by Janet Dailey
“Oh, it was no trouble,” Sebastian assured him, then let his glance slide pointedly to Kitty. “In fact, it was all pleasure.”
Inwardly she did a slow burn over Sebastian’s parting shot as she ushered Marcel across the courtyard to her home’s rear entrance. When she stepped forward to unlock the door, Marcel took the keys from her.
“Allow me,” he said with typical courtesy, then inserted the key and unlocked the door, giving it a slight inward push.
He stepped back, motioning for Kitty to precede him into the house. She had barely set foot inside when he asked, “Why does this artist have a key to your house?”
“Someone had to let the maid in to clean when I vacationed in Cancun this past winter. Since Sebastian lives on the grounds, he was an obvious choice.”
Actually that was true; Kitty had left a spare house key with him on that occasion, but she’d also gotten it back when she returned from the trip. But it was another one of those half-truths that pricked her conscience.
“That is another thing I wish to discuss with you,” Marcel stated.
At that instant, Kitty knew she was much too tense, and the feeling of dancing around eggshells was much too strong for her to talk to Marcel right now. She needed a respite from it, however brief.
“There is much we need to discuss,” she told him. “But it can wait a few more minutes. I’m such a mess.” She pushed a smoothing hand over her loose hair in emphasis. “I’d really like to freshen up and slip into some clothes first. I won’t be long.”
Giving Marcel no opportunity to object, Kitty hurried from the kitchen. The instant she reached the safety of her bedroom, she leaned against the closed door, tipped her head back to stare at the high-beamed ceiling and took a deep, calming breath.
A part of her wished she could stay in the room and never come out, but the rational side knew that was impossible. Pushing away from the door, she headed to the closet. Aware that dallying over a choice of clothes would accomplish little, Kitty quickly selected a pair of hunter green slacks and a cotton sweater in a coordinating apple green.
In five minutes flat, she walked out of the bedroom, fully clothed, a minimum of makeup applied and her long hair pulled back in its usual sleek bun. She decided there was some truth in the old saying that a woman’s clothes were her armor. She certainly had more confidence in her ability to handle things.
Marcel had not ventured from the kitchen. He stood by the French doors in the small breakfast nook, staring in the direction of the studio. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his trousers, his jacket pushed aside, and a heavy frown darkened his expression.
“I told you I wouldn’t be long,” Kitty said by way of an announcement of her return.
He dragged his gaze away from the view with a trace of reluctance that had little frissons of alarm shooting through Kitty. Had he seen something? For the life of her, she couldn’t think what it might be.
Kitty hurried into her carefully rehearsed speech. “Before anything else is said, I want to apologize, Marcel, for walking out on you like that last night. It was—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish it. “It would be best for you to inform Monsieur Cole that he must move somewhere else.”
Dumbfounded, Kitty stared. “I beg your pardon.”
“I said, it—”
This time she cut him off. “I heard what you said.” She simply couldn’t believe that he’d actually said it. “But I’m afraid that what you suggest is impossible. According to the terms of our divorce settlement, I got the house and Sebastian received the studio. I can’t order him to move out. I have no right.”
“Then we must find a different place for you to live until we are married,” Marcel stated.
He suspected something about last night. Kitty was certain of it. Some of the inner panic started to return.
“Whatever for?” She forced a smile of confusion. “This arrangement has worked for years. Sebastian lives there and I live here.”
“But it is not right that you should live so closely to him.”
Worried that she was back on shaky ground, Kitty attempted an amused protest. “Surely you aren’t jealous of him, Marcel.”
“Mais non.” His denial was quick and smooth, completely without question, which in itself was a bit deflating. “I simply do not wish my fiancée to associate so closely with his kind.”
“His kind?” Kitty seized on the phrase, then challenged, “Exactly what do you mean by that?”
He gave her a look of mild exasperation. “It is known to all, Kitty, that such people are self-absorbed and self-indulgent, which leads them to loose ways of living.”
Outraged by his blanket condemnation of an entire profession, she said furiously, “That is the most ignorant statement I have ever heard. For every artist you can show me who’s into drugs and alcohol and wild parties, I can show you fifty who are honest and caring, hardworking people with families to support and a mortgage to pay.”
Turning haughty, Marcel declared, “Please do not attempt to convince me that Monsieur Cole is one of these. Last night he entertained a woman in his studio. I saw with my own eyes this morning the articles of her lingerie flung about the room in wild abandon.”
That nagging sense of guilt resurfaced to steal some of the heat from her indignation.
“His private life is no concern of mine,” Kitty insisted in a show of indifference.
“But your life is a concern of mine, now that we are to be married. And I should think it would be a concern to you. This is what I attempted to explain to you last night, when you objected so strongly to selling your gallery. But you refused to listen to me.”
“Try again,” Kitty stated, her anger cooling, dropping to an icy level.
“It is quite simple, really,” he began with a trace of impatience. “Even you must see that running a gallery of necessity brings you in frequent contact with such people. It would not be acceptable to continue such associations after we are married.”
Kitty cocked her head to one side. “Acceptable to whom? You? Your friends? Your family?”
Sensing the hint of disdain in her words, Marcel drew himself up to his full height. “Is it wrong to value the good reputation of the Boulanger name?”
“That is the most supercilious question I have ever heard,” Kitty snapped.
But before she could denounce him for being the snob that he was, the doorbell rang. For the first time in as many days, she sincerely hoped it was Sebastian. Right now, nothing would delight her more than to inform Marcel that she was the abandoned woman who had spent the night with Sebastian.
A smile of anticipated pleasure was on her lips when she opened the back door. To her eternal disappointment, the cabdriver stood outside, a heavyset man of Mexican descent.
“Por favor.” He swept off his billed cap and held it in front of his barrel-round stomach. “Does the señor still wish for me to wait for him?”
“That won’t be necessary. He’s ready to go.” Leaving the door open wide, Kitty turned back to Marcel. “It’s your taxi driver. I informed him that you’ll be leaving now.”
His jaw dropped. Kitty found his initial loss for words quite satisfying.
Recovering, Marcel managed to sputter, “But . . . We have still to talk.”
“As far as I’m concerned, everything’s been said.” Kitty walked over to usher him to the door. “And you have a plane to catch. Here”—she paused to tug the diamond off her finger—“take this with you.”
When she offered it to him, Marcel simply stared at her in shock. She had to actually open his hand and press the ring into his palm.
Even then he didn’t appear to believe her. “You return my ring? I do not understand.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“But—”
Kitty could see him frantically searching for words. “It must be obvious that I wouldn’t make a suitable wife for you. And the thought of marrying a bi
goted snob like you makes me sick.”
In an indignant huff, he opened his mouth to object. Kitty didn’t give him a chance to speak as she bodily pushed him out the door.
“Good-bye, Mr. Chocolate. Knowing you has been very enlightening and bittersweet,” she added, unable to resist the analogy. “More bitter than sweet, actually, rather like your chocolate.”
Marcel reacted instantly to that criticism. “Boulanger chocolate is of the finest quality.”
“It’s a pity the same can’t be said about the family who makes it.”
Across the courtyard, Kitty noticed that Sebastian was now standing outside the opened French doors to the kitchen area. As before, he was dressed in his work chinos, a cup of coffee in his hand, still without shirt or shoes.
“As much as I would enjoy trading insults with you, I really need to excuse myself.” Her smile was all saccharine. “You see, I left some things at Sebastian’s last night that I really need to pick up.”
“Last night?” As understanding dawned, Marcel’s expression turned thunderous.
“Yes, last night,” Kitty repeated happily, then taunted, “I hope you don’t expect me to draw you a picture. Sebastian’s the artist, not me.”
With that, she walked away from him, this time for good and without a single regret.
Chapter Six
The courtyard echoed with the sound of Marcel’s hard-striding footsteps as he stalked to the idling taxi trailed by the slower-walking cabdriver. It was a sound that Kitty rather liked, and one that was punctuated by the creak of hinges and the metallic slam of the vehicle door.
Without so much as a backward glance, she walked directly to the gnarled lilac bush that towered by the corner of the studio. She was conscious of Sebastian watching her while she retrieved the bundle of clothes from beneath its lower branches.
“Mr. Chocolate didn’t stay long,” Sebastian observed when she emerged from behind the bush.
“There was no reason for him to stay.” Kitty brushed a leaf off her shoulder.
“I see he took his ring with him.” He used the coffee mug to gesture toward her bare ring finger.
“I insisted on it,” she replied, then added quickly, “But don’t start thinking you had anything to do with that decision. Because you didn’t. There were simply too many important issues that Marcel and I couldn’t agree on.” Out in the street, the taxi backfired and rumbled away. Staring after it, Kitty couldn’t resist adding a parting shot, one laced with thinly veiled sarcasm. “And I wasn’t about to change just to be worthy of being his wife.”
“I’m not trying to start another fight by saying this,” Sebastian remarked, “but he is the one who wasn’t worthy of you.”
Everything softened inside her at the unexpected compliment. Kitty flashed him a warm smile. “Thank you.”
“For what? It’s the truth.”
“I know, but it’s still nice to hear someone else say it.”
“Even me?” Sebastian teased.
“Even you,” Kitty replied, then paused thoughtfully. “You know something else? I really didn’t like his chocolate all that well, either.”
“I can guarantee it couldn’t be as good as my hot chocolate.”
She eyed him with irritation. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to resist making a reference of some sort to last night. Let’s just forget about it, shall we? As far as I’m concerned, it was all a big mistake.”
“I think you’re a little mixed up. Getting engaged to Mr. Chocolate was the mistake.”
“That was a mistake, all right. And I’m not going to compound it by getting baited into a long, fruitless discussion with you. So if you don’t mind”—Kitty moved toward the open door—“I’ll just get my things and leave.”
“Help yourself.” With a swing of the cup, Sebastian invited her inside the studio.
As she approached the French doors, she felt a sudden nervous fluttering in her stomach. Kitty hesitated briefly before crossing the threshold. When she stepped into the studio’s kitchen area, her heart began to beat a little faster. She felt exactly like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, as all her senses heightened.
Without looking, Kitty knew the minute Sebastian followed her inside, even though his bare feet made no sound at all on the tiled floor. His presence made the spacious studio seem much smaller and more intimate. Or maybe it was the sight of her silk and lace brassiere still hooked on a back corner of the sofa, combined with her own vivid recollections of last night’s events.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Sebastian’s question was accompanied by the faint sound of the glass coffee carafe scraping across its flat burner, an indication that he was refilling his own cup.
“No, thank you.” Kitty snatched the bra off the sofa corner and stuffed it in with her other bundled garments.
“Are you sure? It’s—”
“I’m positive.” As she circled the sofa to the coffee table, Kitty was careful not to glance in the direction of the kiva and the Navajo-style rug on the floor in front of it.
“Suit yourself,” Sebastian said with a shrug in his voice. “Do you know something that amazes me?”
“No, but I’m sure that you’re going to tell me.” Kitty was deliberately curt, inwardly aware it was a defense mechanism. It bothered her that she felt a need for it.
“It’s the way you run straight here every time you break off a relationship with some guy.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She scooped up her evening bag, the last of the items she’d left.
“Is it?” Sebastian countered. “Look at this morning. You barely gave Mr. Chocolate a chance to climb in his cab before you made a beeline over here.”
“I’m here to collect my things. There’s nothing strange about that,” Kitty insisted, and automatically glanced around, double-checking to make certain nothing else of hers was lying about.
“What about all the other times?” he persisted.
“Actually, I’ve never given it any thought. And there haven’t been that many ‘other times,’ ” Kitty retorted.
“But why come here? An ex is usually the last person you would want to tell.”
“We are far from being enemies, Sebastian.” She threw him a look of mild exasperation.
“But we aren’t exactly friends, either,” he pointed out. “There’s always a subtle tension running between us. Why do you suppose that is?”
“I have no idea.” It wasn’t something Kitty wanted to discuss, and certainly not now. She moved toward the open French door, eager to leave now that she had retrieved all her things.
Sebastian stood by the kitchen counter, one hip propped against it. “Did you tell Mr. Chocolate you were with me last night?”
“It’s really none of your business whether I told him or not.”
Kitty wished that she had left by the front door. It would have been a much shorter route, and one that wouldn’t have taken her past Sebastian. But she was committed to her path. If she changed directions now, Sebastian might suspect her reluctance to be anywhere close to him.
“I’m afraid it is my business,” he informed her with a hint of a smile. “You know how these Europeans can be. He might decide to challenge me to a duel, and I’d like to know whether or not I should admit you were here.”
“He knows. Okay?” she retorted with impatience, quickening her steps to reach the door.
“I’ll bet that made him mad.” Sebastian didn’t move an inch as she swept past him.
“He was furious. Does that make you happy?” She threw the last over her shoulder, then opened the door, safety only two feet away.
“You’re a lot more trusting than I thought you would be.”
His odd statement brought her up short. On the edge of the threshold, Kitty swung back, curious but wary. “What do you mean by that?”
“I thought for sure you’d check your evening bag and make sure I didn’t take anything before you left.” He continued to sta
nd there, idly leaning against the counter.
“What would you take? There’s nothing in it of any value except a credit card. Why would you want that?” As illogical as it seemed, Kitty knew Sebastian had taken something. Otherwise he wouldn’t be drawing her attention to it now.
“I never said I took anything.”
But that knowing gleam in his eye advised that she had better look. Kitty stepped over to the small breakfast table, deposited her wadded clothing on top of it, and unhooked the clasp on the slim bag. A quick check of the contents revealed nothing was missing. But there was something sparkling at the very bottom. She reached inside and pulled out a small solitaire ring—at least, it was small compared to the multicarat engagement ring Marcel had given her.
“Find something?” Sebastian wandered over to look.
Dumbfounded, Kitty dragged her gaze from the ring to his face. Staring in confusion, she murmured, “It’s . . . It’s my old ring. The one you gave me.”
“So it is.” He nodded in a fake show of confirmation, then met her eyes, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “As I recall, you had a suggestion for what I could do with it when you gave it back to me. But I thought better of it.”
“But what’s it doing in my bag? Why did you put it there?” That was the part she didn’t understand.
“It’s very simple, really.” He took the ring from her unresisting fingers, then reached for her left hand. “You seem to be determined to have some man’s ring on your finger. I decided it might as well be mine.”
As he started to slip the ring on her finger, Kitty jerked her hand away, pain slashing through her like a knife, bringing hot tears to her eyes.
“Everything’s just one big joke to you,” she lashed out angrily. “I’m sure you think this is funny. But it isn’t. It’s cruel and heartless and mean.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Sebastian replied. “I’m dead serious.”
“And pigs fly, too,” Kitty retorted, resisting when he attempted to draw her hand from behind her back.
“I don’t know about pigs. I only know about you and me,” he continued in that irritatingly reasonable tone. “Since you seem so eager to marry somebody, it might as well be me again.”