by K Larsen
“Maybe.”
“No. Definitely,” she stated, chin raised.
“Okay, it is, but I know what I want.” Such conviction. Such allure. Curiosity to know if he was serious bloomed in her.
“What about next month? Next year? Twenty years from now?” she quizzed, deciding to play along. Her parents, still at their table, caught her eye, nodding their approval. Of course.
“Je vous veux.” I’ll want you, he answered. The conviction in his voice made her heart slam against her ribs.
“I can’t take you seriously right now, this is preposterous.” She laughed at the handsome stranger before stepping backward a step. He caught her wrist, stopping her movement. The rugged pad of his thumb grazed the delicate underside of her skin. Fire bloomed in her belly, swelling upward through her chest, warming her cheeks and surely staining them an obvious pink. Her eyes snapped to his.
“Settle for a dance with me then?” His eyes, stormy and serious, captivated her, kept her rooted in her spot. “Celeste, s’il vous plaît, juste une danse?” Just one dance. That damned French again, so fluid. So deceptively seductive. Her name sounded exotic they way he drew out the ending. She nodded her permission. He smiled a wolf-like grin, full of victory and blatant desire.
Sweeping her effortlessly into his arms and on to the dance floor, he promptly began to waltz. Looking back, that was probably the very moment he captured her heart.
His hand rested just above her rear, low on the small of her back. He was dangerously skirting that invisible line between gentlemanly and lewd. His other hand kept her right palm captured and pressed to his shoulder. They were molded together, touching from chest to hip as he led her to the rhythm of the music. The quartet played flawlessly, and Celeste found herself entranced. The warmth of his embrace, the music a soundtrack to their moment, his grace and ease on the dance floor, she felt swept away. Lost in a moment of fairy lights, blooming fragrant plants, a stunning man and music.
“So, Celeste,” her name again drawn out, lustfully, “what are you studying?”
She tipped her head back to look him in the eye and smiled. The stars sparkled above against the navy velvet-looking sky.
“Horticulture.” It sounded so unbelievably pathetic. Not an ounce of sex appeal could be found in a word like horticulture.
“Ah, my girl likes flowers.”
“I don’t know anything about your girl, but most do.” Her comeback brought a devilish smile from Gabriel.
“You are quick. I’ll give you that.” He laughed. It was throaty and deep and it made her pulse race. The music slowed and finally stopped.
“Why, thank you,” she answered, grinning. She pried herself from his embrace and took a step backward.
“Where are you going?” he asked, stepping towards her.
“My dance card is rather full and your girl is probably waiting.” She took another step away and watched as his eyes grew large with understanding. She was leaving him on the dance floor. “Also,” she said with a smirk, “I don’t much like flowers; they die. I prefer perennials.”
Celeste turned and, she hoped, sashayed seductively away from Gabriel Fontaine.
“That was either the most amazing thing you’ve ever done, or the absolute stupidest,” Mara said as Celeste returned to her two friends.
“I vote most amazing,” Matteo said, and laughed. “Leaves him to do the chasing. Leaves him wondering if you’re the one woman here tonight who wouldn’t go home with him.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she laughed and curtsied dramatically for her friends.
“How did it feel?” Mara asked.
“Huh?”
“Being pressed up against him. I mean, the man is a god. Look at him!”
“Hey!” Matteo chuckled and ruffled Mara’s hair. “I thought I was a god?”
“Shhh! We’ll discuss you later tonight.” Mara batted his hand away and kept her drooling, star-struck expression glued to Celeste.
“He’s dreamy,” she sighed.
“Dreamy?” Matteo barked out a laugh. Celeste bristled at his mocking.
“He was. It was. I mean, look around us. This place is magical tonight. He is handsome and smooth and yeah, dreamy, alright?” Matteo’s hand encircled her waist and he tugged her close. He kissed her temple. Her irritation waned.
“Aww, fiore mio, scusa.” My flower, I’m sorry. The Italian somehow made everything easier to hear. Easier to forgive. His nickname for her, flower, always made it impossible to stay mad at him.
“Yeah, yeah.” She nudged him. “I don’t rain on your parades. So be nice.”
“Celeste, if the man makes you happy, then I’m happy.”
“It was just a dance. And don’t you have work to do?” She tsked.
Matteo gave her his best shocked-by-her-rudeness face before kissing her again on the temple and then kissing Mara’s cheek. “Sì. I do. Can’t lose this job. Veterinary school won’t pay for itself.” Celeste frowned at the truth in his statement as he strode away.
“Man, those pants sure look good on him,” Mara joked. Celeste rolled her eyes and smiled at her best friend.
“So, your glass is empty and I don’t even have a glass. Let’s rectify that, shall we?” she suggested with a wink. Mara nodded and hooked her arm through Celeste’s as they walked.
“Holy hell, he’s watching you,” Mara whispered.
“Oh, please.”
“Look!”
Celeste turned her head a fraction toward Mara. Gabriel’s gaze was on her, and he smiled when he caught her looking in his direction. Heat bloomed and reddened her cheeks. A striking blonde patted his arm to get his attention, but Gabriel didn’t break eye contact with Celeste. He winked. She smirked and shook her head. Mara moved them along the perimeter of the dance floor until they reached the bar. Snapping fingers drew her head back in the right direction.
“You are so hooked.” Mara laughed.
Celeste wasn’t sure what to think. He intrigued her, sure. He was easy to look at, yes. Was he interested in more than a fling? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. All she was sure of was that she didn’t function that way. A few dates here and there were fine, but she wasn’t the type to jump into bed with a man after the third date just because. Celeste was a relationship girl.
“He’s a ladies man. Look, he has three women surrounding him as we speak,” she said.
“He looks trapped. You should rescue him.” Mara nodded in his direction.
“Not my style,” she said.
“No, you’re right; you, Celeste, are a true lady. Make him beg you for a date.”
“Begging seems a little harsh, don’t you think?” she asked.
“To a man like him? No. I think he likes the game.”
“I think maybe you’re wrong. I think he’s used to the game, the chase, but that isn’t what he truly wants.”
“Here we go.” Mara laughed. Celeste had a tendency to do that often, to look deeper. To dig deeper into people and see past what they project all the way down to what secrets they harbor deep in their soul. Matteo said it was what drew people to her, that she beckoned all those with something to share to her like a siren’s call. He said she should be a psychology major, that it suited her more than plants. But Celeste loved plants. Flowers that bloom vibrant rich colors, shrubs that can be artfully arranged to create a labyrinth, the sight, the smell of a well-planned and maintained garden. It truly brought joy to her. Her parents didn’t understand it, they wanted her in a biology or chemistry field so she could carry on the family business someday, but she’d never had the interest. “We need two champagnes, please,” Mara told the bartender.
Three glasses later, Celeste was feeling lightheaded and warm. Her parents and Mara’s had stopped by the girls’ table to say their goodnights thirty minutes ago. Mara and Matteo were chatting near the bar as the party wound down. Celeste walked—shoes in hand, now that her parents were gone—through the dewy grass toward her friends. A large, w
arm hand clutched her elbow and spun her around.
“I got it,” Gabriel said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Perennial. I’m not great with plants. It took me a while to get your joke.”
“I’m still not following you.” She cocked her head sideways.
“You said my girl probably likes flowers, but you like perennials . . . as in you’re the sort of girl who prefers relationships to flings. Something that comes back year after year.”
“You got all that from my nerdy joke? You remember I’m a horticulture major, right?” Celeste laughed hard at the look on his fallen face. She hadn’t meant anything deeper by her comment earlier, but she was pleased that he’d been dissecting it the entire night looking for meaning. “Aww, don’t look so sad. I’m sorry.” She watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. His other still clasped her elbow.
“Tell me, si ce n’est pas indiscret, do you have a boyfriend? Did I step on someone’s toes tonight?” he asked. If it’s not too personal a question. Celeste willed herself not to melt at his use of French.
“Why do you ask?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling like a ridiculous schoolgirl.
“By the looks of you, you should have someone, but—” he smirked and plucked the straps of her shoes from her hand “—you’re tired and ready to leave.” He leaned in, placing his face next to her ear. “And by the looks of your friends, they’re not. A boyfriend would have surely noticed already that it’s time to bring you home.” His breath was warm and sent shivers down her spine. “May I give you a ride home?”
Spurred on by the thought of giving into this man for a single evening, Celeste nodded her head. Matteo and Mara were watching her when she finally found the will to look away from Gabriel. She waved twice and winked at them, the trio’s signal for: “all is right.” Mara’s face blossomed into a great grin and Matteo smiled, looking a little worried too. Celeste would speak with him later. He had to stop worrying over her so much. In some ways it prohibited him from living his own life to the fullest. She never wanted to become a burden to him.
Gabriel’s hand came to rest at the small of her back—such an benign area on the body. It never really got any attention, yet when a man’s hand rested casually there, it could cause the entire body to go on high alert. A simple gesture. A boring part of the body. He still clung to the straps of her shoes, carrying them for her. She smiled at the chivalry of it all. Her heart stuttered and in that moment she didn’t care where they went or what they would do, just as long as she was with him.
He stopped short at the entrance to the gardens. Kneeling, he cupped her left calf and brought it to rest on his thigh. Celeste shooed him off, telling him she could manage putting her own shoes on, but he wouldn’t relent. His fingers buckled the straps at her ankle. The rough pads of his fingers set her smooth skin on fire in the most impossible way. He repeated the process on her right foot before standing again. She stared at him in awe. Who does that?
He took her hand, threaded their fingers together and gently tugged. Her feet moved on their own, wanting to stay next to the Adonis-like man holding her hand. Walking along-side him she realized there probably weren’t many women who didn’t give at least a passing thought to the idea of him in their bed. It was a quality some men exuded that promised he knew where to linger and what to do.
Stopping at his car, he opened the door for her. Gabriel turned to face her. There was a magnetic energy between them growing in intensity that sent a tremble quivering through Celeste. Gabriel cupped her face, and his eyes softened while his thumbs stroked back and forth over her cheeks. His green eyes bore into hers. His hands swept into her hair and weaved through the strands—a primal, masculine move.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Celeste Fogarty.”
Celeste didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She was afraid to break the magical spell of the moment. She licked her lips in anticipation. He swallowed and took a breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Then, he did the simplest thing in the world. He leaned in and his lips met hers, softly, tenderly at first, and she swore the skies cracked open and swallowed the both of them whole. He tasted of champagne, wild nights and reckless desire. She relaxed into him and let impulse and passion fuel her. Celeste’s heart thumped, kicking her ribs. Their lips, mouths, tongues . . . danced together. Time was lost. The spring air blew over them as he pressed soft kisses to the corners of her lips with reverence. Celeste had been kissed many times before, but none compared to the way Gabriel’s laid claim to her.
Chapter 3
Annabelle
“You took all that you could get from me. Until the final day.”
~ L’ame Immortelle—Betrayal
The woman’s voice tapered off. She looked lost in thought, or maybe memory. Wistful.
“That seems like a fine stopping point, don’t you think?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Sure.”
“Do you have questions?”
She had a million things she wanted to ask but she wasn’t sure where to start. “Why’d Celeste understand other languages?” Annabelle asked.
“The private school she attended demanded the students be as fluent as possible in the local language and one other. She took Italian.”
“Are you Mara?” Annabelle’s question made the woman gasp and laugh loudly.
“No ladybug, I’m most definitely not Mara.” The woman smiled a wolfish grin.
“How do you know this Celeste lady’s story so well, then?” she asked.
“Questions for another visit, I suppose. It’s almost dinner time.” The woman waved her hand through the air dismissively.
“Okay,” Annabelle responded. Pushing herself to a standing position, she faced the woman awkwardly, unsure how to leave.
“What is it child?” she pursed her lips in irritation.
“Bye, I guess,” Annabelle answered meekly.
“Don’t ever say bye. It sounds juvenile. Use something more exciting or concrete,” the woman said with a pointed look.
Annabelle shook her head. She wondered if the woman was someone important or famous. She seemed so exotic yet demure and eccentric compared to anyone else she knew.
“See you next week then,” she said, and half lifted her hand in a wave.
“Better, but lacks enthusiasm.” A playful edge laced the woman’s tone. Annabelle chuckled and turned away from the strange woman.
She stopped just outside of room 208. The name card read: Jezebel. No last name. She turned and checked the name card across the hall. Milly. Maybe the names are just to help the patients remember, not the staff. She’d been lost in all the commotion earlier and hadn’t bothered to look.
Later, after checking in at the office making sure they recorded that she had indeed been there today, she trotted out the double doors and into the evening air. The sun was just starting its descent and the sky shone with fabulous shades of pinks and oranges. She loved sunsets. They were magical. If the sky could produce such a show it seemed as though life could do the same. That anything was possible. As she walked toward the bus, she realized her four hours had passed rather quickly. It was definitely better than hanging out in the common room or helping in the kitchen.
~***~
Dinner was dry. Her mother’s attempts at cooking always ended in bland food that made you want to swallow your own tongue. Her father smiled tightly as he chewed. Fake smiles for fake parents, she thought.
“How was Glenview?” he asked without looking up from his plate.
“Fine,” she answered shoving chunks of chicken around on her plate.
“Just fine?” he pushed.
Annabelle swallowed her bite and rolled her eyes. Of course they’d want details. She was their only source of distraction these days—if and when they chose to acknowledge her at all. Sorrow moved through her chest. It hadn’t always been this way between them. She could not suppress the wave of sadness that overcame her as she recalled how her family
used to be. Once upon a time the house was warm and messy and lived in. Now it was an immaculate prison that smelled like Pledge and Pine Sol, no longer occupied by people, but ghosts. An empty shell really.
“I made a friend. Jezebel.” She stabbed a dry hunk of chicken and forced it into her mouth. She wasn’t really hungry.
“You aren’t there to make friends, Annabelle,” her mother clucked her disapproval.
Her mother’s blonde hair shone under the bright dining room lighting. Annabelle had her mother’s skin, alabaster white and blemish free, and her father’s hair, wavy and thick but hers was darker. A deep brunette color to his sandy blonde. Her eyes were a deep blue and her lips tinted naturally red. Damon liked to joke that her lips were meant to be kissed. Her father’s hair was cut short now, but she’d seen pictures from her parents’ wedding, when it was longer. It suited him short, though. It was stern looking, like his personality.
Her mother was lithe, a real beauty. When she was little she wanted to look just like her. Now though, Annabelle noticed fine lines around her eyes and mouth from years of twisting her face into a hard pinched look, or scowling in general. Her mother was bitter, but she didn’t know why. They lived well. Her father provided his family with endless opportunities, but still, her mother never seemed satisfied. Maybe that was only in the last eight years. She didn’t really remember too much of how her parents interacted before. She was only ten. If someone had told her to pay attention, to notice the details, she would have, but no one did and this was her life now, the third wheel of a family stuck somewhere between anger and grief with a little pinch of denial mixed in.
“She’s a resident there,” she explained after chugging water to wash down the dried out chicken.
“What did you two do?”
“Nothing. I let her talk.” Annabelle shrugged, wishing they could go back to silence. Sometimes the idea of something was better than the real thing. Interacting with them was painful. A painful reminder of how they were no longer a family.
Her mother nodded and her father pushed food around his plate. The rest of their dinner was spent in tense silence. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her parents actually have a conversation together. One that mattered anyway. One that wasn’t completely superficial.