cry.”
He halted with a stricken expression, his hands braced on his hips. The bonfire rose behind him in the distance, outlining his tall stature, his wild black hair.
“I loved you,” she said, glaring at the man she still loved. “I gave you everything, every fiber of my devotion, every breath, every secret, every emotion for days and days on end. I did that for you, because I adored you. I gave everything to be your slave.”
Master's Flame (Cirque Masters) Page 22