I look at her, really look at her. She wears little to no make-up and I notice the lines at the corners of her eyes. They’ve deepened and she had yet to seek the usual injection fix. Her hair is gathered in a no-fuss pony tail, as if she’s hardly brushed it this morning. I still find her pretty. Pretty and youthful. Now, those two adjectives aren’t the ones I have for Mom: Beautiful and ageless usually apply to her.
“I should have kept it together,” she continues with her eyes focused on an invisible point somewhere on the Persian rug. “You had just found out about Josh’s marriage and his son. He was breaking off your engagement, breaking your heart, and all I was concerned with was the state of my own marriage.”
Pretty accurate, but I still don’t have the heart to be angry with her. I shrug. “What happened, happened. Josh and I, we weren’t meant to be and whether I had flown to Kansas City or not, he’d have gone back to Cassandra and Lucas. They were meant to be.” My throat constricts and my voice is strangled.
I gather the courage to meet my mother’s gaze and to hold it. I need to tell her the truth too. Our truth.
“What hurt me the most is that you spiraled down not because of whatever Daddy had done to you, but because you got infatuated with someone else again and it didn’t work out. What hurt me is that you could have died and left me alone, just because of a guy whose name you’ve probably already forgotten.”
I want to swallow back the words. I’m not the patient here. I have no right drawing the spotlight onto my own emotions. “Sorry.”
Dr. Olivier and Mom exchange a charged look. I assume the boyfriend in question has been discussed at length during their bi-weekly meetings.
“You’re right,” she finally says. “Whoever I left your father for, whatever his name, he should never have mattered more than you. My daughter needed me to be strong for her and I unraveled. I’m the one who is sorry.”
I’m about to revert to my default behavior and say that, really, we’re all perfectly fine, that we have no need to discuss this further, that the page is turned. But I keep my mouth shut for a while instead and scrutinize Mom’s face. She stares back at me with a brand-new intensity and I finally break eye contact.
“I want to be your mom, Lenor, because I’ve never really been one. If anything, you’ve been the one caring for me for as long as I remember. You showed me patience, selflessness, and forgiveness and it’s about time I reciprocate.”
I nod tightly. I gave up on Mom a long time ago and my mind struggles to grasp the possibility of her being there for me.
“It might be beneficial for us to reconvene in a couple of months once Louise has made more progress.” Dr. Olivier sounds quite pleased with the outcome of our little heart-to-heart.
I nod again and leave the room to go to the library-like waiting area while my mother and her shrink have finished their session. When she steps out, I welcome her with a smile. She smiles back at me, and extends her hand. I grab it. Her skin feels fresh and smooth against mine. She gives a light squeeze and kisses my cheek.
“Let’s go home, Sweetie.”
We leave Dr. Olivier’s practice holding on each other.
Chapter 14
ZACH
East Hampton ~ 10th August, five years earlier.
This lunch was a dumb idea.
I’m only here because Lenor begged me to come. She’s never usually like that—pouting mouth, fluttering eyelashes and sultry voice. It’s not really Duchess’s style, but she acted a little out of character to convince me.
My mother, myself, Lenor, and Louise, we’re all sitting like a happy family on the terrace of La Palombiere, a French restaurant on Shinnecock Hills. The location is perfect because Louise is the epitome of Parisian chic.
I’m sure Lenor sees this very public lunch as a way of rehabilitating the Murdoch family’s good name. I try and not give a shit about what people think of us after my father’s BDSM fiasco, but my mom… I can’t keep my heart from twisting and turning. She’s a shadow of the woman she was just a couple of months ago. Her frame has withered, her chest skeletal, and dark circles have settled permanently underneath those green eyes of hers, so similar to my own.
“Should we order some drinks? I’m gasping,” Louise announces through a cloud of Gauloise, her brand of cigarette for as long as I can remember.
I doubt she’s gasping. I’ll go as far as say that she’d already knocked down a couple of Martinis by mid-morning. Next to me Lenor fidgets awkwardly. I’m about to wrap my arm around her shoulders but I kill the move straight away. A public display of affection isn’t part of the deal we’ve struck. We keep the thing we have going on between us.
“You’re right, Louise. I’d love a gin and tonic.” My until-recently teetotal mother agrees.
Well, I’m not going to judge her new taste for booze—or pills—since, I figure, it’s her way of coping with the explosion of her marriage and her dramatic fall from social grace. Until recently, coke and vodka were my own coping mechanism.
“What about you, Zachary?” Louise asks.
I tear my eyes away from Lenor. It costs me, but given how her mother is now checking me out, it’s safer not to look too lovey-dovey.
“I’m fine. Some sparkling water will do.”
“Same for me,” Lenor answers enthusiastically.
Louise and Mom plunge in loud conversation, bitching about someone who’s supposed to be one of their closest friends. At least, Louise is bitching. Mother listens. It’s getting me antsy and I start tapping my fork against the stem of my empty wine glass. Lenor’s hand moves to my wrist and gently stops the tapping. I give her a sideways glance and an apologetic smile, then I lay the fork flat on the table cloth. I miss the sensation of her touch, as soon as her hand falls to her lap.
“So the two of you are spending a lot of time together?” Louise’s question is followed by the click of her Zippo and the smoke filtering from her fleshy lips.
Lenor stiffens and her hands twist tightly around her napkin. She holds her own in front of her overbearing father, but when it’s about her mother, Lenor has her whole personality amputated.
I don’t want Louise sniffing around my life. I try and relax against the back of my chair, shifting my leg so that my thigh touches Lenor’s. “We’re hanging out. Why do you sound so surprised?”
Another sultry Gallic shrug and puff of smoke. “I wonder what you manage to talk about now. Our Lenor isn’t exactly the partying type.”
Lenor shrinks and all I want to do is to draw her against me and tell her that she makes me laugh, makes me happy.
“Lenor’s my friend and we don’t need to go out to have fun.”
Louise can deduce whatever the hell she wants from that statement. Lenor does another of her awkward shuffles.
Her mother brings her cigarette to her mouth and takes another drag. She’s watching me and sizing me up. I face up to her while Mom stares back and forth between her best friend and her son.
The waiter finally takes our order and starts to remove the extra set of cutlery from the end of our table, when Louise stops him. “Don’t. We’re waiting for another guest.”
“Who? It was supposed to be just the four of us,” Lenor asks with a frown.
I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. Louise is waving and I follow her gaze. A tall, lanky guy with the nerdiest parting of hair. It takes me a couple of seconds to place the face.
“Freddy?” Lenor blurts out.
The English guy she went to The Gatsby with the night we dipped in the frigid Atlantic waters, the night that, in many ways, turned my life around. The night I decided to stop being a joke and get my act together.
“Louise,” he exclaims. “So kind of you to extend this invitation to a lonely chap like me.”
The dude must have come crashing straight from the nineteenth century and Jane Austen on speed dial. He leans forward to kiss Lenor. Very close—too close—to that special area between her cheek and earlobe.
“Frederick, let me introduce you to some dear friends of ours.” While she talks, Louise doesn’t miss my proprietary look at Lenor. Her smile is enigmatic and it unsettles me. “Ashton Murdoch and her son, Zachary.”
Freddie salutes us formally. I’m not exactly the poster boy for ‘laid-back’ but, next to him, I’m a surfer dude.
The waiter brings our drinks and Freddie orders a gin and tonic for himself. I could do with one myself.
Sitting at the end of the table, Freddie acts as if he’s fucking presiding over the meal. He talks, and talks, and talks. From time to time, a genuine laugh escapes from Lenor. I steal glances at her and I feel she’s doing the same at me.
My mind has switched off from the conversation going on around me, something about Freddie’s foxhunting prowess that has forced me into a daydream about Renegade. I silently eat my Waldorf Salad and imagine my next sailing trip. I long for the freedom. I long for Lenor by my side. I long to make her laugh.
“I’m sure you will look absolutely delightful.” Freddie’s kissing the back of Lenor’s hand.
Lenor isn’t meeting his gaze. “I’d lower your expectations if I were you.”
“What are you talking about?” I chime in.
Louise answers, “The Vanderholt Ball.”
“What about it?”
“Frederick will be Eleanor’s partner.”
My brain quickly computes all I know about the Vanderholt Ball: a Hamptons matchmaking summer institution, girls in big puffy dresses, boys in morning suits.
“And I cannot wait for the honor of taking Miss Carrington to this venerable event.”
Seriously, can this guy please cut out his Regency crap?
I eye my mother’s gin and tonic. Anything to calm my nerves. I clear my throat and gulp down my sparkling water instead. Next to me, Lenor keeps giving a hard time to the creased napkin on her lap while Freddie keeps his vapid chatter going.
He’s pissing me off.
I stand up, the chair’s feet creaking against the tiled floor, and mumble an apology. I head inside the restaurant, crossing the main room to reach a small decked area at the back. It’s outside but with no sea view so it’s still empty. I take a pack of Marlboro Reds out of my pocket and light up. I inhale a long drag on it and then another. I inhale and exhale in a regular cadence to get myself back under control.
“Smoking kills.” Lenor.
Without turning round to face her, I answer, “So does hunting.”
“Unfortunately, I care more about you than about a poor unnamed fox somewhere in England.”
“You can be so heartless.” I take another hit of the cigarette.
Lenor skirts around me. She looks like a little soldier, her stance rigid and compact. “Smoking is also a common cause of erectile dysfunction.”
I burst into laughter, then the laughter morphs into a hacking cough. She crosses her arms over her chest as if she’s made her point and I stamp the butt of my cigarette into the ashtray on the nearby table. In the next move, I stretch my arm and wrap it around Lenor’s waist. I’m not trying to be smooth when I draw in to her body and it crashes against me. One of my hands cups her ass, the other the back of her head, burying itself deeply into the thick mass of her hair. My mouth is on hers and, in the next split second, my tongue hunting hers.
First shock keeps her rigid, but soon her body becomes pliable. I flatten her hips against mine, she moans. I lift and drop her on the edge of the table, her legs are around my waist. Her thighs welcome me home. My fingers pull up the hem of her skirt until they reach the edge of her panties. By that point, I’m as hard as a rock.
I break the kiss and with my next breath manage to moan into her ear, “It looks like I’m still perfectly functional.” My fingers pass the lacy border of her panties, lifting her ass once again to take a possessive hold on it. I push her tighter against my dick.
Lenor starts wiggling, pressing her hands against my chest. She turns her face sideways to break the kiss. Even dazed by lust, I know when a girl is saying no. Right now, Lenor is shouting it.
I let her slide away from me. I even help her back on her feet but the gap between us feels like a wall of ice. I see her readjusting her clothes but my sight is still blurry. I’ve never had lust shooting through my veins like that before. Blood is pulsating inside my head, and to anyone looking at me right now, it’s pulsating somewhere else too.
“I fear you got me confused with Meg Alistair.” Lenor is patting her hair, readjusting wisps and curls into their usual symmetrical shape. I finally shake myself to get back to reality. “She might not mind a quickie in the backroom of a restaurant, but I’m afraid I do.”
She struts on her stilettos past me. I grab her elbow to halt her escape. “That’s not what it was. I’d never treat you the way I treat her.”
“You shouldn’t treat anyone the way you treat her. Period.” Slowly but deliberately, she unclasps my fingers from her arm and I watch her walk away feeling numb.
“I’m angry about that bullshit ball.”
I expect her to keep moving but she doesn’t. Instead she swivels on her heels to give me a hard look.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand that moron. I know he makes you laugh but there’s something off about him.” And I’m jealous––plainly, insanely jealous.
“Then why didn’t you just try and talk to me about him?”
I answer with a stupid shrug.
“You need to grow up, Zach.” Her words make me straighten up. “You’re not a kid anymore and I’m not one of your little toys you refuse to share.”
I think hard about that. It’s true, but only partly true. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ball then?”
Her expression fizzles. A crease appears on her brow. “I’d forgotten about it.”
“Liar.”
She shrugs. “I’m not.” But her gaze evades mine.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” I repeat.
She muffles a frustrated groan. “Because I didn’t think you’d like to take me there… Because I never dreamed we’d last so long. I assumed that by now you’d have already moved on to pastures new.”
I’m speechless. I’ve been all in with Lenor. Since the night at The Gatsby, there’s been no booze, no dope, no other girl. My time has been filled by her and Renegade. Exclusively. I don’t usually do exclusivity or promises.
Yes, by my standards, I’m all fucking in. Can’t she see that?
“Lenor, I’m sorry.” I try to cradle her cheek but she pushes my hand away.
“Forget about it.” She’s still not looking back at me.
I’ve been so immersed in salvaging and redeeming myself through this girl that I’ve not bothered considering how she’s handling this… this relationship of ours.
“Lenor.” I whisper trying to get closer to her, but she retreats.
She shakes her head, “Forget about it.” And she runs away.
There are many things I can do. Forgetting about Duchess isn’t one of them. I’m scared it never will be.
Chapter 15
LENOR
Paris ~ Present.
As a cook, I’m hopeless.
With my mother gone for an evening at l’Opéra Garnier listening to Carmen, her first outing since the accident, I have the kitchen to myself. Not that the place is ever crowded since Mom and I are hardly Cordon Bleus. Jeanne eyed me with suspicion as I set the cutlery and plates on the breakfast counter. She asked if she could help but I declined her offer.
I want to keep tonight’s dinner as low key as possible. It’s not a date and I have to make that crystal clear to myself and to Zach. It’s better to keep clearly defined lines between love, friendship, and physical intimacy. So tonight, no oysters or sophisticated French wines, just good ol’ burgers with potato wedges. That way, hopefully some coleslaw will get stuck in his front teeth, killing a good portion of his sex appeal and knocking physical attraction out of the equation.
The be
ll sounds in the hallway making me jump. I check the screen linked to our security system, and as expected, it’s filled with Zach’s face. I buzz him in and head towards the door opening onto the interior courtyard, now empty since Mom has driven to the opera.
I make a point of looking straight at Zach as he crosses the courtyard and holds my gaze without wavering. When he reaches the flight of steps leading up to the front door, his face breaks into a smile. It’s a full-on smile, not his signature corner-of-the-mouth up-turn, and the tension that has built up inside me evaporates.
“Bonsoir,” I greet him.
“Bonsoir.”
I step aside to let him in. He wears a pair of jeans, a straight-collared blue shirt, and the same burgundy velvet blazer he had on at Le Duke.
“Are you going straight to work from here?”
“Yes, Clara will kill me if I don’t make it for that singer’s party. But I’m in no rush.” I take his jacket and hang it in the cloakroom. “I’ve been running around all day because she’s freaking out about tonight. I didn’t have time to eat, not even at a McDonald’s. Sorry. I’m famished.”
“You were warned.”
“Don’t worry about that. However, I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty curious about this dark room of yours. It sounds like something my father would have liked.”
I feel the heat on my cheeks. “Well, I’m afraid the late Zachary Murdoch II would have been disappointed. There’s nothing slightly kinky in my dark room.”
My bare feet stay glued to the parquet floors as I’m suddenly struck by shyness. Josh is the only person who has seen my recent work. Not that shots of body parts qualify as art in his eyes.
Zach ducks his head and looks at me expectantly. I don’t budge. “In your own time, Duchess,” he finally teases me.
“It’s in my bedroom.” I hurry up the back stairs. On the second landing, I push open the narrow door and step into what I’ve turned into my temporary haven.
I chose this particular room because it’s the smallest and the least formal. It is right under the roof. Staff used to live in that part of the house. Over time, it has undergone substantial alterations. Now, the walls are coated in a soft pink wallpaper that stays clear from being too girly. Its powdery stripes match the upholstery covering the love seat and the curtains framing the oval window overlooking the garden. It’s different from my rooms in D.C. and the Hamptons, but it’s the closest I have to a home in Paris.
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