The Virgin

by Tiffany Reisz

  He turned a corner, walked up a short flight of stairs. A door at the end of a hallway was ajar and light streamed through it. Kingsley crept to the door and peered inside. He saw Juliette. She was alone, and appeared to be packing or unpacking someone’s suitcase. In the lamplight she glowed with quiet beauty. She wore a white dress with a long white scarf in her hair trailing over her shoulder. She looked serene as she bent over the open suitcase and sorted through the contents. When finished she walked to a large wooden birdcage hanging in the open window and whistled at the little yellow bird inside who danced on its little legs for her and fluttered about the cage.

  He shouldn’t let her see him. She shouldn’t know yet he was there. He needed to watch, to wait, to assess the situation before acting. But he couldn’t look away from her.

  When she moved her head, the light caught her face, and he saw tears on her cheeks. Juliette turned her back and Kingsley stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. His plan was discarded in an instant. All that mattered was her.

  Kingsley clapped a hand over her mouth from behind and held her tight against him. Her body tensed, ready to fight or flee.

  “It’s me,” he whispered in her ear. At once she relaxed into his arms. “Good girl.”

  He let her go and she turned to face him. Before she could say a word, his mouth was on hers, and he had her backed against the wall.

  “He’s home,” she said against his lips, but it was the only protest she made.

  “Good. If I fuck you hard enough do you think he’ll hear?”

  He didn’t let her answer. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and kissed her so brutally she whimpered. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her hips pushed into his, and she reached between their bodies to open his pants. He had the condom on as quickly as possible and her panties off and on the floor in seconds. He lifted her off the floor and brought her down onto him, impaling her with one thrust.

  Once Kingsley was inside her, time stopped. The rush and the urgency ceased. He was in her and that was all that mattered and would ever matter.

  He kissed her gently now. Their tongues mingled, their breath... He held her thighs, stroking them, gripping them. She had one foot on the floor and one leg wrapped around his back. She smelled like a tropical garden, like Eden, like Paradise before the Fall. His tongue traced the line of her neck, slid over her collarbone, her shoulder. He pushed the straps of her dress down and bared her breasts.

  The heat inside her was incredible. She burned him from the inside out. They pressed their bodies into each other. She had her hands flat against the wall to steady herself as she tilted her hips up. Kingsley pressed his thumb against her clitoris and she shuddered silently. The day’s heat hadn’t worn off yet and sweat covered them both. He tasted the salt on her skin as he dropped his head and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply.

  Juliette raised her arms, twined them around his shoulders, holding him to her breast.

  “Mon roi,” she whispered, a sob her in voice, and Kingsley went weak. He kissed his way up to her mouth again, kissed the tears off her face. She buried her face into his neck and he held her there, held her close and let her cry.

  He couldn’t stop and she didn’t want him to. He thrust into her, and she took it. She took it until he came hard enough the world went black, and he had to blink to clear his vision.

  Juliette looked at him and he raised his hands to her face and wiped away her tears. More came to take their place.

  “I can take these away,” Kingsley said.

  “How?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “To do what?” she demanded. Juliette pulled away from him and straightened her dress.

  “I can kill him.”

  Juliette laughed, laughed right in his face.

  “You’re out of your mind,” she said.

  “I’m not joking.”

  “I’m pretending you are.”

  “You’ll be free.”

  “Free? Killing a man isn’t freedom. Death isn’t freedom. Running away isn’t freedom. I could walk out of this house tonight of my own volition if I wanted to.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “I choose to stay. I told you why. He takes care of my mother.”

  “Who takes care of you?”

  “I don’t need taking care of.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, but a cry echoed from the next room. Kingsley recognized the cry at once. It was the cry of a baby, shrill and piercing.

  “Who is that?” Kingsley demanded.

  “His grandson,” Juliette said, obviously annoyed. But not with the baby. With him. She strode purposefully from the room and Kingsley followed her into the guest room next door, where someone had set up a nursery. She reached over the side of a crib and lifted the crying baby boy from his bed. She put a cloth diaper over her shoulder and bounced him a few times until he quieted.

  She carried him past Kingsley, ignoring him studiously, and walked down the hall. Kingsley switched off the light behind her and stayed in the shadows of the doorway. At the end of the hall Gérard met her. He patted the baby on his head and kissed him. He listened as Gérard complimented his grandson for his impressive lung capacity. He took the boy from Juliette’s arms and held him to his chest, rubbing the boy’s back and soothing the last of his tears.

  “Let’s go find your maman,” Gérard said to his grandson. “She’ll talk some sense into you.”

  “I should go to bed,” Juliette said to Gérard.

  “Go, but stay awake,” Gérard said. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Your daughter is here,” Juliette said. “You shouldn’t come to me tonight. She might hear.”

  “She’s going out soon to meet friends. He’ll sleep. You don’t.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked off, bouncing his grandson in his arms and laughing.

  And in that moment Kingsley felt something hit him like an ocean wave, knock the breath out of him, kick the legs out from under him and send his heart to his knees in the sand.

  Envy. Envy the likes of which he had never before felt in his life. Envy of this man and the life he had. Children, grandchildren, Juliette in his home, in his bed, in his heart. And if Kingsley had been offered the chance to take Gérard’s place, and all he had to do was go back in time and fuck fourteen-year-old Juliette, he would have done it. He would have done it in a second. He would have done it in a heartbeat, in an instant, and he wouldn’t have regretted one second of it. And that meant he couldn’t pass judgment on Gérard and certainly couldn’t sentence him to death.

  They were the same.

  Juliette came back to Kingsley.

  “You have to leave,” she said.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Leave for good. Leave me. We’re only making it worse.”

  Kingsley leaned back against the door frame.

  “I want to have children,” he said to her.

  Juliette glanced away from him as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “So do I.”

  “I got someone pregnant, and she didn’t want it.”

  “That’s why you’re here in Haiti? You’re grieving?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Juliette leaned against him, clasping the back of his neck with her hand and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “I want to rescue you,” he said. “Please let me.”

  “You’re not a real king,” Juliette said, looking up at him. “And I’m not a princess in a tower. He’s not a dragon. We’re real people and a sword’s not going to solve this problem.”

  “I know.” The two hardest words he’d said yet to her.

  “I can’t save you. You have to save yourself,” Juliette said. “Go.”

  She let him go, took a step back and met his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Je suis desolée. She touched his face and walked off, walked away, following the path Gérard had taken.

/>   And Kingsley was sorry, too.

  He left the house and walked back to his car, drove to his hut and stood alone on the beach watching the moon glide across the ocean.

  Save yourself, Juliette had ordered. He loved her enough to take that order from her.

  Haiti and Manhattan were on the same time. He returned to his hut, and dialed a number.

  “Hey, boss,” Calliope said when she answered the phone. She sounded sleepy. He’d probably woken her up. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to do something for me,” he said.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Book a flight for me.”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “France?”

  “No. Home. I’m coming home, Cal.”

  “Seriously?” The joy in her voice was small comfort, but he’d take any comfort he could get. “When?”

  “As soon as you can get my flight.”

  He heard clicking in the background, her fingers flying over a keyboard.

  “Then guess what?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night, boss.”

  She booked his flight and gave him his confirmation. Then before she got off the phone he gave her three more orders.

  He packed his bags and left nothing behind that would let Juliette know who he was or where he’d gone.

  Then he did the one thing he’d sworn he would never do.

  He left Haiti without Juliette.

  28

  Upstate New York

  ELLE RAN THROUGH the woods chasing after Kyrie. The girl had played volleyball in high school and she ran like an athlete—fearlessly and tirelessly. She sprinted like a gazelle with her long-legged gait, jumping gracefully. Elle pursued her deeper into the trees, following the sound of her laughter, the rustle of leaves.

  At the far end of the abbey’s grounds stood a small marble oratory hidden among a cluster of trees. Elle hadn’t stepped foot in it yet, but Kyrie said it was her favorite place to pray. They weren’t planning on praying much tonight.

  When she reached the oratory, Elle stopped and looked around. It was night and the moon loomed large above the trees. The spring night was crisp but Elle wasn’t cold even though her breath hung like a cloud in the air whenever she exhaled. After running she had to wipe sweat off her forehead. She had on jeans and a T-shirt but no shoes. They’d both run like hoydens through the woods, heedless of twigs and stones and the cold ground. Angels must be watching tonight. Neither one of them had tripped in their flight from the abbey to the chapel.

  But where had Kyrie gone?

  “Kyrie?” Elle whispered. Her voice coiled around the trees and sprang back to her own ears.

  “Boo!” Kyrie said from behind her. Elle spun around and caught Kyrie by the forearm before she could run off again.

  “You’re terrible at hiding,” Elle said, pulling her close.

  “I am not terrible at hiding. I’m wonderful at being found.” Kyrie kissed Elle on the mouth and laughed.

  “Why are you running from me?” Elle asked.

  “Because I want you to catch me.”

  “I caught you. What do I get?”

  “I have a present,” Kyrie said.

  “For me?”

  “For you.”

  “Is it wrapped up in a white bow?” Elle tugged on the ribbon on Kyrie’s white nightgown. It tied under her breasts and when loosened would allow the gown to fall off her. She wore no socks, no shoes, no veil. Her blond hair hung loose and wild around her shoulders. In the moonlight she glowed like a candle, and Elle followed the light to its source, kissing her on the mouth as she held her in place. Kyrie would not get away from her again.

  “Come inside,” Kyrie said against Elle’s lips.

  “I plan to.”

  Elle pushed Kyrie against a tree and kissed her even harder. She yanked on the bow of Kyrie’s nightgown and pulled it down her shoulders. In the cool air, Kyrie’s nipples had peaked hard and Elle bent her head and ran her tongue over them until Kyrie moaned. She loved making Kyrie moan, making her gasp, making her come. Pleasuring this girl had become the raison d’être of Elle’s entire existence.

  Kyrie laughed for seemingly no reason. She danced away from Elle, clutching her nightgown to her neck.

  “Come and get me,” Kyrie taunted, running to the small chapel. She crooked her finger at Elle before disappearing through the wooden door.

  Elle didn’t follow at first. She looked around, eyeing the trees, the twigs on the ground. At last she found what she needed, a long thin twig with smooth slick bark and a lot of give to it. Elle bent it and released the tip. It bent easily and sprang back in an instant. Perfect.

  After she peeled the leaves off the cane and stripped it of extraneous twigs, Elle entered the oratory and found Kyrie at the front by the prayer altar spreading blankets on the floor.

  Elle grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her in for another kiss.

  “I brought these here earlier today and hid them,” Kyrie said with a bright smile when she saw Elle.

  “Premeditated sexual assignations,” Elle said. “You’ll have so much tell Father Antonio next time you confess.”

  “He’ll be so excited,” Kyrie said. “Hope I don’t give him a heart attack.”

  “Priests hear everything. Takes a lot to shock them, I promise.”

  “Still...it’ll be fun to try.” Kyrie sat on the blanket right in the middle.

  “So where’s my present?” Elle asked. The only light in the oratory came from the moon through the windows. Elle took two candles out of her duffel bag and lit them. She wanted light but not too much. She didn’t want anyone from the abbey waking up in the night and seeing light emanating from the chapel windows.

  “I’ll give you your present later,” Kyrie said. “I don’t want to distract you from, well, me.”

  “A nuclear bomb blast couldn’t distract me from you right now.”

  Once they had light, Elle sat on the blanket in front of Kyrie and unzipped her duffel bag.

  “Did you bring me a present, too?” Kyrie asked.

  “Nothing for you,” Elle said. “This is for me.”

  “What is?”

  Elle pulled out a comb and a hair band.

  “What are you doing to me?” Kyrie asked as Elle moved to her side and gathered a lock of hair in her fingers.

  “Anything I want to do to you,” Elle said. “As usual.”

  “Good. I like everything you do to me. Even if it means pulling my hair.”

  “Not pulling it, braiding it. You’re my fairy princess tonight so you need princess hair.”

  With nimble fingers that had twenty-seven years of experience taming her own wild tresses, Elle plaited Kyrie’s hair into a thin French braid at the side of her head. She moved to the opposite side and gave Kyrie a matching braid. While Elle worked, Kyrie closed her eyes.