The Virgin

by Tiffany Reisz

  considered having her tailed.

  “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he said.

  She sighed and smiled at him. “I know. I’ll be fine. It’s sweet that you care.”

  She walked over to him and kissed him on both cheeks in the French manner as he’d trained her to do. He heard the doorbell and willfully ignored it. Calliope’s date must be picking her up here. Maybe he should go say hello to her suitor...ask him a few questions.

  But no. Calliope would kill him. Eighteen years old, he reminded himself. Almost nineteen. A legal adult. And intelligent. And responsible, apart from her association with him. And hardworking. She deserved a date without her boss giving her a hard time about it. Of course, if this boy harmed her in any way Kingsley would be forced to kill him. But that went without saying. He picked up his glasses and his book again—Wide Sargasso Sea, a book Elle had recommended to him long ago. A beautiful book but a poor choice for a man trying to forget the woman he loved who lived on a Caribbean island with a man who would never understand her.

  “King?” came Calliope’s voice again.

  “If he stood you up, I’ll shoot him,” Kingsley said.

  Calliope didn’t laugh.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “There’s a woman here for you.”

  “Who?”

  “She didn’t tell me her name.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Stunning,” Calliope said, sounding truly stunned. “I’ve never seen her equal.”

  Kingsley’s eyes widened. He stood up and walked to the door. Calliope looked at him.

  “I don’t want you getting hurt, either,” Calliope said with concern scrawled across her face.

  Kingsley kissed her forehead. “Have fun on your date.”

  He walked past her and out into the hall. Down the hall to the entryway.

  And there she was—Juliette. At first he could only stare at her in wonder. Juliette, in the flesh, standing in his foyer. She wore the loveliest turquoise dress and shoes and she shimmered like a jewel.

  “That was a very pretty girl who answered the door,” Juliette said.

  “Cal. Calliope,” he corrected. “My assistant.”

  Juliette nodded. “Calliope? Is that her real name?”

  “She’s a computer hacker. She says she has to have a mythological code name. Silly girl. She has a beautiful real name, but she won’t let anyone call her that.”

  “What is it?” Juliette asked.

  “Céleste.”

  “Yes,” Juliette agreed. “Lovely name.”

  “Did you come here to talk about my assistant? We can if you like. She’s going on a date tonight, and I’m not taking it well.”

  Juliette gave him a tight smile and laughed to herself.

  “I came here because I can.” She looked uncomfortable, nervous, out of her element. It took everything in his power to not grab her and drag her up to his bedroom. “Thanks to you.”

  “You said you wanted freedom. Freedom was the only thing you wanted. You wanted it more than you wanted me. So I gave it to you.”

  “I didn’t expect you to pay for my mother’s medical bills.”

  “I didn’t expect you to find me. You wanted freedom. Now you have it.”

  He’d had Calliope set up a third-party medical trust fund account and had all of Juliette’s mother’s medical expenses paid through it. Everything was in Juliette’s name and nothing was in his.

  “You left without telling me where you lived, what your name was,” Juliette said.

  “You said you didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. It was a gift. No strings attached.” Kingsley had made sure of that. Calliope set up everything so that Juliette could never find him through the accounts. It was hers, free and clear. Leaving without telling her goodbye, without telling her how to find him had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Kingsley didn’t say anything else. He didn’t trust himself to speak right now.

  “I left him,” she said at last.

  “Did you?”

  She nodded.

  “I haven’t really loved him in a long time. He’s not an evil man. He’s actually... I wish him well,” she said. “I told him he should be with someone who does love him, but it would never be me.”

  “Was he angry?”

  “Shocked. He wanted to know where the money came from.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I found a buried treasure on the beach.”

  Kingsley swallowed hard. He would have laughed if he could have. Right now he could barely breathe, much less laugh.

  “How did you find me?” Kingsley asked.

  “Gérard had me help him with his work. I know how to find people. I knew your first name, your age, that you lived in Manhattan. Took a while, but here you are. Kingsley Edge—you weren’t joking. You have your own kingdom. Must be nice.”

  “I’m afraid to ask you what you’re doing here. But I’ll do it anyway. Why did you come here?”

  Juliette shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I went to visit my mother since I could. The first trip I’ve ever taken that he didn’t pay for.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s comfortable,” Juliette said. “But her doctor said she’s not improving.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Truly.”

  “She’s happy and they treat her like a queen. That’s all I care about.”

  “What did you do after visiting her?” Kingsley asked. Juliette glanced around the entryway. He hoped his home didn’t disappoint.

  “I traveled Europe. I liked Germany very much. And Italy. They were my favorites. After Paris, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought about you while I was traveling,” Juliette said. “About what we had together and what you did for me. I thought about how I’d wanted freedom for years now and how you’d given it to me without asking anything in return. And I came to a conclusion...”

  Kingsley had trouble speaking. His throat was tight and his hands were trembling. He shoved them into the pockets of his jacket.

  “And what is the conclusion you came to?” he finally asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

  Juliette looked at him. Then she smiled.

  “Freedom is overrated.”

  34

  Upstate New York

  HER BAG WAS packed, and inside it Elle had all her clothes, her handwritten copy of The Virgin, the copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology that she’d stolen from the convent library and the two pieces of riding crop she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw away.

  All day long she was an electric bundle of energy. She did everything she could to stay calm and stay focused, but she couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop panicking. She was leaving. Finally. Getting out of here. She’d been trapped in a convent for months and months and was so ready to leave she could scarcely breathe the air inside anymore.

  Elle had only one loose end to tie up. Her mother. She’d avoided thinking about her mom in the two months since she and Kyrie had decided to run away together. Her mother was certain that if Elle left here, she’d run right back into Søren’s arms. Knowing her mother, she’d likely prefer that to Elle admitting she’d been sleeping with a woman for the past two months.

  But still...Elle had to say goodbye somehow, some way. If she went and hugged her mother, that would be far too suspicious. And if she told her mother she was leaving, her mother would do everything in her power to get her to stay. She’d make a scene, start a fight. Kyrie was too fragile to handle leaving under those conditions.

  And Elle too...this decision to leave felt fragile, as well. She was afraid to leave but more afraid not to. When would she see her mother again? They’d found a little peace together under this roof, behind these walls. But Elle couldn’t stay just for her.
Elle knew her destiny, unlike her mother’s, didn’t live behind these walls. As much as it hurt, she had to go. And since she had to go, she had to say goodbye. Elle decided on a letter. It was the only way.

  Dear Mom,

  By the time you get this letter I’ll be gone. I can’t stay here at the abbey anymore. I don’t belong here and we all know it. But thank you for taking me in and giving me shelter. I promise I’m not going back to him. He’s not the reason I’m leaving. You won’t like hearing this, but there’s a literary agent who is interested in my book. I used to dream about being a writer when I was a teenager. I hope you never found any of my journals that I was scribbling in constantly. They would have given you a heart attack. I’m only telling you this so you know writing was my first good dream I ever had for my life. The nicest thing he ever said to me was that I was a better writer than he was.

  You might not believe me when I say this, but I love you, Mom. I’m sorry the choices I’ve made in the past have scared you and disappointed you. I would be lying if I said I had any regrets, but you should know, I don’t feel good about hurting you. In my world, the pain is supposed to be consensual.

  Please don’t be angry with me, and don’t be afraid. I’ll be fine. You always told me growing up that God had a plan for me, a plan to give me a future and hope. If it makes you feel any better at all, for the first time in my life, I think I believe that.

  Love,

  Elle

  She didn’t add a postscript at the end. What more was there to say?

  At 10:00 p.m., after everyone had gone to bed, Elle put on her jacket and her shoes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She walked out to the oratory and found Kyrie waiting there for her. She had on her habit, her full habit. She hadn’t even changed clothes for bed. Elle had never touched her intimately while Kyrie had her habit on. She’d never touched Søren when he wore his vestments, either. They were sacred garments, and Elle felt awkward seeing Kyrie in them.

  “I have clothes for you to change into,” Elle said.

  “Good. I’ll put them on as soon as we get outside the gate.”

  Kyrie smiled big and bright, but something about her smile looked fake and fragile. Elle didn’t blame her too much. They didn’t have much of a plan or much money. They were scared, both of them. Elle’s hand trembled and her breaths came faster than usual. Her voice sounded higher than usual, even to herself. Her mouth was dry and her muscles were tight.

  She couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

  “Well, I have everything,” Elle said. “What about you?”

  Kyrie had a suitcase. Elle reached for it but Kyrie held it to her chest. “I can get it,” Kyrie said.

  “Sure. Great. Ready?”

  “You first,” Kyrie said.

  She reached out and took Elle’s hand. Elle squeezed Kyrie’s fingers and took a harsh, scared breath.

  “Okay. I’ll lead the way.”

  “Elle?”

  “What?”

  “Kiss me,” Kyrie said. “Please?”

  Elle laughed. “Absolutely.”

  She felt strange kissing Kyrie while she was wearing her habit and veil. But how could she say no to such a humble request? She put her bag down and placed her hands on Kyrie’s face. The kiss was exactly what Elle needed. It reminded her that Kyrie had put herself into Elle’s hands. She had to take care of them now. She had to take care of both of them. Kyrie was young and she needed Elle to be strong for her. Strong and in charge. Elle could do that.

  When Elle pulled back, Kyrie had tears on her face.

  “Don’t be scared,” Elle whispered. “I’ve got this. You believe me, right?”

  “I believe in you. You’re going to do amazing things out there in the world.”

  “We both are.”

  “I wanted to tell you...” Kyrie began. “I figured out how your book ends. I know what Daphne did when the light turned green.”

  “You did?” Elle asked. “What do you think Daphne did?”

  “I think she went out on her own and had an amazing life. And I think John Apollo had a good life too, even without her.”

  Elle grinned. “I think you’re right. More than one kind of happy ending.”

  She kissed Kyrie quickly on the lips again and picked up her bag. Elle took a deep calming breath and walked to the back door of the oratory. Kyrie unlocked it and opened it for her.

  Elle looked over her shoulder and smiled at Kyrie. Elle stepped out of the chapel and into the real world again.

  The night was cool but not cold, and the moon was high and full and bright. She could see everything—the cluster of white oak trees and the silver maples that stretched along the edge of the worn dirt path, the abbey glowing gray in the moonlight, and the road in the distance lit by a single streetlight.

  She took a deep breath and inhaled. Of course the air smelled the same out here as it did behind the fence, behind the gates, but she didn’t care. She breathed it in again. It was almost summer. That’s what she smelled—the coming of a new season. Everything smelled alive. And the world was alive. She heard owls and crickets, a car on the gravel far away, the wind sweeping over the farmland behind her.

  She turned around and held out her hand for Kyrie.

  “Green light,” Kyrie said. Then she shut the door to the oratory.

  “Kyrie?” Elle knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again, harder and louder, called Kyrie’s name again. Still no answer.

  Panicked, heart racing and sweating, Elle pounded even harder on the door. She ran to the side of the oratory and peered through the wrought-iron fence.

  There she was, a dove in her white feathers gliding across the dewy nighttime grass on her way back to the abbey.

  “Kyrie!” Elle called out her name once more. In her voice Elle could hear desperation, anguish, sorrow, the sound of her own heart breaking. Kyrie paused in her steps but didn’t look back at her. Elle reached through the fence and waited, holding her breath, hoping against hope. “Come back,” she said, willing Kyrie to change her mind, to come back.

  Kyrie started walking again and Elle’s legs gave out on her. She crumpled to her knees and rested her head against the iron bars. For the first time since coming here...for the first time in months...for the first time since she left home, Elle cried.

  She wept deep, hard, copious tears that left her back shaking and her body trembling. All this time, Kyrie never planned on leaving with her. It had all been a ruse to get Elle to go back into the world where she belonged. That’s why Kyrie had begged for the kiss—her last kiss.

  Elle grabbed her duffel bag and wrapped her arms around it. She was that desperate for something to hold. She cried for three reasons.

  She cried because she was scared.

  She cried because she was alone.

  And she cried because...

  “Søren,” she whispered into the cold dark night.

  She missed him; she missed him so fucking much. She’d missed him from the second she walked away from him until this moment when she still missed him. She missed him and she loved him and she’d give anything right now for him to pull up on his Ducati and take her in his arms and drive her back to the city and put her in his bed and beat her and fuck her and forgive her for leaving him.

  But she was alone. Søren wasn’t here. And even if he forgave her for leaving him, she couldn’t forgive him yet for what he’d said and what he’d done. If she went back to him it would be just as it was before. She would be his property and his possession. He