by Lynn Turner
“Jesus Christ.” Zack moved quickly to catch Mina’s limp body.
He lifted her and laid her gently on the loveseat. Sharp, crystal-clear blue eyes under long black lashes looked him over with keen interest.
“Étienne, I presume?”
One thick brow arched, and the shit-eating grin grew to a full-blown smile. “Enchanté.”
Charming little bastard. Too bad Mina was probably going to kill him…for real.
Chapter Twenty-Four
One word.
Three syllables.
Sounded like…fuck…what rhymed with ballistic?
Best Zack could come up with was magic stick, and that wasn’t going to help with shit. It was a little hard to concentrate on his silent game of charades when Mina was screaming a string of rapid-fire sounds he couldn’t begin to understand.
If he thought her slap that time in rehearsal was painful, he didn’t want to know what Étienne was feeling right now—She was pummeling the poor guy, fists balled up, throwing her whole body behind it. She might be petite, but she was pretty much solid muscle, reinforced by pure rage.
Étienne made zero attempts to block her, protect himself, grip those flailing arms of hers to keep her at bay. He just stood there, feet planted apart, palms up, saying, “Je connais, bichette. S’il te plaît, chère…Mina…Je suis tellement désolé…Bichette…S’il te plaît…”
Well, maybe it wasn’t pure rage.
Tears streamed down her face, and she started to look exhausted, her arms landing softer…slower…until she collapsed into sobs that looked powerful enough to rip her in half. The urge to go right over there and pluck her away from him was overwhelming, but instinct held him back—instinct, and his own confusing clusterfuck of emotions.
For as long as Zack had known Mina, Étienne had been an enigma. A ghost. An unattainable ideal. Most of all, he was someone Mina obviously loved deeply enough that losing him had broken her heart. Zack knew that kind of pain acutely. A broken heart was impossible to see, but easy enough to detect. Because it hurt to breathe.
That was hard as hell to compete with—and it had felt like that sometimes with Mina. She’d kept Étienne to herself, which she’d had every right to do, but being left in the dark had made Zack susceptible to jealousy, confusion, even resentment. Now Étienne was here in the flesh. Strong, poised, and almost…painfully beautiful.
Tears were pouring from his eyes, too, and she lifted her hands to his face. He had all the angles of a well-structured masculine face, but there was a boyishness there too, in the sparkle behind his big blue eyes and the generous curve of his lips…and she mapped them all with her fingers, like she was refamiliarizing herself, testing the stuff he was made of, making sure he was solid. Making sure he was real. Then she replaced her fingers with her lips.
But they were nothing like the kisses she’d given Zack these last two months, not even in their most chaste moments. They were…adorable. After, she’d speak, he’d interrupt her, and she’d stop…he’d start, she’d interrupt, and he’d stop.
Jesus. They were finishing each other’s sentences.
In a stunning moment of clarity, Zack watched two shattered souls pull themselves back together like magnets. When the pieces finished coming together, it was clear to him what they were, what they had always been. The craziest part, is Mina had already told him weeks ago. He just hadn’t understood it then…
“I believe there are many kinds of soulmates.”
That’s exactly what they were. They were like twins. Soulmates.
Just as he was beginning to feel left out, Mina stood with a loud sigh, throwing her hands in the air and pacing. “It just occurred to me, my daytime soap opera and my dirty romance novel are in the same room, and I have no idea how to feel about it.”
With a gasp, Étienne tracked his eyes slowly up, then down, Zack’s body.
Zack choked on his own damn tongue. It was a look, a look he was still recovering from, and all that the look meant, when Étienne turned his scandalized gaze back to Mina.
“Oh. Mon. Dieu. I knew it, you naughty girl—You’re totally tapping that!”
“Have a care, would you?” asked Zack. “I’m standing right he—”
“Don’t even start.” Mina doubled back, jabbing her finger into Étienne’s chest. “You lied to me, remember? I’ve been miserable all this time, and y—”
“Well, not all this time.” Zack felt slightly affronted.
He was ignored.
“This is exactly why no one ever tells you anything, bichette. You get all worked up and start steaming from your ears.”
“I—I do not—”
“Right there.” He motioned at her head. “Steam.”
“Arrêtes—”
“Non.” Étienne put his hands on his narrow hips. “I’m not done. Did you ever stop to think what a year without dancing must have been like for me?”
Mina visibly cringed.
“Bordel, bichette! You see? Just hearing the words hurts you. Imagine living it? —Non, not living. Dying. Part of me did die, and when I think of the work I will have to do to feel like myself again, I’m lost.”
Sniffing, she walked to him slowly and slipped her hands around his waist. “I know. I-I’m sorry.”
Étienne let go a sigh. “Allez. Enough of this now, okay?” He held her a second longer, then released her, looking at Zack. “Zachary?”
“Zack is fine—by the way, daytime soap opera?”
“Oui,” said Étienne. “You know, fake deaths, ransoms, secret love children.”
“Right,” Zack said. “Of course.”
“Bon.” Étienne clapped. “Let’s go to dinner. We’ll have wine, and I’ll tell you everything.” Without waiting for a reply, he hooked his arm through Mina’s, bending his head to her ear. “And you can tell me exactly how many screaming orgasms we’re talking about.”
“Still here.” Zack followed behind them like a golden retriever.
Étienne took them to an idyllic little town with sandstone streets and Romanesque architecture towering overheard. They had dinner at a café outside in the main square, beneath the warmth of Burgundy’s summer night sky. It was quaint, even with the men in black pretending to ignore them at the next table. Kids were playing in the fountains, and people were walking their dogs. During dinner, Étienne insisted they tell him everything about Lady in Red he couldn’t glean from the internet, and when he playfully asked for all the sordid details of their “blistering affair,” suddenly the summer air turned much colder.
“Alors.” Étienne gave good pout. “I guess that’s my cue, oui?”
“You don’t have to,” Mina said.
“I do, bichette. But…I need you to stay quiet until I finish, okay? That’s part of the reason I brought you here.” He grinned. “I thought, perhaps, in a public place, you wouldn’t freak out.”
She glared at him. “That’s not—”
“Promise me.”
Now she was pouting, too. “Fine. Go on.”
Curiosity had wrapped Zack’s neck in a chokehold from the moment Mina fainted. He met her eyes, silently asking if she was okay. Thankfully, she didn’t ignore him, offering him a subtle nod and turning her attention back to Étienne. Zack crossed his arms over his chest, and Étienne began his story in his deep, dulcet tone.
“I loved Angelo, I should say that first. To everyone else—maybe even you, bichette—he was a name on a bottle. A brand. To me, he was…a champion. He made me feel important. Like the world wouldn’t be the same if I was not in it.”
Mina stretched her arm across the table, and Étienne squeezed her hand.
“The day he was murdered…” His Adam’s apple worked in his throat. “He invited me over to discuss whether I should renew my contract in Paris or move to Italy…with him. He told me to take my time with my decision, and in the meantime, he had some business to take care of. Bichette, do you remember that man—the one they called ‘Monsieur Grand Cru’ at
parties?”
“Oui,” she said. “He was very popular, I remember. Everyone loved him—or rather, his parties. We went to a few of them ourselves. I—Oh mon Dieu!” Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, Étienne. Oh non…non, non, non…”
Étienne’s jaw tightened so much, a muscle ticked in his cheek. “I’m afraid so.”
She gasped. “But…why?”
“His real name is Gabriel Ademar. He made his fortune trading in rare wine, and he had a particular fondness for Burgundy—which is how he got his nickname, you see, for the most superior grade. The problem is, he was bottling them himself, auctioning them as vintage. The year he killed Angelo—and tried to kill me—he made almost twenty-four million euros as a wine forger.”
Mina had both hands over her mouth, visibly trying to keep her composure.
Zack leaned forward. “I’m guessing Angelo caught on?”
Étienne nodded solemnly. “Monsieur Ademar auctioned a rare bottle of Burgundy from nineteen seventy-one for over thirty-thousand euros, claiming it had been produced by Angelo’s family, but the Bernards did not produce their first harvest until nineteen seventy-five. Angelo demanded Monsieur Ademar return the money, with whatever excuse he chose, or he would report him to la police.”
Taking another deep sip of his wine, Étienne looked up with tears in his eyes.
“You don’t have to, chère,” Mina whispered, tears in her eyes, too.
“You promised me, bichette.”
Jesus.
Zack’s hackles were up. He knew what was coming, but hearing it was still chilling.
“Monsieur Ademar showed up unannounced,” Étienne continued. “He apologized, saying returning the money was impossible, because it would ruin his reputation, but he would donate to the charity of Angelo’s choice. Angelo said he would only accept under the condition Monsieur Ademar would cease all forgery in the future. Monsieur Ademar pretended to consider it, then pulled his revolver and emptied the chamber.”
Mina was crying softly now.
“Obviously, I survived, and Angelo did not.” Étienne wiped his tears and took another sip. “For almost a year, I’ve been in witness protection with maman and papa, so la police could build their case. But Monsieur Ademar had a lot of money, and he was well-connected. A few months into the case, la police discovered he had hired a private investigator. La police—they work with PI’s all the time. They have access to police databases…and that is how he discovered I was alive, in hiding somewhere. The private investigator got hold of my taped testimony.”
“Mon Dieu,” Mina gasped. “That’s why I was mugged! Why I was robbed, and—”
“Why your mother was shot,” Étienne said. “I’m sorry, bichette. He must have hired those thugs to find out what you knew.”
“I knew it,” she said. “I had such a bad feeling.”
Zack couldn’t help it this time. He took her hand underneath the table and squeezed. “Why’s it taking damn near a year to nail this guy’s ass to the wall?” he asked tightly.
“Bordel,” Étienne spat. “It’s not just him they want. It’s also his known associates—the private investigator he hired, and others like him, and the dirty cops who look the other way or even take bribes from bâtards like Monsieur Ademar. Harvest here is next month. Monsieur Ademar is already in Paris preparing to tape a reality show for a food and wine channel. They’re picking him up first thing in the morning, which is why I thought it better you stay here, bichette. It’s going to be a circus tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry, Étienne,” Mina whispered.
“Me too. But I’m also relieved. I’m tired of hiding. I’m ready to get on with my life. So…” He handed her a white napkin. “No more tears, okay? I’m reborn today, and you are depressing me.”
Her choking laugh-sob combination made Zack’s heart flip. Whatever he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Étienne studied him openly a moment, the laughter leaving his eyes, replaced with a look of fierce determination.
“I won’t be accompanying you back to Domaine Bernard,” he said, standing.
Mina stiffened. “Non, Étienne—”
“Bichette, I’m still in protective custody until Monsieur Ademar is indicted.”
Nodding, Mina stood, too. “Will you come by in the morning? We leave for New York in the evening.”
“Oui. For a little while. Then I have to go back.”
Zack smiled. It probably wasn’t enough time to catch up, but it was a start.
*
Mina was exhausted by the time they returned to the castle at Domaine Bernard. Another uniformed man showed them to their rooms on the second floor. Enfin, two floors in this place looked more like three or four. A suite of two bedrooms was prepared for them, separated by a sitting room, each with massive fireplaces and antique French beds. There was a terrace off the sitting room with a view that made her chest hurt. It overlooked a rose garden, with a maze just beyond, and a river beyond that.
Drawing the sweet countryside air into her lungs, she admired the stars. They were more and brighter than any night in Paris, and even the stars in Sunset Park she’d seen with Zack…the night they’d talked on and on then made cuddling love in his room. The night she first realized she was falling in love with him. She sighed. It was all so perfect. It was difficult to stomach, under the circumstances.
“Hey.”
She turned to see him standing there. Watching her. “Hi.”
He seemed a little unsure of himself but came up beside her on the balcony, gripping the iron balustrade with both hands. Something in his eyes softened the pout from her lips, her eyes clinging to his like they had so many times that day, seeking the truth behind his words and movements, his every expression. That he was there at all should have been sign enough of his feelings, but after what happened in Tetley Theatre, how could she trust him not to push her away again the next time things got difficult?
“Mina…”
“I’m so tired. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I know, petite.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I know you’re tired, and it’s been…intense. I know it’s a lot to ask but can you just…spare a few more minutes for me. Please?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
Relief shuddered over his expression. “I’m sorry, Mina. I’m sorry for hurting you instead of letting you in. For not letting you see all of me…even the shadows. You trusted me in Vera’s theater, and I betrayed you by not trusting you, too. I shouldn’t have accused you of hiding just because you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. You were protecting yourself, and I am so, so sorry you had to protect yourself from me.”
Merde. He was saying all the right words. The way his deep voice shook with emotion threatened to wear down what was left of her battered heart shields. She couldn’t let him do it so easily. Those shields were all she had left to protect her tattered heart.
“It’s fine,” she said coolly. “I’m sorry you’ve been beating yourself up about it. I overreacted, which I apparently do a lot. It was just…bad timing on my part, and completely out of character. I should have been more understanding.”
His gaze seemed to intensify on hers, but she didn’t look away. For a full minute, it felt like he was trying to read what was written on her heart walls through her eyeballs. “I almost believed you, petite. Next time you lie to me, close your eyes.”
“I—I’m not…”
“No, it’s okay. I figured you’d be skeptical.” He moved as if to touch her but shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “You should know, I did try to tell you—maybe not all the gory details, but you still figured it out. It still scared the living shit out of me, because that’s never happened before. I’ve never opened up with anyone else enough for them to put the pieces together.”
“Zack…”
“Hang on a sec, okay?”
He seemed so earnest, she couldn’t tell him no, so she nodded. Ten seconds later, he’d jogged
to his room and returned with a composition notebook.
She accepted it from his hand. “What’s this?”
“The truth.” He shrugged. “Every word in there is true. I started it the night we met. I never intended to show anyone, but I think…maybe you should read it.”
Her fingers moved over the title hand-written on the front. “Music Box Dancer?”
There was that half-cocked grin. It had been so long since she’d seen it. Her stupid, traitorous heart had the nerve to skip.
“Seemed fitting.” Leaning against the balustrade, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching her.
She wet her lips and opened to the first page…and with the first entry, the shield began to fall away from her heart:
June 16
Incredible. Inside and out of that enormous velvet box.
June 23
Smaller without the stilts. Petite, even.
June 25
She’s been compressed into a diamond. Brilliant. Multifaceted. Sharp.
June 26
I think her hand might be imprinted on my face.
June 30
The lady has a temper.
Sometimes she’s a quiet fire.
Simmering gently.
Her eyes are molten. Her tongue licks like a flame.
Sometimes she’s a wildfire.
Scorching hot.
Engulfing.
And I can’t breathe.
July 3
I wish there were a mirror that could show her what I see.
July 4
I’ve never hugged someone and pulled away branded.
July 11
Today, she’s a quiet fire.
July 15
On the rooftop. In the garden. Underneath the rain.
Tentatively. Gently. Thoroughly.
Hungrily. Passionately. Deeply.
Slower. Faster. Again.
July 18
I can’t. Not today.
July 20
When you dream you’re falling, but you’re wide awake.
July 23
She tries to hide her feelings sometimes, but when she sleeps, she sighs. I think it’s her heart whispering to mine.
July 27
It’s her pieces that slice me in pieces. Death by a thousand cuts.