Prelude: Book One in The Interlude Duet

by Auden Dar

  “Soooo … Allegra … I can’t believe that was her. She’s really grown to be a beautiful woman. She’s your age, right?”

  “Yes, Allegra is beautiful, and you’re correct. She’s about my age. But I know what you’re about to ask, and noooo, I’ve never dated her and never will. We’ll never have that kind of relationship. We’ve kept in touch because she spent time in London with her grandparents who lived literally next door to Father. Strange, huh?” He pauses before offering, “Our fathers have a home in the same building, and her grandparents used to live next to us in London. When her grandparents passed away a few years ago, her parents sold the Belgravia home to Father.” His left hand is still firmly on the steering wheel when his other hand touches mine briefly.

  I look down and admire his hands. They’re large and beautiful. His nails are neatly trimmed.

  Laughing along with him, I finally ask the burning question. “Well, do you … have a girlfriend joining us?”

  He turns his head slightly to face me. “I guess it’s my turn. I’m such a hypocrite for discussing your engagement when I’m the last person to discuss commitments. I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

  Whaaaaaat?

  I turn slightly to face him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh … you’re … you’re still a virgin?”

  He throws his head back, and deep laughter escapes his mouth. Why is he laughing so hard?

  Oh, my God, his body is slightly shaking. It takes a while for him to recover. “Definitely not a fucking virgin. I said I’ve never had a girlfriend. I didn’t say I’ve never had sex.”

  I swallow. “Oh.”

  “Lina, what do you mean ‘Oh’?” he continues with a bit more conviction in his tone when he admits, “If we’re being completely honest, I love sex.” With his sapphire eyes focused on mine, he says, “I love to fuck.”

  Hold. Up.

  He loves to fuck.

  With his eyes now staring at the road ahead, he admits, “Hell, I may actually love it more than the average man.” Did he have to say that? It’s hard enough that he’s insanely handsome but to have him tell me that he loves to fuck more than the average man. God help me. “But I’ve never been in a relationship. I imagine them to be complicated.”

  “That’s sad, Julian.” My voice is barely a whisper.

  The man who loves to fuck shakes his head. “Oh, Lina, Lina, Lina, ever the romantic. It’s not at all. Not everyone wants to get married or, as in your case, be perpetually engaged.”

  A huge grin turns up at the corner of his mouth, and I instantly hit his arm.

  “Ouch, that hurt,” he says jokingly.

  “I don’t want to be perpetually engaged,” I reveal before taking a deep breath and stare at my ring-free left hand.

  His hand reaches for mine. “Then why are you not married, or why exactly are you still with Andrew? Something’s wrong with this picture.”

  I don’t respond. I ponder his words, words that have wounded me. Julian hasn’t changed a bit. Blunt. His honesty is brutal and unlike when we were younger, I don’t know how to handle it.

  Interrupting my thoughts, he says, “Lina, my intentions were not to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever want to do. I know we’ve been apart for so long, but I’ll always be frank with you. We’ve always been open with one another. So many people spend time with their bullshit, and I wonder why bother.”

  My childhood friend’s words hit home.

  Fourteen

  The Caine residence greets me. Situated on an unassuming street, I gaze up at the limestone building that spans three floors. I survey my surroundings and find nothing extraordinary about the street itself except its location. Broadway. The Caine mansion is in the heart of Billionaire’s row.

  The first thing that strikes me about the palatial house is that it is decadent and cold. Imposing statues are out of place. Something is quite gaudy about the Caine home even though gaudy and the Caine name should never be allowed in the same sentence.

  Julian reveals his family’s history with the house. “It had been my great uncle’s home since the turn of the century. Father had inherited the home the same year we left New York. However, Father has never lived here full time. He prefers to live in London.”

  With my bags in tow, Julian and I enter the main living area. From my vantage point, I see views of the bay. The ceilings are ridiculously high. Looking up, there is a ceiling mural of angels. Suddenly, I feel as if I am visiting an Italian villa. “Julian, Evangelina,” I hear, and when I turn, a handsome older gentleman greets us.

  A few feet away from where I am standing, Marcel is seated on a sofa that could easily have been from the estate of King George. It looks like the most uncomfortable couch I have ever seen.

  “Evangelina!” Standing up, the elder Caine moves toward me.

  “Marcel!” I enthusiastically greet him with a tight hug. We hold one another, just like when I was younger, both of us simply reveling in our reunion. It’s a simple moment like this when you realize how much you miss someone.

  Slowly breaking away from our embrace, I notice the deep lines on his forehead. His thick head of hair is no longer jet black. His posture is not as straight as it used to be, exhibiting how much he has aged over the years. Yet he is still devastatingly handsome, still reminding me of Cary Grant.

  My former guardian stands back and offers his hand to Julian rather than hug him. It’s strange to watch this awkward interaction between father and son. They had been so close before Elisa’s death. They had always been affectionate with one another. Time not only moved forward, but it also changed everyone.

  “Julian, it’s been a while.” Marcel stands back and assesses his son’s appearance. “You look well.”

  “Father.” Julian puts a hand in his hair and then turns to a stunning, tall blond beauty. He nods and doesn’t say a word. He’s been warm the entire time until now.

  Marcel gestures for me to sit down. “I’m thrilled that you’re here. It’s been too long. Let me look at you.” He pauses, studying me for a quick second. “You’re really quite the beauty, my dear. You remind me so much of your mum.”

  “I’m glad to be here. And you’re still very handsome and charming as ever.”

  “Lina, dear, please meet my wife, Astrid.”

  Marcel’s stunning wife rises from the couch. I peek up. Next to Astrid, I’m an ant. You know that term Swedish Bombshell? Well, that’s exactly what she is. Standing about five-foot-nine, she is a total knockout. Her long blond hair is thick and glossy. Her body is slim, and it’s quite obvious that her breasts are naturally large. We both sit down at the same time. Now sitting beside me, she takes my hands and air kisses both of my cheeks. She studies my face for a minute, then replies with a slight accent, “I am so happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Pausing for a few seconds, she squeals, “You look like Christy Turlington!” She faces her husband. “Doesn’t she?”

  Marcel is clearly baffled when he admits, “I don’t know who she is.”

  Astrid waves her hand in the air, simply brushing her husband’s admission aside. “It doesn’t matter. You’re simply beautiful. We’re just getting started with cocktails. What would you like to have?”

  Although I am flattered, I can’t help but feel rather homely next to the Swedish Bombshell. She’s beautiful but not as captivating as Elisa Caine. I mutter, “Thank you. I’m fine right now.” I stare at Marcel’s new wife and a part of me can’t help but also compare her to the woman I miss. I force a slight smile. “If you all don’t mind, I would love to freshen up a bit.”

  I didn’t think it would be so difficult to see Marcel married to another woman. Noticing my slight discomfort, he suggests, “Dear, why don’t you rest and we can get together later?”

  I nod. “Yes, I would love that. Thank you for having me in your home.”

  I rise up from my seat, and Marcel joins me. With his arm wrapped around my shoulder, he utters, “Evangelina, my dear, I have misse
d you.” He softly kisses my cheek like he used to when I was a child.

  I respond with only a smile. Turning slightly to my right, I find his son’s eyes on me.

  “Father, I’ll take Lina to her room.”

  With his hand on my lower back, Julian leads me out of the stately living area.

  Fifteen

  Padding my way upstairs with Julian by my side, I am amazed by the interiors of this enormous house. Unlike their Park Avenue home, there is no warmth, and it’s overly decorated. It reminds me of a museum filled with items that shouldn’t be touched. Not a trace of Marcel’s former life with Elisa and Caroline exists. Surrounding us are more misplaced statues, priceless works of art, and several portraits of Astrid. Astrid seated on a large armchair. Astrid riding a horse along the English countryside. Astrid lounging by a pool. They say that one of the signs of success is the amount of art one has acquired. I am met with a Warhol, Hirst, Basquiat−as well as a Degas painting I once saw at a small gallery in France. Yet success doesn’t come to mind when I think of Marcel Caine. How could it when his life has been plagued with tragedy?

  At the top of the stairs, I can’t help but blurt out, “This place is so different from 740.”

  “I agree. Astrid decorated the entire house. And how shall I put it? Her taste is … I can’t think of the correct word at the moment. I don’t think it suits Father, but he loves to indulge her,” he answers without offering any more insight.

  We walk down a long wide hallway with more artwork and statues greeting us.

  How many statues does a house need?

  “Julian, there are so many statues here. I can’t believe all the portraits of Astrid as well.”

  He stops in his tracks and sighs. “Please don’t remind me.”

  We both stare at one another and crack up. Loud laughter fills the long hallway as we make our way to where I’ll be staying.

  At the far end of the right corner is the guest room. Although I have known the Caines for most of my life, it feels a bit strange being in this enormous house. I glance over, and judging by Julian’s demeanor, I’m not the only one who is uncomfortable. Finally reaching the bedroom, he opens the door, allowing me to enter first.

  The room itself is also heavily decorated. The Caine residence in New York is a study in restraint. This home is just the opposite. It is simply ostentatious. The bed alone is covered in silk, velvet, and more than ten pillows. On the other side of the room is an oil painting I’ve never seen before. The composition is that of a couple dressed in medieval clothing locked in a passionate kiss. I stare at the artwork for a few brief minutes before Julian interrupts. “It’s The Kiss by Francesco Hayez.”

  I continue to admire Hayez’s masterpiece. “It’s haunting and beautiful.” It’s the only thing I like in the room.

  “Just like the woman I’m staring at right now.”

  I turn my head quickly, confused by his statement.

  “You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” Studying my reaction, he continues, “I hope you’ll find this room to your liking. I know the interiors are a bit much but the bed should be comfortable. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask Mrs. Berg. She can get you whatever you need.”

  “Mrs. Berg? What happened to Miss Pendleton?”

  “Oh, Miss Pendleton is living a wonderful life in New York. Mrs. Berg has been with Father for years now. She’s not as brilliant as Miss Pendleton but she’s great. She makes a mean Guinness stew. And I hope you haven’t made any dinner plans. I would love to take you out.”

  “No plans at all. But what about Marcel and Astrid?”

  “We’re on our own tonight. Father and Astrid will be attending a gallery opening.”

  “Oh, I thought I would have some time to spend with Marcel.”

  “You will. But tonight, it’s just me.”

  Mmm, you look so good. Stop it!

  “Lina?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. My mind just went somewhere.” Yeah, stop looking at Julian like he’s a piece of vanilla cake with sweet chocolate frosting. Oh God, I bet he tastes as good.

  “Lina?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, I would love to join you for dinner.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at six tonight?”

  “Pick me up? Are you not staying here?”

  “No, Mugpie and I will be staying at the Clift Hotel.” It dawns on me that Mugpie is downstairs. “I prefer not to stay here. Again, if you need anything, just ask Mrs. Berg or call me. If you need a ride, Leonard can take you wherever you need to go.”

  “Wow, Leonard is still with your dad?”

  Slightly chuckling, he says, “Well, you know Father. If he doesn’t need to, he doesn’t like to change personnel.”

  “I like Leonard, but I can get around on my own. I can Lyft it.”

  Julian’s face is serious. “No fucking way. I prefer that you not be alone in the city. Please tell me that you’ll take Leonard if you need to go somewhere. If you’re uncomfortable with Leonard, I’ll take you anywhere you need to go. No Lyft, no Uber. Okay?”

  What the hell? I’m not a child. Yet I don’t feel like arguing with him. In a way, it’s nice to have someone a bit protective.

  I roll my eyes before nodding. As Julian walks slowly toward me, I notice the intensity in his eyes. Unlike the last time I saw him when he and I were able to see eye to eye, I have to rise to my tiptoes and tilt my head to be able to see his eyes. God, they are so blue and gray at the same time.

  Have they always been so … mesmerizing?

  My traitorous body gives me away. My knees are weak, and I’m surprised I haven’t fallen. My mouth feels dry and all I want to do is kiss his full lips.

  Did I just think that?

  This man is so close that I can smell his wonderful scent. I just want to take him in. And I awkwardly do.

  “Did you just sniff me?” he asks with a smirk.

  “No, God, no! At least I don’t think so.” I did, didn’t I?

  “Well, I think you did. Do I stink?” he says teasingly before deep laughter erupts.

  Your scent turns me on!

  And that deep laugh of his stirs something in me. My belly is doing backflips.

  I could listen to him laugh all day. When was the time last time I heard Andrew laugh?

  “Uh … uh, no, of course not. At least I don’t think so. Ok, you got me. I … I guess I was just intrigued by your cologne.”

  You smell sooo good.

  “Well then.” He moves closer, and now we’re only an inch apart. With the light streaming from the window, he looks even more handsome. His skin is flawless even though it is covered with day-old stubble. I would love to feel it against my skin. I notice a scar on his cheek that hadn’t been there years ago. I’m surprised I’m not tracing it with my forefinger. Where and when did he get that scar? I’ll have to ask him later. His eyes are a bluish gray that I can easily drown in if given the time. Black eyelashes, so long and thick, they can probably hold a toothpick. Luscious, mouth-watering full lips that render me speechless yet my body screams, “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

  I swallow, and I swallow hard.

  He shakes his head back and forth, biting the corner of his bottom lip. “Beautiful Lina, I’ll see you at six.” I continue to stare up at him, my lips slightly parted. After an awkward pause, Julian bends his head and kisses me. The kiss is anything but sensual. It’s a sweet tender kiss on my blushing left cheek. The kind a brother gives his sister. It is a chaste kiss.

  And although his kiss was so nonsexual, a tingling sensation between my legs sneaks up on me. An urge to kiss him awakens my parched mouth, and I’m not talking about a simple kiss on the cheek. I wonder what it would feel like to run my tongue along his lips. What would he taste like?

  Stop it!

  While I’m thinking to myself, Julian begins to walk away. Once he’s by the door, he halts and turns around, “Lina.”

  Opening his arms, we both make ou
r way to each other, meeting in the middle. Without hesitation, he hugs me tightly. Cocooned in his embrace, I allow myself to feel the strong arms of the boy I have always loved. His chest rises and falls, the strong beating of both of our hearts is the only sound I hear. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m … I’m so happy you’re here,” he says with an unfamiliar tone.

  I smile against his chest, unable to voice the unexpected feelings stirring inside me. Contentment … confusion…. excitement … And most of all−an unfamiliar longing.

  Everything about my childhood friend draws me in−he’s gorgeous, no doubt. But it’s also so much more. His confidence. His tenderness. His being proud of me is the biggest turn-on.

  His bedroom voice interrupts me. “Get some rest.”

  Disentangling myself from his arms, my breath hitches when I glance up at his face.

  He’s so beautiful.

  And he’s absolutely clueless. He’s leaving me all alone and … excited in this massive, ostentatious guest room. This is when I regret not listening to Roger.

  Damn, I should have bought a vibrator.

  Sixteen

  Although the king-size poster bed is heavenly, I lie here uncomfortable with concupiscent thoughts while staring up at the ceiling. Would it be weird to pull out my iPad, watch Tumblr porn, and touch myself?

  Duh, yeah.

  Focus, I tell myself. I’m here to help celebrate Marcel’s 65th birthday and nothing more. However, this body of mine seems to have a different agenda. All I want to do is jump on Julian and ride him. I’ve always had a horny side, but today … I feel like a fat, hungry cat in heat. Pulling out my phone, I search for a picture of my fiancé. It takes forever to find a recent photo since Andrew is camera shy. Finally, chestnut eyes stare at me. The goofiest, lopsided grin I’ve ever seen greets me. Oh, that dimple, how I miss it. His dark blond hair is surprisingly messy, and he’s wearing his usual brown shirt and brown pants ensemble. He’s holding a vegan mint chocolate chip shake from Café Gratitude.