by Alix Nichols
He scowled but said nothing.
“She shares your heritage, your culture. Kes, your infatuation with Amanda will pass, and there’ll be nothing left between you.” She sighed. “There’s a good reason why birds of a feather flock together.”
“Birds of a feather,” he said with a smirk, “also bore each other to an early grave.”
Django smacked his fist on the table. “Son, this is your last chance to make everything right. I suggest you give it very serious consideration.”
Kes nodded and stood. With a heavy sigh, he picked up his disposable utensils and threw them into the trash.
“Tata, Mama.” He hoped he sounded respectful but firm. “I know you want the best for me. Clara is great, but—”
His sister covered his mouth with her hand. “Mouk! Shut up before you say something you can’t take back.”
He glared at her.
“Go back to Paris and think about it like Tata said.” Rosanna widened her eyes at him and nudged him toward the door. “Think well.”
He mumbled a good-bye and walked out into the rain.
“We love you, too, Kes!” Rosanna shouted after him.
When he stepped into his apartment, Marco was sprawled on his couch, snoozing. Kes smiled. So, that’s what his cousin had been up to today—taking advantage of his spare keys. He surveyed the room for evidence of a party or female presence, but didn’t detect any. Well, he’d ask Marco in a few minutes, but first he needed to take a shower and change into fresh clothes.
Twenty minutes later, Kes grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge and woke up Marco.
“What time is it?” Marco mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“Eleven.” Kes handed him a bottle. “I have an appointment at midnight, so I won’t be able to keep you company.”
“You’re seeing Amanda?”
Kes nodded.
“You’re still stuck on her?”
“Superglued.” Kes gave him a wink. “In fact, I made some decisions on the train from Lyon.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m not going to Vegas. I’ll stay in Paris and . . . adjust my lifestyle.”
Marco frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to settle down here for a while. A long while. Amanda loves this city.”
Marco put his hand against his mouth, a strange look in his eyes.
“I’ll learn a new trade where I can use my skills and don’t have to travel all the time.”
“Unbelievable.”
Kes shrugged. “She’s worth it.”
“You need a drink.” Marco stood and retrieved a bottle of cognac from the plastic bag on the floor. “We both do.”
Kes pointed at his bottle. “We are having a drink.”
“We need something stronger than beer.” Marco darted into the kitchen and returned with two glasses.
Kes studied him while he poured the cognac. “What’s going on?”
Marco handed Kes a glass. Something akin to pity flickered in his eyes.
“Spit it out.”
“I saw Amanda in a restaurant with another man earlier today,” Marco said in one breath.
“So what?” Kes shrugged. “Eating dinner with a person of the opposite sex isn’t a crime. It could’ve been work related—she’s been applying to lots of jobs and trying to network.”
“It wasn’t work related.” Marco swallowed. “It was a candlelit dinner, Kes. And they held hands.”
“You’re lying.”
“Really? Have you lived among the gadje so long you forgot that Gitans don’t lie to each other? I would never lie to you.”
Kes stared at him, trying not to show that his world was turning upside down.
“Are the two of you exclusive?” Marco asked.
“We haven’t put it into words, but that’s the assumption, yes.”
“Well, that’s your assumption. Amanda clearly assumes otherwise.”
Kes rubbed his forehead. “I know you won’t lie to me, but it just doesn’t add up. Amanda’s not a cheater. She would’ve told me if she was seeing someone else.”
“So you trust your lying gadji more than your cousin and best friend?”
Kes stared out the window.
“OK, pral, you know what? You don’t have to believe me. You can believe your eyes, though.”
With his peripheral vision, Kes watched Marco tap and scroll something on his phone.
When he was done, he placed it on the table in front of Kes. “Take a look.”
It was a snapshot of a man Kes had never seen before holding Amanda’s hand in a restaurant, just as Marco had told him. The photo had today’s date.
“Were you tailing her?” Kes asked after a long silence.
“Yes. I knew she was fishy, but I also knew you were blinded by your feelings. So I needed to get evidence.” He smiled smugly. “And I did.”
“Maybe he’s just a friend who needed comforting,” Kes said, grasping at straws.
Marco sighed. “From where I sat, I could make out most of their conversation. While they were holding hands, he asked if she’d go out with him.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’ll think about it.”
Kes swallowed hard.
She’ll think about it.
“Don’t you see what she’s doing, pral?” Marco shook his head. “I was so sure she was begging you to stay . . . Has she even asked you?”
Nope.
Marco’s expression changed from pity to disgust. “Why would she? Your gadji is lining up her next lover while you’re still around. That way, her bed won’t grow cold.”
“I think you should go now.”
Marco stood. “I’ll give you space. And remember—I’m on your side. I may have hurt you today, but I did it to save you from bigger pain down the road.”
“I know,” Kes said. “Thank you, pral.”
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Birds of a Feather
~ ~ ~
A Woman’s Guide to Perfection
Guideline # 14
The Perfect Woman is strategic in the choice of her life partner.
Rationale: Dating someone who isn’t husband material but is great fun may be acceptable under certain circumstances and in a highly controlled environment. Marrying him is not. “But I love him” is a bad excuse. Love has nothing to do with marriage.
A word of caution: Sometimes determining if a man is husband material is not an easy task. The main criterion is that he should belong in the same social circles as you.
Here are a few additional pointers: (a) marrying up is acceptable but not ideal (you may end up with in-laws who hate you); (b) marrying down is suicide; (c) avoid men with an ex-wife and children who will compete for his attention; (d) avoid men with parents and relations who could embarrass you.
Permissible exceptions: If you are a royal princess, disregard pointer (a) above—you would be limiting your options to only a dozen or so individuals in Europe. If you have an ex-husband, children, and embarrassing relations, ignore items (c) and (d) above.
Damage control: If you’re dating an unsuitable man, make sure to break up before you develop feelings. Be strategic. Your entire future is hanging in the balance.
~ ~ ~
Amanda’s doorbell rang at fifteen past midnight. She set her laptop on the coffee table and padded to the door. For a second, she considered meowing but reminded herself that Garfield didn’t meow. He talked.
“Kes?” she asked with her hand on the door handle.
“Yes.”
He stepped in, smelling of aftershave and . . . liquor?
“I see you had a good time with your family,” she said with a sly smile.
“It was OK.”
He didn’t take her in his arms or hold her face and kiss her.
Strange.
She took a few steps toward the living room and stopped when she realized he’d stayed in the hallway.
<
br /> He was acting weird tonight.
“Is everything OK?” she asked.
“Couldn’t be better.” He gave her a long, heavy-lidded look, his expression unreadable. “How was your day?”
She smiled brightly. “Fantabulous! Julien got fired and . . . Ta-da! ENS wants me back—on my terms.”
“That’s great.” His tone was flat. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”
Was that all he had to say about her big news? Didn’t he know how much it meant to her? Hurt lumped in her throat.
“Nothing comes to mind.” She smirked. “I hope you weren’t fishing for a declaration of love.”
He peered at her for a few long moments, then turned away and muttered a curse.
She’d never heard him swear before.
How drunk was he exactly?
When he turned back to her, his expression was stern. “Take off your nightgown.”
What?
Amanda blinked.
Was he going Christian Grey on her?
But of course! That explained it. He’d had too much to drink tonight, probably to muster the courage to tell his folks he loved them. Kes could hold his liquor, but then again, she’d never seen him drink more than a glass or two of wine. So this is what booze did to him—it silenced his gentle side and exacerbated the wicked one.
The one that wasn’t interested in discussing her career prospects or the Morenos’ response to his bombshell but fancied some naughty role play instead.
OK, then, she’d go with it. They’d talk in the morning, when he sobered up and was himself again.
Slowly, Amanda pulled her nightie over her head and let it drop to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties. To her surprise, she didn’t mind standing stark naked before him. Judging by the hunger in his bottomless eyes and the way his gaze roamed her body, she wasn’t such a shabby sight.
“Turn around,” he said.
She hesitated.
He gripped her shoulders and turned her toward the wall, positioning himself behind her.
She planted her hands against the smooth surface.
“You’re killing me,” he croaked against her hair and pressed himself closer.
She leaned into him, heat gathering between her legs.
Reaching around her, he cupped and kneaded her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.
Yes, please.
And then he pinched them—harder than he’d ever done before.
She tensed. “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”
He released her breasts but didn’t apologize. His hands slid down to her waist. He kept his right hand there, pressing her tight to him, while his left hand traveled farther down. As his fingers spread and caressed her, desire returned, and soon she was writhing and murmuring his name.
She couldn’t see him but felt his teeth grazing the back of her neck. His fingers rubbed her, and his erection pulsed against her backside.
“What do you want from me, Amanda?” he asked, his voice unusually raw.
Everything.
But right now . . . “I want you inside me.”
She heard him unzip his jeans. He nudged her closer to the wall, pushed her legs apart with his knee, and entered her in one exquisite thrust.
She came at once, shaking uncontrollably.
His body shuddered a few seconds later.
He let go of her, sorted himself out, and left without as much as a good-night kiss.
Amanda slipped her nightie on and wobbled to the bedroom. She spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what had happened.
The good news was she’d just had the fastest orgasm of her life.
The bad news was she’d have to take the morning-after pill because he’d been too pissed to use a condom.
All things considered, their first kinky experience had been a failure.
She wasn’t having this kind of sex again. Definitely not with Kes. She wanted his tenderness more than an instant orgasm. She wanted his warmth.
And his love.
* * *
He didn’t show up in the morning, as she had expected, with flowers and fresh croissants. He didn’t call or text, either.
Amanda itched to talk to him, but she told herself it could wait until after her ENS interview. Besides, Kes might need some time to recover from an epic hangover.
She took the pill, wrote down her wish list for Patricia Bernier before leaving home, and rehearsed different scenarios in her head while serving breakfast and lunch at the bistro. At a quarter to four, she changed into an impeccably cut pencil skirt and silk blouse, donned her prettiest kitten heels, and walked the few blocks to the ENS building.
The weirdness of entering through the same turnstile she’d passed on her way out after her ejection in May was overwhelming. But it was offset by the gratification of knowing why and how she was coming back.
Karine met her in the lobby, God bless her soul. This meant Amanda was spared the second lonely walk down the hallway under the curious gazes of colleagues.
Ex-colleagues.
Soon-to-be-colleagues again.
Oh merde, whatever.
The meeting with Patricia lasted over two hours, transforming from a job interview into a brainstorming session. They sat side by side on the little couch in Patricia’s office and jotted down ideas for the short- and midterm strategies that could get ENS out if its current predicament.
As for Amanda’s terms, Patricia said yes to all her wishes with the exception of the corner office—the last item on her list.
When she reached it, the older woman pushed her glasses up and smirked. “Who do you suggest I relocate to free up a corner office for you?”
“Isn’t there an empty one somewhere?”
Patricia shook her head. “But if things improve with your help, I’ll make sure we find one a year from now.”
“It’s a deal.” Amanda extended her hand.
Patricia shook it with a genuine smile.
On her way home, Amanda called Kes, but her call went straight to his voice mail. She left a message telling him she had some exciting news to share, and then she called Jeanne.
“I’m so happy for you, honey,” Jeanne said. “I always knew they’d come begging for you to return.”
“It’s only because Julien got himself fired.” Amanda hesitated. “Jeanne, I feel bad about quitting so abruptly on you. If you need me to work at the bistro next week and the week after, just say the word. ENS already knows I may not be able to start before early September.”
“Relax,” Jeanne said. “You can start at ENS next Monday. One of our old waiters is back in town for a few months and looking for a job.”
Amanda released the breath she was holding. “Really?”
“Goth’s honor. Besides, I’m closing next week so Mat and I can go on our honeymoon and give everyone a break.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“The Hague.”
“How exci—” Amanda began before her brain registered the destination.
The Hague?
“Just kidding.” Jeanne laughed. “We’re going to Venice.”
“Oh good.”
“But you must promise me something.” Jeanne’s tone grew serious. “You’ll keep on helping us with the books until Manon finishes her accounting course.”
“It’s the least I can do for you, girlfriend,” Amanda said. “Besides, ENS is just around the corner, so I’ll be coming to La Bohème for lunch several times a week, just like before.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Jeanne said. “And I hope you’ll maintain your appreciation of the value of tipping once you’re back on the other side.”
Amanda chuckled. “You can count on that!”
On the third day without news from Kes, Amanda began to worry in earnest. By the fifth day, she was sick to her stomach with anxiety. Disappearing like this was not like him. What if he’d had an accident? What if he’d gotten into serio
us trouble with someone from the casino? Was there trouble with his clan?
Speaking of which, his family might still be parked in the dedicated area near Lyon.
On Sunday morning, Amanda googled the place and took the ten o’clock train to Lyon. A cab brought her to the campsite just as Kes’s folks were sitting down to lunch outdoors. She asked the driver to wait for her and climbed out of the car.
As she approached the long table, she recognized his parents, siblings, his cousin Marco, and even his grandma. But Kes wasn’t with them.
“Hi,” she said, struggling not to show how mortified she was.
They greeted her politely but didn’t invite her to sit down.
“I . . . I was looking for Kes.”
Marco put his fork and knife down. “He’s gone.”
Gone as in dead?
The color drained from Amanda’s face.
Marco stood up and nudged her away from the rest of the family. “Walk with me.”
She followed him to the shady spot behind the caravan. Her heart raced and her palms were moist.
“Kes is in Las Vegas,” Marco said. “He was here last weekend and left on Monday.”
Relief that Kes was alive and distress over his inexplicable behavior mixed in Amanda’s head to form a thick, paralyzing fog.
Marco studied her face. “Didn’t he tell you? It had been the plan all along.”
She found herself unable to speak.
He grinned. “The only change to the plan was that his fiancée, Clara, followed him three days later.”
What? “Kes doesn’t have a fiancée.”
“He does now.” Marco pulled out his phone. “Here, look.”
The photo showed a beautiful, fresh-faced brunette with bright-green eyes standing next to Kes. It was taken not far from where they stood now.
“They’ll stay in Vegas a few months, and when they’re back, we’ll do a proper wedding.” Marco sneered. “I don’t suppose you want an invitation.”
Amanda spun around and almost ran to the cab.
The trip back to Paris was steeped in heartache and bitterness. She’d been right all along that it would never work between two people from such different backgrounds. But Kes kept arguing it could, if only she would give it a chance.